Free Nightmare City by Nick Oldham Page A

right. Bring the stuff
back.’
     
     
    The next ten minutes were very uncomfortable for all parties.
Not because of the nature of the enquiry, simply because Rider
hated to be in the presence of police officers, particularly
detectives, and resented answering questions, incriminating or
otherwise, merely on a point of principle. And he particularly
resented Henry Christie, whom he disliked on sight.
    To Rider, Christie had an aura about him that the rather
plodding Seymour didn’t possess. It was nothing to do with the way
he dressed because for a detective, Christie dressed quite
conservatively. Nor was it the way he spoke, as Christie’s voice
was quite monotone.
    It was that he oozed inner savvy. It was the look in his eyes,
the way they constantly took measure, occasionally narrowing to a
slit as they ran over Rider. The way he listened to answers, but at
the same time his mind seemed to be considering something of
greater importance. It was the way he assessed Rider, chewed over
what information there was to be had, what information was hidden,
and weighed him up. Probably coming to the right
conclusion.
    Basically, he unnerved Rider.
    From the other side, Henry did not like Rider either. There
was an immediate animosity between them. Not that Henry cared.
There was friction between himself and a lot of crims. It was a
good thing, he thought. Kept them on their toes.
    But this man Rider. . .
    As he answered the questions, Henry tried to analyse him.
Something about the guy made Henry do a double-take. What the hell
was it? Henry could feel there was something more to this man, who
on the face of it came across as a middle-aged, overweight, seedy
club and doss-house owner.
    Henry took a few minutes to discover what it was.
    Then he knew.
    He’d only ever met a few other such people in his life and he
shifted slightly on the bar stool, his arse literally
twitching.
    Rider was no common criminal. This man was, or had been, big
time. Top notch. There weren’t too many about. Some liked to think
they were, but mostly they were nothing. This man tried to cover it
in bluster and bad temper, but just below the surface Henry could
see exactly what he was.
    And it was in the eyes, too. They always gave the game away.
There was that violence lurking there which said, ‘I could kill
you, cop, and not give a toss.’
    But it was rusty. Henry could see that, too. This man had been
out of the game for a while, but it was still in his blood. He
could be very dangerous again.
    Yes, thought Henry, Rider was something special. His mouth
went dry at the thought.
    Now he wanted to know everything about this man, the sooner
the better. He cursed his lack of professionalism for not knowing
already.
    Rider responded begrudgingly to the detectives’
questions.
    Yes, the dead girl’s description sounded like one of his new
tenants.
    Couldn’t remember her name at the moment; it would be on the
rent book. From Blackburn, he thought. No, didn’t know very much
about her. No, that wasn’t unusual. He was a landlord, not a
fucking snoop. So long as the rent came, he didn’t give a toss.
Yes, top flat, number twelve. Came in two days ago. Yes, they could
go in and have a look round the flat. Probably wouldn’t be locked.
She didn’t bring much stuff with her. She was alone. Was that all?
Bye bye.
    Henry thanked him. As he did he recalled the statement taken
from the girl at the zoo. It mentioned a big red car taking off
after the shooting. There was a big red Jaguar parked outside the
club.
    Henry could picture Rider involved in something like
that.
    ‘ Oh, by the way,’ he said, sliding off his bar stool onto his
feet. ‘Have you visited the zoo today?’
    ‘ No.’ Too quick, very tense all of a sudden.
    ‘ Let’s hope you haven’t,’ said Henry, ‘because if you have and
I find out I’ll be back here faster than shit off a shovel.’ He
spoke very matter-of factly and in a way that Rider found
intimidating.
    ‘ Don’t know