Free Getting Warmer by Alan Carter

deal. We all move on.’
    ‘Was he ever violent with you?’
    Karina’s tongue probed something in her teeth. ‘That any of your business?’
    ‘No. But was he?’
    ‘Nah. Wouldn’t dare.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Even scabby street mongrels know when to snap and snarl and when to just sniff your bum and keep things friendly.’
    A mind-boggling image: Cato shook himself free of it. ‘So you don’t keep in touch?’
    ‘Already said that. What’s he done now?’
    ‘His ex-wife, Shellie, got a package in her letterbox. Stuff to do with her missing daughter.’
    Karina stubbed her cigarette into an ashtray and dug out another. ‘Poor cow. You reckon I helped him with that sick shit do you?’
    ‘What sick shit’s that then?’ said Cato.
    She squinted at him. ‘He thought it was funny, taking the piss about her missing kid. I told him to get a life.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘Now he’s got one, he’s serving it.’
    ‘Do you remember the words he used?’
    ‘Sure mate, I even wrote them down in case they’d be needed in the future. I’ll just go and check my filing cabinet.’ She dragged on her new cigarette and blew the smoke upwards like she was concerned about the effects of passive smoking. ‘Look, he’s a sick prick, she needs to ignore him and get on with her life.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Nah.’
    ‘So you didn’t help him out with his latest stunt, Karina?’
    ‘Piss off, mate.’
    ‘Just asking.’
    ‘The answer’s no.’
    ‘Can you think of anyone else that might help him?’
    ‘Plenty freaks out there. Take your pick.’
    Cato gave her a business card. ‘Call me if you think of anything.’
    ‘Sure, honey.’
    He left. She de-muted Jerry Springer.
    ‘So, Jimmy, tell us about you and Santo Rosetti at the Birdcage.’
    Damien the Expensive One sighed. ‘My client has already answered your questions as to his whereabouts that night. If you’re not going to charge him with anything then you must release him. He’s been in custody for over twenty-four hours now. This is ridiculous. It has to stop.’
    ‘He’s told us he was there but we still don’t have the detail of what transpired,’ said Lara.
    ‘I already told you. I had a few drinks with Mickey and Vincentand Constable Rosetti, and left.’ Jimmy Tran clicked his neck a couple of times.
    ‘What time?’
    ‘About 11.45 maybe.’
    Lara checked the file. ‘There’s no CCTV showing you leaving at that, or any other time.’ In fact there was none showing him going in either.
    Jimmy shrugged.
    ‘Is there another door you use to go in and out of the Birdcage?’
    ‘Maybe the camera’s on the blink?’
    ‘Or maybe you went out over the roof. There’s a door leads up there and any number of ways down to the street then.’
    ‘That right?’ said Jimmy, wheels turning behind the furrowed brow.
    ‘And then you went and put a bottle in Samuel Ho’s face?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The guy you had the push and shove with earlier. It’s on CCTV.’
    ‘Does he say it was me?’
    ‘Yes.’ Lara had called the battle-scarred accountancy student out from his summer job to look at some photos of Jimmy, Vincent, and Mickey. Ho had picked Jimmy.
    ‘Mistaken identity. I’m sure once he’s had time to reflect.’
    And time for a visit from some of Tran’s comrades.
    DS Graham fidgeted impatiently; the issue of glassing an innocent bystander clearly wasn’t his main game. ‘When and how did you find out Santo Rosetti was a police officer?’
    Tran gave him a sly grin. ‘A little bird told me. Can’t remember who, or when.’
    ‘How did you feel when you learned about Rosetti?’ said Lara.
    ‘Somewhat surprised to tell the truth,’ said Jimmy, mimicking her private school accent. ‘I felt badly let down not to have been admitted into his confidence.’ His eyes danced. ‘I thought I knew all his secrets.’
    ‘Betrayed? Angry?’
    ‘Why? His career choice is up to him. I’m the last to judge.’
    ‘We hear otherwise,’