Free Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 by Unknown Page B

circle in the air. ‘I take it this has to do with your case?’
    I clapped my hands. ‘Earning the big bucks right there.’
    ‘Stop stalling, Ed. Tell me what’s happening?’
    ‘You first. What have you heard?’
    ‘Not much more than the official line.’ She leaned forward, like a co-conspirator. ‘Well-to-do widow murdered in her own home. Fresh-faced private investigator – um, that’s you – finds the body. Police baffled, but likely to charge the new guy anyway.’ She edged even closer and lowered her voice. ‘Unofficially, the rumour is she was being blackmailed – some affair with a married guy. A few well-known names being thrown around. It explains why she hired an investigator. That’s you again.’ She sat back and ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass. ‘How does it all match up?’
    I smiled. ‘Not bad for a Northside Comp girl.’
    ‘So, Mister E G, what is occurring?’
    ‘We’re back to that again.’ I tried to resist a lurid smile. ‘And I thought you just wanted my body?’
    ‘In your present state, even science would turn that down.’
    She picked up the bottle of wine by the bottom and tipped a measure into my glass, carefully twisting the neck at the end of the pour to avoid any spillage. Nice technique. I guessed that, like me, she had a barkeep stint on her CV.
    ‘Who was she seeing, Ed?’
    Right at that moment I imagined the whole bar stopped, took a breath, and inclined an ear in our direction. In reality, the hubbub was unbroken.
    I took a super-size sip of wine. Not recommended on the wine course, but needs must.
    ‘Clegg,’ I said finally.
    ‘As in Mayor Clegg?’
    I nodded slowly without blinking, holding her stare. There was a small “oh” look on her face, but any surprise was otherwise restrained.
    ‘His was one of the names mentioned,’ she said, ‘but only to ramp up the scandal quotient. No one really thought it could be him.’
    I rolled back my palms. ‘Surprise!’
    ‘Is Clegg responsible for the beating?’ she asked, half-seriously. ‘That would be a bigger surprise. Or was it the police? Or did the police just hold you down while Clegg got some good shots away?’
    ‘I’m glad you’re finding this so entertaining, but actually neither.’
    ‘We have a third man?’
    ‘We do.’
    ‘I get a clue?’
    ‘If I said he’s like the illegitimate, unwanted son of The Sopranos and The West Wing …’
    There was a pause as she did the machinations, followed by the light bulb look.
    ‘Jimmy Cartwright?’ She blinked at me disbelievingly.
    I nodded.
    Kate let out a long breath. Then she drained her glass.
    ‘Christ, Ed. Talk about running with the foxes and hunting with the hounds.’ She reached over and gently squeezed my hand. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
    ‘I’m still here. That’s the main thing, hey.’
    ‘What has he got to do with any of this?’
    ‘I don’t know. But whatever it is, he doesn’t seem keen on me finding out.’
    ‘You think Cartwright was behind the blackmail?’
    ‘Unlikely. Not really his style. And it wouldn’t explain the murder.’
    ‘Some kind of love triangle?’
    ‘Possible. But again, I can’t see how it leads to murder.’
    She did a rat-a-tat on the table and then narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re the so-called private detective – who’d you think was behind the blackmail? Who do you think killed her? Are they even connected?’
    ‘Kate, you’re the so-called junior solicitor. You think I’ve not already had two days of questions from everyone, even my mum, and maybe I want to talk about something else.’
    She fired off a low-key tut. ‘It’s all about you. Typical.’
    ‘Thought we had some solicitor-client action going on here?’
    ‘Well, if you want my advice–’
    I interrupted. ‘Let me guess – stay out of it.’
    She smiled and crossed her legs.
    I still couldn’t get over those legs.
    ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Ed, but do you think your involvement in this was