Free The Artful Egg by James McClure Page A

investigation.…
    You’re right, said another side to Ramjut Pillay, filling him with that same cool detachment as before. Go on, take a look—I dare you.
    But he hesitated, intimidated by the sound of someone coming in to use the cubicle next to him. The someone, however, soon proved to be beset by severe flatulence problems, and made such a noise, what with his loud sighings and the rest of it, that it seemed impossible he’d overhear a few envelopes being carefully opened. With trembling fingers, Ramjut Pillay set to work, and moments later he was unfolding the first of the letters, turning it the right way up.
    What he saw written on that sheet of blue notepaper made his eyebrows leap in horrified amazement. “Phee-
eeeew
!” exclaimed Ramjut Pillay.
    “No need to be so rudely personal,” grumbled the someone next door.

5
    W ITH T HEO K ENNEDY at his side, and Zondi following behind in the zebra-painted Land-Rover, Kramer drove across town to Azalea Mansions.
    “Have you got a girlfriend?” he asked Kennedy.
    “Not any more. Why?”
    “You’re going back to an empty flat, man—that’s why.”
    “I’ll be all right.”
    “Or maybe there’s some bloke you could go and stay with. The press and television won’t take all that long to find out where you live, and then—”
    “The hell with them!”
    “Then, at least take your phone off the hook, hey?” said Kramer, switching off his windscreen wipers.
    Azalea Mansions was made up of five two-storey blocks of flats set at odd angles on an uneven slope of untidy brown lawn. Over the road, where Charlton Heights housed the better-off in an imposing high-rise, the lawn was green, weeded and watered. The sign outside it said, KEEP OFF THE GRASS—NO BALL GAMES , while the chipped enamel notice, askew at the foot of Azalea Mansions’ potholed drive, warned: KIDDIES AT PLAY—DRIVE CAREFULLY .
    Not that there were any about, as the rain had only just stopped, and Kramer hardly slackened speed on his way up through the puddles.
    “My flat’s over there,” said Kennedy, “but this is far enough, so just—”
    “Hold on, my sergeant has to know where to park your jalopy, hey? Which number is it?”
    “That one, Number 3.”
    Kramer took him almost to his front door, and moments later Zondi drew up beside them.
    “Well, Mr. Kennedy, I’m not sure you’re doing the right—”
    “No, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” he said, opening his car door and getting out. “It’s just I need—”
    “T’eo, why aren’t you in zebby car?” demanded a little girl, running up to him. She was immaculately dressed, fair, dimpled, and looked like something straight off a chocolate-box. “Why’s there a boy in zebby car? Did you let him?”
    Kennedy forced a smile. “It’s all right, Amanda—and how are you today?”
    “Been to the shops and to the slide!”
    “That must’ve been nice,” said Kennedy, adding in an aside to Kramer: “Er, this is a young lady who comes out and watches me when I’m working on my ‘zebby car,’ as she calls it. The zebra stripes fascinate kids.”
    “Ja, I bet.”
    “T’eo, why are your eyes red?” asked Amanda, frowning.
    “Look, maybe—” began Kramer.
    “Amanda! What are you doing out in the wet?”
    “But, Mummy, you said—”
    “
Amanda
—and you’re making a pest of yourself again!”
    “No, she’s not,” said Kennedy, “really she’s not.”
    Kramer watched the approach of the child’s mother. She was a slim woman of about twenty-six in slacks and a jumper and a red headscarf patterned with horseshoes. Her manner was shy, over-anxious.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve so much to do, and no sooner do I turn my—”
    “Please, Mummy,” broke in Amanda, “
please
can I sit in T’eo’s zebby car? He says I can’t unless my mummy says so.”
    Perhaps that made it one “mummy” too many for Kennedy, his having so recently joined the ranks of the motherless. He mumbled an apology,