Free Six Dead Men by Rae Stoltenkamp Page B

of his neck and all the way down his spine to his coccyx.
    “The words you write here.” The man indicated with a manicured forefinger. “They are baci di morte. In English, you say...‘kiss of death’.”
    Deed had been poised with his hand on the luggage rack above his seat, but now he sat back down in his seat heavily. A rush of bile rose and stuck in Deed's throat. The train had come to a standstill. The Italian looked at him quizzically for some response but when none came he shrugged and left the Englishman to his bemused thoughts.
    It was only when the cleaning crew began circulating in his carriage that Deed finally gathered himself together and disembarked. He looked down towards the back of the train and his eye caught Madie's now familiar profile exiting a nearby carriage. We were on the same train...
    Madie was scanning the platform. She saw him and stopped dead in her tracks. Oh God. What do I do?
    On Madie’s face Deed saw a look of intense fear. Her travel sac was slung over one shoulder. She wrapped her arms around herself as though she was cold.
    Departing passengers weaved their way to the station’s exit between the trapped souls.
    “Madie!” She jerked her head towards the sound. Deed turned his head to see who called to her. It was a young man. It had to be her brother Brendan. For Deed it seemed her brother’s voice broke the freezing spell for Madie. She ran towards her brother.
    Detective Inspector Deed was moving after her, showing his warrant card, apprehending her, cuffing her. Robert Deed, the man, remained rooted to the spot on which he stood. Like the child who fears to step on the cracks in the pavement, he found he could not move from the platform tile on which he stood; thinking if he did so, what he’d heard the Italian say would somehow, ridiculously, be true. And if it was true? Well what then? What then?
    As Madie rushed alongside an immobilised Deed a sob escaped her lips. Her now familiar scent wafted past him. As she looked back at him Deed thought he saw her tears pooling then spilling over.
    Even as the detective in him battled with the paperwork logistics of taking her in, the man found himself repulsed. He had touched her. He had held her. He had, to all intents and purposes, kissed her. And in his mind he had imagined more than the chaste kiss in his office. He did not want to touch her again. A thousand tiny insects of revulsion crawled over his skin.
    Detective Inspector Deed clenched his fists and cursed Robert Deed futilely as he watched Madie Bricot disappear from sight. His senses and thought processes felt paralysed. Only after another intercity and a local had made their way into the station did he find he could move and think again. What did this mean for him? Was he days away from being a corpse on a cold coroner’s slab? How long had it been since that kiss in his office? Perhaps he was only moments away from death. These thoughts and more assailed his confused mind. Another more rational side of him was angered by the hysteria he felt himself succumbing to. I’m a man who deals in facts, cold, hard, evidence led facts. This, this is absurdity!
    Finally Deed walked up the platform and onto the station concourse with a heavy tread. He glanced at the main exit of the station almost expecting to see Madie reappear. He turned resignedly towards the ticket counter. There were no other passengers waiting to be served.
    “A single to London please.” He said.
Manchester (i)

Chapter 6
    Terence Ire straddled Marc Goodwill. The pressure of Ire’s position on Marc’s chest forced him to pant for breath. Ire’s legs pinned Marc’s arms against the side of his body where he lay on the patterned two star hotel carpet. Marc’s eyes were wide with fear. Ire’s left kid gloved hand was clamped over Marc’s mouth.
    “That’s Italian leather you’re sniffing there Marky boy. Expensive stuff, but worth every penny. The Italians know about leather.... And