Free Ashes by Now by Mark Timlin

‘You’ve got a visitor,’ she said.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜A policeman. There’ve been lots.’
    â€˜I just bet there have.’
    â€˜This one’s been before. He’s horrible.’ She shuddered.
    â€˜What’s his name?’ I asked.
    Suddenly the curtains round the bed were pushed aside, and an unkempt figure in a greasy old raincoat stuck his head and shoulders inside. He smiled when he saw me.
    â€˜Inspector Robber,’ I said.
    â€˜Who were you expecting?’
    â€˜Columbo. But I see you got your dibs on the mac today.’
    â€˜Amusing, Sharman. I see they didn’t knock your sense of humour out of you. I’m glad about that.’
    â€˜Who didn’t?’ I asked.
    â€˜Whoever knocked the other seven kinds of shit out of you. Beg your pardon, miss.’ And he gave Pru a cheesy smile that showed where he’d missed with the toothbrush that morning.
    â€˜That’s all right,’ she said sniffily. ‘I’ve heard worse. But I thought I told you to wait outside until I found out whether Mr Sharman wanted to see you or not.’
    â€˜As if he wouldn’t,’ said Robber.
    â€˜As if,’ I said. ‘It’s OK, Pru. Let him stay.’
    â€˜If you’re sure.’
    I nodded, and she left with a swish of starched skirts.
    â€˜Pru, is it?’ said Robber. ‘You don’t waste much time.’
    â€˜Charmers like us don’t have to. You must have noticed that yourself.’
    Robber didn’t reply, just drew up a chair and sat down. It gave me a chance to give him the once over.
    He hadn’t changed. He still looked exactly like the last time I’d seen him, when I’d got involved in a case he’d been working on. It had finished in tears, but then most of my cases did. He still didn’t know the whole story, and he never would.
    His hair was greasy. His skin was greasy. His mac was greasy. His shirt was a disgrace, and his neck bulged over the dirty, too-tight collar fastened with a safety pin under the knot of his greasy old tie. His trousers had never met an iron, and his shoes were ill-acquainted with polish. In short, he was a mess. I could never work out what he did with all the money he earned.
    â€˜So what’s the story?’ he asked when he was comfortable and had a cigarette lit.
    â€˜No smoking in here,’ I said.
    He shrugged.
    â€˜Give us a drag then.’
    He did. The end was wet, but the smoke tasted good.
    â€˜Who did it, Sharman?’ he asked.
    â€˜Good question. I don’t remember.’
    â€˜Excuse no. 65A. I don’t remember, your honour. Me mind’s a complete blank.’
    â€˜Your honour, bollocks. I’m not on trial, am I?’
    He shrugged again.
    â€˜Well, am I?’
    â€˜Not at the moment.’
    â€˜Listen,’ I said. ‘As far as I understand, it was me that took a beating. Maybe if you found out who did it, they might be on trial.’
    â€˜Who, is difficult,’ he said. ‘Why, might help.’
    â€˜Jack,’ I said, taking the liberty of using his Christian name. ‘If I knew, I’d tell you. Honest. But the last thing I remember is going out with two young ladies some time in June. After that I’m a blank.’
    â€˜Don’t tempt me,’ he said, and dogged his ciggie out in a bedpan. ‘If you do remember anything get in touch.’
    â€˜Is this official?’ I asked.
    â€˜Half and half. I’m interested.’
    â€˜I’m flattered.’
    â€˜So you should be.’ He stood up to leave.
    â€˜Is that it?’ I asked.
    â€˜For now. I shall return.’
    â€˜Like General MacArthur.’
    The remark went right over his head.
    â€˜No “I’m glad you’re better”?’ I asked.
    â€˜Don’t fuck about, Sharman. You know the world would be a better place without you.’ He pushed out through the curtains again.
    My, but that