Free The Devil and the Detective by John Goldbach Page B

cynicism, I fell for this woman instantly, without a moment’s hesitation, and now I was paying for being an idiot, I thought.
    Chain-smoking, I sat at my kitchen table in the dark. I’d finished the wine and was now drinking a can of beer, which was the only alcohol I had left in the house. This made me nervous. Everything was making me nervous. I took small sips of my cold can of beer, savouring it, knowing it would soon be gone and I’d still be wide awake, thinking about Elaine, trying to make some sense of what’s happened. I listened to the playback of Elaine’s and my phone conversation, over and over, studying Elaine’s voice, rewinding the tape when it came to the end. The cigarettes were making me cough but I knew I wouldn’t stop. I sat by the window and a cold wind kept blowing in as I attempted to blow smoke out. My beer was almost done. I knew there was no way I was going to get to sleep. I’d end up sitting in the dark, smoking, cogitating over the case, listening to the tape, getting nowhere. I decided to call Darren and see if he wanted to go for some drinks.

15
    â€˜S hots!’ said Darren and I nodded. We drank whisky and beers. ‘So what was the deal with this Gerald Andrews guy?’ said Darren.
    â€˜I’m not sure, but it looks like he was up to some shady stuff, though I’m not sure how bad it gets. Definitely questionable business deals, et cetera. He was very rich but probably not the best of men.’
    â€˜ Honra y provecho no caben en un saco ,’ said Darren.
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜I’m sure he was an asshole.’
    â€˜Yeah. Seems like the type, not to curse the dead or anything,’ I said. ‘But he was probably bilking billions or something, I don’t know. The guy was filthy rich. Do you want another beer?’
    â€˜Definitely,’ said Darren.
    I was getting drunk and was having a hard time following Darren. I remember he said something about some girl he had a crush on and something like, now that blah and me’re blah, we’re blah blah . That’s all I made out. And in the background I faintly heard ABBA ’s ‘ SOS ,’ though maybe it was just in my head. We stayed out late, though not surprisingly I don’t remember much. We sat on barstools. There was some sort of shouting going on. Someone was arguing with someone else. But we ordered another round of beers. The more he drank, the more hyper and animated Darren became, as I became withdrawn, heavy and tired. I was seeing double. I picked up my beer to take a swig; the bottle left a ring of water on the bar, though the ring didn’t join up. Darren was saying, ‘Of the tens of thousands of days the average person lives, the majority of them are spent in a state of agitation and/or anxiety, or at least that’s been my experience, in my give-or-take 9,000 or so days on Planet Earth, the only planet I know or will ever know most likely; perhaps my kids, if I have kids, or their kids, if my hypothetical children have children, will know a planet other than the one I inhabit but it’s doubtful that I will and that’s okay with me. You know?’ he said and I nodded. I wondered whether Darren had been snorting cocaine. ‘Before wars begin more male children are born and before they end more female children are born,’ he said.
    â€˜Is that true?’ I asked him.
    â€˜Yeah,’ he said, and said he read it somewhere.
    â€˜What’s happening now,’ I said, ‘are there more males or females being born?’
    â€˜In some societies more men are being born and in some societies more female children are being born – and in some species more males are being born and in some species more females are being born. So for some the end’s nigh,’ he said, ‘and for some it’s still a ways off. But I refuse to be a prophet of the apocalypse. There are enough of them around already,