Free Cat Among the Herrings by L. C. Tyler Page A

He say: you sure? Yes, I say. You think I not know if I have baby coming? OK, he say. Just asking.’
    ‘You think he did know who the “old man” is? And wouldn’t tell you even under threat of having his balls cut off?’
    ‘He say Law Society will cut off his balls if he tell me.’
    ‘So he knows but can’t divulge what he knows? Maybe this Old Man is also a client and he can’t reveal what he has on him?’
    ‘Maybe Old Man pay him more than I do?’
    ‘Well, he’s not saying, anyway. As for whether you are pregnant – could Robin have made provision in his will for a child? Or maybe his father set up a trust for the benefit of grandchildren as yet unborn? If so, the lawyer would have needed to know whether there might be such a child in order to carry out his work. Hence the question about pregnancy.’
    ‘So, why not just say me that? You think lawyer is bullshit to me?’
    ‘I think there’s something he’s not telling you.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I wish I knew.’
    ‘I wish too. So, you will help me?’
    I thought about this. There was a lost part of the jigsaw. Something obvious I was missing. I chewed on the last of my sticky cake and took a sip of tea. It was tempting in a way to take up Catarina’s offer, but what was I supposed to do – arrive at her solicitor’s office and demand to know full details of his clients’ affairs under the Freedom of Information Act? Bribe him to tell me? Kidnap the solicitor and extract the information by force? Tell him he was on my list of ten? Catarina had already tried naked threats of violence – Sussex solicitors were tougher than I thought. Anyway, intriguing though this proof of the existence of the ‘old man’ was, we were miles from connecting him with a sailing accident off the Sussex coast.
    ‘The Mafia would do a much better job for you,’ I said. ‘And they’re not constrained in any way by the Law Society. I’m sorry, Catarina. I really am. But I’m not the person you need for this.’
    I do not know what the translation might be of the words Catarina muttered to herself as she showed me out, but I do not think they were in any way complimentary. And if I were to be gunned down on the way home, the guarantee that ten villagers would die was almost certainly now invalidated.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Elsie
    Dear Ms Green
    Thank you for sharing with me your MS, THE BELLS OF HELL GO BLING-A-LING-A-LING , or as much of it as you can be arsed to write.
    There is, as you probably know, much good advice on the Internet for writers. There is also a great deal of crap. I think I know which you have chosen to read.
    First, it is not my job to (as you put it) sort out the spelling and grammar ‘and stuff’. If you were a brainless celeb with a wish to have your name on the cover of the book, then you would of course find many people willing to do just that. But (and I have googled you, Ms Green) you are not. So the spelling and grammar are down to you. All of it. These are basic skills for anyone who (for reasons I will never quite fathom) wishes to be a writer. Would you employ a plumber who said that he’d never quite got the hang of pipework? No, I thought not. I need writers who have all their tools on the van.
    Second, you say that you have only written the first three chapters and will write the rest once you get your advance. Again, I have googled you and you are not JK Rowling or Hilary Mantel. I ask for three chapters because that’s as far as I’m going to read with most submissions. If I like it I will ask to see more, but I won’t want to wait another six months before I get it. You don’t get any money until you finish the job. (See note on plumbers.)
    Third, you ask for a meeting so that you can explain the book to me. Is that the only way that I will understand it? Will you offer to do the same for everyone who buys a copy? Having read the first three chapters, I think that you really might have time to meet each of your readers personally,