Free The Dying Trade by Peter Corris Page A

Brave had him so cold he didn’t care anymore.”
    â€œHis whole approach to things had been turned round on him?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œDid he still see Brave? Socially I mean?”
    â€œNo, not to my knowledge. But they hadn’t met regularly anyway.”
    I was interested but there were lots of loose ends. I played with the menu while I considered them. The story had a ring of truth but it was a bit too close to the first episode of husband and betrayal for comfort. Her innocence looked to be stretched a bit thin. I tried to keep the scepticism out of my voice as I asked the question. “How do you know all this happened? You said you weren’t aware of what Brave had done in the case of your first husband. Why are you so sure about all this now?”
    The question was important. If she slid about on it the whole thing could be a pack of lies. Dancers can be actresses. Only another good serve of her directness would incline me to believe her. She was direct.
    â€œBrave told me himself,” she said. “I went to him one day when Mark was black-minded and told him that I thought he was driving Mark crazy. I threatened to go to the police and accuse him of drugging and molesting me. I said I’d finish him professionally and in every other way.”
    â€œWhat did he say?” It wasn’t hard to guess.
    â€œHe laughed at me. He said there were good reasons why I wouldn’t do what I’d said. He threatened to name me as an accomplice in the blackmailing of James. He said he had so much on Mark that he could play with him just as he pleased and that he could ruin him and put me on the streets. He didn’t want to. Mark was making him rich and he was happy with things as they were. If I left him alone, he’d leave me alone. He said he’d ease up on Mark, but I guess he couldn’t. He’s a greedy bastard.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œHe pushed Mark past the limit, he must have done. Mark was dead about ten days after I had this talk with Brave.”
    â€œAre you sure he killed himself?”
    â€œNo, I’m not. But he was in a tortured state in the last few days and a gun was found near his body. The coroner’s verdict was suicide but I’m sure such things can be arranged.”
    She stopped when the waiter arrived to take the order. I called for half a dozen oysters naturelle and some grilled whiting. She said she’d have the same and took about half a glass of hock when that arrived. Waiters were hovering about and she smoked and made some small talk until we had privacy again. The golden brown fish fillets and potato chips hid among the salad like Dyaks in the jungle. We pushed them about and sipped the wine. I tried to fill her glass but she glared at me. I munched a few decent mouthfuls of fish and got on with it.
    â€œYou think the police didn’t pursue the matter satisfactorily?”
    She mashed up some fish and salad and pushed the mess aside. She hadn’t eaten a single potato chip and I had to keep myself from reaching over and spearing them. I drained my glass instead and filled it from the bottle which was still healthy. She lit a cigarette and more smoke drifted into my face than seemed necessary.
    â€œWhat are you so cautious about, Hardy?” she asked. “Your licence?”
    I shrugged and took in a bit more wine. “You were talking about your husband’s death,” I said. She nodded and did her cigarette flicking act again. The ash sprayed into the plates and I pushed mine aside.
    â€œLook, this gets back to your question about Mark’s records, if you’re still interested. Mark died at his desk, in his study. The police found a secret safe in the study, one I didn’t know about. It had been opened. It was empty. Maybe Mark kept the records there.”
    I nodded. “That sounds like a lead for the police, didn’t they take it