"Des & Gordon Lewis - A Man Too Mean To Be Me" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gordon Des & Lewis)

A Man too Mean to be Me
by Des & Gordon Lewis
Copyright й 2001



Being a perfectionist - inquisitive too, has helped me in my profession as a Detective Sergeant in the Police Force. The trouble is I am the same ferretty person off duty. Even a crossword puzzle has to be solved by fair means or foul. This passion of mine has resulted in my walking with a limp - more painful when the weather turns to cold and damp. An unsolved crossword clue was the cause of the injury when a heavy tome of a reference book fell on my foot in the local library. As I was wearing nothing but flimsy open-toed sandals at the time, this resulted in three broken toes and a badly bruised metatarsus - and early retirement from the Police Force.

Too young to retire completely, I decided to set up a private investigation agency; at least I could turn my ferreting nature to some good effect.

By fair means or foul? I should come clean straightaway - or as soon as possible without altering too much of anything IТve told you already. It is easy to tell lies. Once you have told one, then the rest just follow. Like the fact I broke two toes. Or was it three? You see - telling lies takes concentration, concentration which I damn well canТt maintain. Well maybe the hefty reference book broke my toes. Maybe it didnТt. Whatever the case, I eventually had to plant a stone in my shoe to remind me to limp. After all once you have gained a СcharacterТ for yourself - a character that distinguishes you from the otherwise blank backdrop of the rest of humanity - then youТve got to plug on and be that person. Be that hook upon which to hang a story...

And this story I have to tell is one youТll never forget. Anyway, not wearing a long dirty mackintosh, and not wielding the rump of a blasted cigar in my mouth, not even with a pair of ill-repaired spectacles perched on my huge nose, I simply had to depend on my limp to mark me out.

The day I first encountered Mrs Carmichael (СWinnieТ to some) she swayed like a top heavy galleon down the corridor towards my office, a smirk on her over-painted lips, finally arriving at my desk...

"I want you to find my husband," she simply said, with the tang of a dialect I couldnТt quite place.

"Your husband has a name? And is there a reason for finding one who probably doesnТt deserve you?" I asked in a toneless, tuneless drawl.

"Yes, he has a name, Mr Crosland - it is Richard Carmichael, but I could call him many things - but for now, letТs say СRatТ would be most appropriate. I donТt want him back in my life, I just want to stop him drawing money from our joint bank account. I donТt suppose he has committed any crime in the eyes of the law, so going to the police is not going to do any good. Actually I donТt want to involve them. I donТt want them swarming all over my place, for reasons that should not concern you. I have had a word with my bank manager and he says I can close the account if my husband and I both agree to do so. While there is money in the account he can travel all over the place, living the Сlife of RileyТ until there is nothing left."

"When did you last see your husband?" I asked, breaking into her flow of words.

"It was a fortnight ago on a Monday morning as I left the house to go to work. He complained of a headache, said he was taking the day off. When I arrived home in the early evening I found he had packed all his personal things and left home." She paused for breath before I could question her, then carried on with her story.

"He couldnТt take anything other than what was his, since the house and all it contains are in my name."

"How long have you been married?" I said managing to get a word in. "He simply walked into my life about two years ago - full of charm, good looking too. Why I ever listened to him IТll never know - I know IТll rue the day I agreed that we should have joint accounts. He put all his own money in - or so I was led to believe - not a substantial amount though. I should have smelled a rat then, but he was too plausible, professing he was happy in our married life."

I told you how easy it was for me to slip into telling lies - to such an extent that, in the end, they even ceased to seem like lies to myself. Whether this facility allowed me to better judge when other folk were telling lies, IТm not wholly sure. Anyway all this business Winnie Carmichael mentioned about joint accounts didnТt then - and doesnТt now - ring true at all, really. I couldnТt quite put my finger on it...

I suddenly got up from my chair, accidently pushing my desk forward, almost to the extent of its edge hitting the wide belted stomach of her loudly checked coat.

"Oops, sorry, Mrs Carmichael, but..,"

"Call me Winnie, do."

"Well , Winnie, it just dawned on me... we can kill two birds with one stone here..."

And I winced since, upon getting up so quickly, I had jabbed my foot on the stone in my shoe with rather more vigour than I intended.

"Your husband," I continued, "works for Regis Insurance, doesnТt he?" Her husband was indeed well known to me... and I noticed that she blushed, self consciously patting the bun of her hair.

Pouring water into a glass that I provided for her from my sideboard (only important clients got anything stronger), I said:- "It is just that IТve recently been apprised of some undercover work available for the Claims Adjusting department of Regis. They want me to see if any of their staff are bent.., whether they are inflating customerТs claims - for backhanders, you know, that sort of thing.

"How will looking for my husband help?"

"Well, not sure yet, Winnie, but one may help the otherЕ and vice versa. Filters are often two-way. And then I can cut my fees to the bones for you. You see, I like to give my persona1 customers the edge over conglomerates...