A Good Year for the Roses (1988) Read Online Free

looked as if he needed a livener. With me it was inevitable. I was drinking too much lately. I decided to cut down. Maybe tomorrow.
    ‘Are you going to help me?’ George finally asked.
    ‘I don't know,’ I replied. ‘When I left the Met. my wife left me. She got almost everything. So I'm starting again. I came into this business because it's what I know. I was a copper for a long time. I've never done anything else. But I'm not a policeman any more, not a real one. What I'll be doing for the main part is working for solicitors and finance firms, serving court orders and other legal papers. Tracing missing relations and looking for people who haven't paid their HP, or nicked the video from Granada Rentals.
    ‘I put that ad in the paper for my own satisfaction. Just to prove to myself that I existed again. I've been away for a while. Out of circulation.’
    I'm glad to say that George was discreet enough not to ask where I'd been. He might not have liked the answer.
    ‘You see,’ I continued, ‘it's a nice little service industry, tracing missing people and debt collecting.’
    ‘But my Patsy's a missing person,’ George interrupted.
    ‘I appreciate that,’ I said. ‘But it's a bit different. I'm not exactly going to blend in with her age group. What I'm talking about is going through the voter's register or checking out newspaper files. A bit of surveillance. A few words in the right ears and no trouble. This is different. There's a definite drug connection, and I can't afford to get mixed up in that sort of thing. Besides the last mob I want to meet again are the Brixton old bill.’
    ‘Too dangerous?’ he asked with a sneer.
    ‘There's more than one kind of danger,’ I replied. ‘For instance, when I was stationed at Brixton, I worked for a while on the drugs squad, undercover. Well, I got too fond of the merchandise. That's another reason I left the job.’
    ‘You were taking drugs when you were a copper?’ asked George.
    ‘The police aren't saints, if you cut them they bleed like anybody else,’ I replied.
    ‘Christ, you're a right one. But at least you know about drugs, don't you? It could help if Patsy's got involved.’
    Who was he kidding? Of course she was involved. I kept a straight face and said. ‘I know too bloody much about them, besides that was a while ago. Two weeks can be a lifetime when you mess with dope.’
    ‘But you're looking for work aren't you?’
    ‘Yes, and I'm expensive.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Two hundred pounds a day, plus expenses and mileage.’
    ‘You'll be in the upper tax level in no time,’ said George drily. I don't think he was impressed.
    ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Most of my work will be pro rata. An hour here and there. As you can tell from the fact that I'm sitting here with you shooting the breeze. I'm not exactly overworked. Besides I'm broke.’
    George leant over the table.
    ‘Listen, you're my last chance,’ he said. ‘Help me please. Here, look.’ He picked up his briefcase which he had brought into the pub with him. He placed it on the table and opened it up. He produced a large brown envelope and extracted a photograph which he placed in front of me.
    ‘That is Patsy,’ he said proudly.
    The photograph was an 8” X 10” head and shoulder professional shot of an extremely attractive young blonde girl.
    ‘She was going to be a model,’ he said.
    He didn't seem to realise that he was speaking in the past tense. I looked at the photo for a while. The subject reminded me of my own daughter, Judith. Although Judith was ten years younger, the likeness was uncanny. Judith always told me that when she grew up she would be a film star.
    ‘Look on the back,’ George said.
    A piece of white paper had been stuck on the reverse side of the photograph. On it was typed Patricia Bright's vital statistics. Everything from her birthday to her glove size.
    ‘I've got a couple of dozen here,’ said George, tapping the envelope. ‘You can use them, and