Quite Ugly One Morning Read Online Free Page A

I think it would be . .. imprudent, to say the least, to encourage your involvement in this case.’
    ‘Believe me, Ms Dalziel, nothing could encourage me to get involved in this case. I’ve seen the mess, remember, I’ve smelt the smells, and I don’t envy you this one whatsoever. But how can I keep my eyes peeled if I don’t know what to look for?’
    ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked, now more serious.
    ‘You know fine.’
    Dalziel stared sternly and hard across the table at Parlabane, who felt he was doing enormously well to be commanding the slightest modicum of respect in his current condition.
    ‘Are they sharp eyes?’ she finally asked.
    He gave her a wry grin.
    ‘I’d say your guy was dead less than nine hours when I saw him this morning,’ he stated. ‘Going by the mess on the floor and the mess on his face, it’s safe to assume he struggled heavily with his assailant before succumbing. He was tied up before his throat was cut, as he bled exactly where he was found, then whatever was used to restrain him was removed. The messiness of the severing suggests his fingers were bitten off rather than sliced with whatever cut his throat. And as he lost specifically the index fingers of both hands, I’d guess they were bitten off while he was restrained rather than during the struggle, maybe even after the fatal wound. It would also be my guess that they were bitten off in retribution, that the good doctor accounted for one of his killer’s index fingers earlier in the battle.’
    Dalziel made a poor job of trying not to look impressed
    All right scoop,’ she said. ‘Sticking with the premise that you had nothing to do with this and aren’t giving me these things from first-hand knowledge, tell me where you were while you reckon this was going on.’
    ‘Asleep upstairs.’
    ‘What, you slept through all the racket this fight, murder and interior flat demolition must have made?’
    ‘Ms Dalziel, believe me, I have slept through an earthquake. You might have more luck with whoever lives in the main-door flat below.’

    ‘Her name’s Mrs Angus. She’s a widow, lives alone, and doesn’t wear her hearing aid to bed.’
    ‘Of course. So nobody heard anything. Did anyone see anything?’
    ‘No one’s come forward so far.’
    ‘I’m not talking about the public.’
    Dalziel winced as she realised what was coming.
    Parlabane smirked. He tried not to, but it was too good.
    ‘You mean someone got murdered across the street from this station and not one flatfoot noticed anything suspicious?’
    ‘Go on, lap it up,’ she muttered impatiently.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Parlabane said, smothering a laugh. He wondered how many times he had heard frustrated cops ask whether people go around with their eyes shut, how come nobody ever notices a bloody thing . . .
    ‘So what’s the story?’ he asked.
    ‘Way too early to say, although it seems a safe bet it wasn’t premeditated. As a lot of the mess couldn’t have been made by a fight, McGregor reckons it was a burglary gone wrong.’
    ‘But you don’t.’
    ‘I didn’t say that.’
    ‘Oh, but you did.’
    At that point, McGregor came back into the room, and all was quiet.
    ‘Right, Mr Parlabane,’ he said with a strangely light, almost cheerful tone. ‘We’ve been through your flat and belongings. We tried to mess the place up as is standard procedure, but as you don’t seem to own very much it was a bit of a poor effort, I’m afraid. DC Callaghan went through your wallet and has confirmed your identity, occupation and – from the ticket stubs – your recent arrival from Los Angeles. He probably also removed a small sum of money but there’s not much either of us can do about that.’
    He handed Parlabane the keys to his flat.
    ‘They didn’t force the door, in the end. Someone followed your lead and climbed in from Dr Ponsonby’s place. You’re free to go when you wish, but I’d ask you not to stray too far for a few days – it’s