To Make a Killing Read Online Free

price to pay.
     
    “You don’t want to know that”, smiled Blinky. He paused before sending the conversation off in a different direction, “I’d offer you a drink, but . . .” his voice became dramatically sinister, “I know why you are here, so let’s get on with it.”
     
    Keane had learnt never to take anything for granted with Blinky. Having played chess, backgammon, bridge and even poker with him, he knew that he could expect to be bluffed just as often as he could be stunned by his unexpected insight. Keane was not to be drawn, however. He smiled wryly, “You always could see through me, Blinky” he said, non-commitally.
     
    Blinky fixed his eyes on Keane to spot the slightest reaction to the words he was about to say, “You want to see my rose garden!”
     
    Nothing. The man was inscrutable. Nothing but the controlled, polite yet warm smile Keane always had at hand, to deflect any googly he would throw at him; and the blighter wasn’t even a cricketer! Blinky was not someone who suffered fools easily; conversely he could not help but admire men like Keane. Precious few had the wherewithal, the wit and strength of character to keep up with him, let alone match him. “Come along, you know the way.”
     
    They took the path around the west wing. The scent and beauty of roses were two of only a handful of things in life that could take Keane’s mind off his work. They ambled along, stopping every yard or so for Keane to sample the extravagance and uniqueness of each new rose, as if it were a fine wine. What a privilege to be able to indulge the senses, in fact almost to overwhelm them, in such a harmless way.
     
    “I knew when you called, it was just another lame excuse to avoid paying the entrance fee” teased Blinky.
     
    “I’m sorry, Blinky. You know roses are my Achilles heel.” Keane paused. “We have a murder, and it’s not exactly ‘run-of-the-mill’. A man – an Australian cricketer – has been found dead. He was wearing a mask. Not a Halloween mask, but a convincing life-like piece of make-up, which completely changed his appearance. He was apparently killed by an injection of poison into the lingual vein . . . below the tongue . . . but only after he had been shot through the ear with a pellet from an air gun. The coroner claims the poison is a batrachotoxin . . . “
     
    “. . . from the poisoned dart frog”
     
    “Yes. Obviously we don’t yet know if this was an assassination or a random killing, but the method is very unusual. Have you come across anything like this before?”
     
    “The South Americans are not the only ones to use that poison. It could have been chosen by, say, an Asian, to lead you astray . . . if it weren’t for the ear shot. That is a speciality of the Chilean Secret Service. Again someone could be trying to put you off the scent, but very few outside of South America even consider that method. It’s very rare that you have an opportunity to apply it, and you have to be very adept to miss hitting a bone in the ear. Furthermore, it does not always disable the victim instantly. Even the Chileans only used it for a brief period in the 80’s.”
     
    “Could it be a fluke? Someone with no training who just had a ‘bright idea’ they wanted to try out?”
     
    Blinky smiled at Keane. “I can speculate if you wish, but speculation is your strong suit, not mine.”
     
    Keane knew the information was inconclusive and ambiguous, but he knew he had to be grateful. He was tapping into a resource that was unavailable to any other detective. He was sure it would be of some use once his own investigation had progressed sufficiently.
     
    “Did we ever finish our last game of chess?” asked Keane, as he dragged himself away from the final rose.
     
    “You know, you only ever say that when you remember the trouncing I gave you!”
     
    With that, they left the rose garden and sauntered over to the pavilion where the chess board and refreshments were waiting