A White Arrest

Начало книги

R and B they were called. If Chief Inspector Roberts was like the Rhythm, then Brant was the darkest Blues. Pig ignorant, more like, was also said. On Robert’s desk was a phone, a family photo, a bronze and wood scroll, which read:

On Easter Monday 1901, the Rev. James Charmers stepped ashore on Goaribari Island, off the Southern Coast of New Guinea, intent on converting the islanders. The Goas ran down to meet him, clubbed him senseless, then they cut him into small pieces, boiled him and ate him that afternoon.

It was all you needed to know for police work, he said.

WPC Falls contemplated the sugared doughnut. It sat like a fat reprimand next to her coffee. Another WPC joined her, said: ‘Now, that’s temptation.’

‘Hiya, Rosie.’

‘Hiya — so, are you going to eat it?’

She didn’t know, said: ‘I dunno.’

Falls was the wet dream of the nick. Leastways, she hoped she was. A little over 5’ 6”, she was the loaded side of plump, but it suited her. Seeing her, the adjectives of ravishment sprang to mind: lush, ripe, buxom, available. The last in hopeful neon.

Читать дальше →