Dead Beat. Val McDermid

as she poured my drink. As I paid, I told her to take one herself. She shook her head and muttered, ‘Too early for me.’ I was taken aback. Before I could ask her about Moira, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

      I tensed and turned round slowly. One of the black men who’d been playing the fruit machine was standing behind me with a frown on his face. He was nearly six feet tall, slim and elegant in chinos and a shiny black satin shirt under a dove grey full length Italian lambskin coat that looked like it cost six months of my mortgage. His hair was cut in a perfect flat-top, accentuating his high cheekbones and strong jaw. His eyes were bloodshot and I could smell minty breath-spray as he leaned forward into my face and breathed, ‘I hear you been looking for a friend of mine.’

      ‘News travels fast,’ I responded, trying to move away from his hot breath, but failing thanks to the bar behind me.

      ‘What d’you want with Moira?’ There was a note of menace in his voice that pissed me off. I controlled the urge to kick him across the bar and said nothing as he leaned even closer. ‘Don’t try telling me you’re on the game. And don’t try telling me you’re a cop. Those fuckers only come down here mob-handed. So who are you, and what d’you want with Moira?’

      I know when the time for games is past. I reached into my pocket and produced a business card. I handed it to the pimp who was giving me a severe case of claustrophobia. It worked. He backed off a good six inches. ‘It’s nothing heavy. It’s an old friend of hers who wants to make contact. If it works out, there could be good money in it for her.’

      He studied the card and glared at me. ‘Private Investigator,’ he sneered. ‘Well, baby, you’re not gonna find Moira here. She checked out a long time ago.’

      My heart did that funny kind of flip it does when I get bad news. Two days ago, I couldn’t have cared less if Moira were alive or dead. Now I was surprised to find that I cared a lot. ‘You don’t mean …?’

      His lip curled in a sneer again. I suspected he’d perfected it in front of a mirror at the age of twelve and hadn’t progressed to anything more adult. ‘She was still alive when she left here. But the way she was pumping heroin into her veins, you’ll be lucky to find her like that now. I kicked her out a year ago. She was no use to anybody. All she cared about was getting another fix into her.’

      ‘Any idea where she went?’ I asked with sinking heart.

      He shrugged. ‘That depends on how much it’s worth.’

      ‘And that depends on how good the information is.’

      He smiled crookedly. ‘Well, you’re not going to know that till you check it out, are you? And I don’t give credit. A hundred to tell you where she went.’

      ‘Do you seriously think I’d carry that kind of cash in a shit pit like this? Fifty.’

      He shook his head. ‘No way. Fancy bit of skirt like you, you’ll have a hole-in-the-wall card. Come back here in half an hour with a oner and I’ll tell you where she went. And don’t think you’ll get the word off somebody else. Nobody round here’s going to cross George.’

      I knew when I was beaten. Whoever George was, he clearly had his patch sewn up tight. Wearily, I nodded and headed back towards the car.