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information as possible. Who it is; how he died. The usual stuff.”
    The cig froze momentarily at the entrance to Karl’s mouth, beforecontinuing its journey. Karl sucked on the cig, releasing a dragon’s breath. “The
usual
stuff? I don’t
usually
have people walk into my office every day and ask such matter-of-fact questions, Mister Munday.”
    Munday smiled a forced grin that spread his seven o’clock shadow across his big battered face. From an inside pocket, he teased out an envelope, before placing it on Karl’s desk. The envelope wasn’t bulging, but Karl knew that thinness can sometimes conceal the fattest of rewards.
    “There’s five hundreds in there, Mister Kane. There’ll be another five, once you get me the information –
discreetly
, of course.” Munday edged the envelope tantalisingly closer to Karl’s itchy, tarantula-like fingers.
    An envelope with some good news? Whatever next? Two – no, one hundred to scumbags Dick and Dick; one for ungrateful Naomi; one for the extortionist phone company, and the rest for the poker game tonight …
    “I swear by discretion,” replied Karl, quickly pocketing the envelope.
    “Good. I’ll be in touch,” said Munday, rising.
    “Do you have a phone number, in case I need to contact you?”
    “I know where to find you,” stated Munday, closing the door gently behind him.
    A few seconds after Munday’s departure, the door reopened. “Well?” asked a beaming Naomi, entering the room, her hand outstretched. “My wages, please, thank you very much.”
    Shaking his head with disgust, Karl said, “I warned you about eavesdropping on my business transactions. You’ll take one hundred, and make me a cup of coffee.”
    “I’ll take two, and you’ll invite me out for a nice lunch at
Nick’s Warehouse.
”
    “Whatever happened to loyalty?” asked Karl, handing Naomi her overdue wage.
    In return, Naomi gave Karl the kind of kiss that promised a lot more fun to come later. “I’ll get both our coats. I’m starving.”
    Picking up the newspaper again, Karl scanned the article for further details on the corpse. Information on the body was sketchy, at best, speculation being king in print. One crucial detail was missing: gender.
    Karl’s arse began to itch, again.

C HAPTER T WO
A Winter’s Nightmarish Tale, 1966
    â€˜No one who, like me, conjures up the most evil of those half-tamed demons that inhabit the human breast, and seeks to wrestle with them, can expect to come through the struggle unscathed.’
    Sigmund Freud,
Dora: An Analysis of a Case of Hysteria
    T
HE YOUNG BOY
slithered out of bed, pyjamas soaked right through to his bones. For a full ten seconds he stood, awkwardly, legs apart, before ditching the wet garments, a plethora of goose pimples spreading over his naked body.
    The urine stench was becoming sharper in the room as he tried desperately to figure out his next move. The bedclothes? How could he get rid of them without exposing his shameful act to his parents?
    It wasn’t his father he was worried about, but his mother. She’d take no excuses, believing excuses only led to more excuses and further acts of shame. If only his father – his greatest ally – were home, and not at sea for the next two weeks
…
    Truth be told, the boy knew he should never have been so greedy last night, with the pilfered lemonade from the fridge. Now God was punishing him for his greed, his thieving. All those poor children in Africa with their fat, swollen bellies belying their starvation. His mother always made him watch those horrible documentaries while he attempted to eat his dinner, twisting his ear verbally and physically.
See? See how lucky you are? You keep sinning, and God’ll make you come back as one of those unfortunate children. You mark my words …
    The cupboard in the spare room housed fresh bedclothes, but it was directly across from his parents’ bedroom, on the next floor. He thought about it,