yanked me out, is it? What, you spooks, or politicals?’ The policeman stabbed an angry finger at Doyle. ‘You stitch me up and think you’re going to get one inch of co-operation out of the Met?’
Doyle shaped a telephone out of thumb and finger and stuck his hand by his ear. ‘If I need a car towed, I’ll be sure to speed-dial you, chief inspector. Enjoy the match at Twickenham.’
‘Wanker!’
‘That’s just speaking ill of the dead.’
Thorson’s eyes wrinkled in despair as Dourdan slammed the door behind him. She sighed and didn’t bother to disguise her irritation with Doyle. ‘Next time, why don’t we place Spads in charge of police liaison?’
‘Spads would only rub the chief inspector up the wrong way. This is as fun as it gets. How about it, Spads… how much potential rammage is the Orifice up for with this one?’
‘I’m past the encryption,’ said the hacker. ‘Get over here quick. The file’s going to lock under a fresh key as soon as it’s played a second time.’
Doyle and Thorson sprinted behind the laptop, the light of the movie file washing over them. It lasted for two minutes and, much like the head of security who’d seen it play the first time, Doyle wished he could just call for help and then vanish to safety.
‘Shit,’ said Doyle. ‘I mean really. Shit .’
‘I don’t suppose it’s too late to ask the court to wave through my extradition to the States,’ said Spads. ‘Right now, being locked up in the Florence Supermax is looking pretty good.’
‘You still think we’re not going to need her help,’ asked Thorson.
‘You tell me,’ said Doyle. ‘You’re the one who has worked with her. She was before my time.’
‘You need her. We need her.’
‘Do it, then,’ ordered Doyle, half a groan. ‘Put the wheels in motion to get her out.’ He tapped the computer. ‘Get me a copy of this film. A clean one, not the kind that ends with “This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Spads.” I want the file unencrypted for good.’
Thorson raised an eyebrow. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the porcelain throne.’ Doyle reached for the door behind the corpse. He had changed his mind about the bidet. As far as his poor suffering digestion as concerned, this was turning out to be a Three Flush Mystery. But then, the office didn’t get lumbered with any other sort.
CHAPTER TWO – DANCING WITH NIVEN
Psychiatric care had come a long way since the days of Bedlam. When Victorian gentlemen would pay to bring their families into mental homes of a Sunday afternoon and poke sharp sticks through the cages, hand over good money to be regaled by tales of prisoners’ crimes of slaughter and sexual deviancy. Why, you could glance around her room with its thick comfortable rug and television and cosy oak reading table and you’d hardly know that you were inside a cell. Apart from the nearly blank wall that concealed the one-way mirror and the viewing room. And the straitjacket binding Agatha Witchly’s arms, of course. Her jacket was making it hard to dance with David Niven, the old actor’s ghost wearing the same Royal Airforce uniform he had worn his 1946 hit, A Matter of Life and Death . The irony of his choice of clothing wasn’t lost on Agatha. Niven had played a ghost in the film, returned to make peace with his true love, played by the actress Kim Hunter. Agatha wasn’t anyone’s true love now, but if there is one thing she did know about ghosts, it was that you couldn’t choose who would come to visit you, or when.
‘Are they still watching?’ Agatha asked Niven as the ghost held her, not too taut, not too loose, both of them turning to the tune of The Specials’ Ghost Town playing on the television’s digital radio setting.
‘Yes,’ Niven smiled, reassuringly. ‘Three doctors and a nurse, the oldest one is dictating notes to his intern.’
‘That would be Doctor Bishop,’ Agatha whispered. She made sure she
Doyle shaped a telephone out of thumb and finger and stuck his hand by his ear. ‘If I need a car towed, I’ll be sure to speed-dial you, chief inspector. Enjoy the match at Twickenham.’
‘Wanker!’
‘That’s just speaking ill of the dead.’
Thorson’s eyes wrinkled in despair as Dourdan slammed the door behind him. She sighed and didn’t bother to disguise her irritation with Doyle. ‘Next time, why don’t we place Spads in charge of police liaison?’
‘Spads would only rub the chief inspector up the wrong way. This is as fun as it gets. How about it, Spads… how much potential rammage is the Orifice up for with this one?’
‘I’m past the encryption,’ said the hacker. ‘Get over here quick. The file’s going to lock under a fresh key as soon as it’s played a second time.’
Doyle and Thorson sprinted behind the laptop, the light of the movie file washing over them. It lasted for two minutes and, much like the head of security who’d seen it play the first time, Doyle wished he could just call for help and then vanish to safety.
‘Shit,’ said Doyle. ‘I mean really. Shit .’
‘I don’t suppose it’s too late to ask the court to wave through my extradition to the States,’ said Spads. ‘Right now, being locked up in the Florence Supermax is looking pretty good.’
‘You still think we’re not going to need her help,’ asked Thorson.
‘You tell me,’ said Doyle. ‘You’re the one who has worked with her. She was before my time.’
‘You need her. We need her.’
‘Do it, then,’ ordered Doyle, half a groan. ‘Put the wheels in motion to get her out.’ He tapped the computer. ‘Get me a copy of this film. A clean one, not the kind that ends with “This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Spads.” I want the file unencrypted for good.’
Thorson raised an eyebrow. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the porcelain throne.’ Doyle reached for the door behind the corpse. He had changed his mind about the bidet. As far as his poor suffering digestion as concerned, this was turning out to be a Three Flush Mystery. But then, the office didn’t get lumbered with any other sort.
CHAPTER TWO – DANCING WITH NIVEN
Psychiatric care had come a long way since the days of Bedlam. When Victorian gentlemen would pay to bring their families into mental homes of a Sunday afternoon and poke sharp sticks through the cages, hand over good money to be regaled by tales of prisoners’ crimes of slaughter and sexual deviancy. Why, you could glance around her room with its thick comfortable rug and television and cosy oak reading table and you’d hardly know that you were inside a cell. Apart from the nearly blank wall that concealed the one-way mirror and the viewing room. And the straitjacket binding Agatha Witchly’s arms, of course. Her jacket was making it hard to dance with David Niven, the old actor’s ghost wearing the same Royal Airforce uniform he had worn his 1946 hit, A Matter of Life and Death . The irony of his choice of clothing wasn’t lost on Agatha. Niven had played a ghost in the film, returned to make peace with his true love, played by the actress Kim Hunter. Agatha wasn’t anyone’s true love now, but if there is one thing she did know about ghosts, it was that you couldn’t choose who would come to visit you, or when.
‘Are they still watching?’ Agatha asked Niven as the ghost held her, not too taut, not too loose, both of them turning to the tune of The Specials’ Ghost Town playing on the television’s digital radio setting.
‘Yes,’ Niven smiled, reassuringly. ‘Three doctors and a nurse, the oldest one is dictating notes to his intern.’
‘That would be Doctor Bishop,’ Agatha whispered. She made sure she
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