Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle Read Free

Max was always getting reprimanded about his lack of delegation skills.
    He was reading about the government’s latest harebrained scheme for reducing congestion on the country’s motorways when an announcement was made. Flight KL1073 had landed.
    Max nipped outside to smoke a cigarette and then stood to wait for the passengers to appear.
    Beside him, an attractive girl, probably early twenties, paced impatiently. Max guessed that, any minute now, a handsome young bloke would appear to sweep her off her feet.
    She checked her watch. Max checked his.
    Finally, the double doors swung open and passengers, mostly businessmen and -women, walked towards them.
    Max was wrong. His companion suddenly raced forward and launched herself at a young, blonde-haired girl. Max watched them leave, arm in arm, talking excitedly and giggling.
    Thomas McQueen was one of the last passengers to appear. Fifty-two years old, he wore his hair—long, lank and fair—in a ponytail.
    Recognition and a brief flash of anger crossed his face as he spotted Max.
    ‘Been taking a holiday, Tom?’ Max greeted him genially.
    ‘As a matter of fact I have.’ McQueen didn’t slow his pace.
    ‘Christmas shopping?’ Max suggested.
    ‘Expecting a present, Chief Inspector?’
    ‘I am.’ Max dodged a couple of people to keep pace with McQueen. ‘You behind bars.’
    ‘Behind bars for what?’ McQueen asked, a half-smile curving his thin lips.
    His lips were the only thin thing about him. His penchant for fine wines and top-class restaurants was piling on the weight and, as he was only around the five feet five mark, every pound added to the roly-poly image. Even his face was fat and bloated.
    ‘Anything. I’m not fussy,’ Max answered his question.
    The murder of a certain Muhammed Khalil would do for starters. Once they had him for that, they could worry about the rest.
    ‘You can’t pin anything on me, as well you know.’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Not ever.’ McQueen stopped walking to look up at Max. ‘You’ve had it in for me ever since that Khalil lad was killed. He happened to rent one of my properties, that’s all. Thankfully, a lot of people do. If they didn’t, I’d be out of business. I’ve committed no crime, Chief Inspector. None at all. In fact, the only lawbreaker around here is you. If I’m not mistaken, this is harassment.’
    ‘Eh? Just because I happen to bump into you at the airport?’
    ‘There’s that. There’s sitting outside my house for hours on end. There’s following me into certain bars. It’s harassment, plain and simple.’
    Put like that, Max supposed he had a point.
    ‘Do you know Bradley Johnson?’ Max asked, changing the subject. ‘Lives in—’
    ‘Kelton Bridge. Yes, I know him. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Seems he’s been reported missing.’
    ‘Oh?’ McQueen’s surprise seemed genuine.
    ‘Yes, his wife phoned us early this morning.’
    ‘He’s a big boy.’
    They reached fresh air and Max spotted McQueen’s driver, minder more like, jumping out of a black BMW to open the passenger door for his boss.
    ‘My car,’ McQueen said unnecessarily. ‘Be seeing you, Chief Inspector. But not quite so often in future, I trust.’
    McQueen handed his two bags and a black briefcase to his minder, John Barry, and, leaving him to stow them in the boot, jumped in the car.
    Unlike McQueen, Barry was in the peak of condition. An ex-boxer, he must still keep in training as his arms and shoulders were massive. His head, shaved and bullish, sat no more than an inch above those shoulders. He wasn’t the sort of bloke you argued with unless you had plenty of back-up.
    By the time Max got back to his own car, McQueen would have been halfway to Harrington. There was no point even thinking of trying to catch up with him. In any case, Max had work to do. Until he could find some hard evidence linking him to Muhammed Khalil’s murder, McQueen, sadly, was nothing more than a little extracurricular activity.
    Bad news was