Let the Dead Lie Read Free

home.'
    Emmanuel
tilted the torch beam away from the teenager's face. Violent death was
shocking but the violent death of a child was different; the effects sank
deeper and lingered longer. Amal was only a few years older than Jolly and
probably still a schoolboy.
    'Sit
down and rest against the wall,' he said.
    Amal
sank to the ground and sucked breath in through an opened mouth. A panic attack
was on the cards. 'Are you going to . . . to . . . arrest us, Detective?'
    Emmanuel
took a small flask from his jacket pocket and unscrewed the lid. He handed it
to Amal, who pulled back.
    'I
don't drink. My mother says it makes you stupid.'
    'Make
an exception for tonight,' Emmanuel said. 'It's mostly coffee, anyway.'
    The
teenager took a slurp and coughed till fat tears spilled from his eyes. Parthiv
gave a derisive snort, embarrassed by his younger brother's inability to hold
liquor. Emmanuel pocketed the flask and checked the narrow alley between the
warehouse wall and the goods train.
    He
had a body in the open, no murder weapon and two witnesses who, in all
probability, had stumbled onto the crime scene. This was a detective's
nightmare - but also a detective's dream. The scene was all his. There were no
foot police to trample evidence into the mud and no senior detectives jockeying
for control of the investigation.
    Clumps
of vegetation imbedded in the gravel shuddered in a sudden breeze. Beyond Jolly's
body, the butt of a hand-rolled cigarette blew on the ground. Emmanuel picked
it up and smelled it - vanilla and chocolate. It was a special blend of
flavoured tobacco.
    'You
smoke, Parthiv?' Emmanuel asked over his shoulder.
    'Of
course.'
    'What
brand?'
    'Old
Gold. They're American.'
    'I
know,' Emmanuel said. Half the Yank army had puffed their way across Europe on
Old Gold and Camel. For a few years it had seemed that the smell of freedom was
American tobacco and corned beef. Old Gold was a mass-market cigarette
imported into South Africa. The vanilla and chocolate tobacco was probably made
to order.
    'What
about you, Amal? Do you smoke?'
    'No.'
    'Not
even a puff after school?'
    'Only
once. I didn't like it. It hurt my lungs.'
    Parthiv
snorted again.
    Emmanuel
shone the beam on Jolly's hands and face. Amal looked away. There were no
defence wounds on the boy's hands despite the open penknife. The killer had
worked fast and with maximum efficiency. Maybe it was the night chill that made
the murder read cold and dispassionate. The word 'professional' came to
Emmanuel's mind; hardly a description that fitted either one of the Dutta boys.
He played the torchlight over the rough ground again, looking for hard
evidence. Jolly's order book was nowhere near the body.
    A
coupling creaked in the darkness. Parthiv and Amal focused on an object in the
gloom of the freight yard behind him. Emmanuel swivelled and a black hole
opened up and swallowed him.

CHAPTER TWO
     
    Something
powerful forced a sack over Emmanuel's head and pulled it down hard over his
shoulders. Rough hessian scraped against his face. He smelled rotting potatoes.
Air hissed from his lungs and muscular arms tightened around his chest like
pythons. He was lifted into the air and his feet dangled beneath him like those
of a child on a swing.
    He
could feel a face pressed between his shoulderblades. The man holding him was
small, with the strength of a troll. Emmanuel twisted to try to break the hold.
The arms tightened a fraction, enough for Emmanuel to feel the slow crush of
his own bones. He stopped struggling and listened to the angry chatter of
voices talking in overlapping Hindi. He had no idea what was being said and
couldn't judge from the tone if it was good or bad news for him.
    'Shut
up, Amal,' Parthiv snapped in English. 'Find our torch and make sure we haven't
dropped anything. I'll get the car.'
    'He's
a policeman,' Amal said. 'We have to let him go.'
    'No
chance. Not after you spilled our real names.'
    'What
about the boy?' Amal said.
    'Someone
will find him