Past Mortem Read Free Page A

you either had a cup of coffee or a cup of tea and cups were cups. Now everybody’s walking round clutching a bucket of chocolate-flavoured froth with Smarties on top.’
    ‘I think it’s great,’ Natasha said.
    They sat down. Natasha dug in her briefcase and produced a sheaf of interview notes, which she placed on the table between them. The statements had been taken by ten constables, and the pile was a thick one. As Natasha leant forward to read the index her breasts touched the top of the pile. Newson stared at the ceiling and made a mental note to get a grip.
    ‘Over two hundred people spoken to so far,’ Natasha said. ‘In the street, in the pubs, the local shops and at Bishop’s yard. They divide into two groups: people who were terrified of Adam Bishop and people who hadn’t met him.’
    ‘Family?’
    ‘Huge. All still connected and totally loyal.’
    ‘Terrified of him too, no doubt.’
    ‘Probably, but of course we haven’t talked to them properly yet. The doctor says we can interview the wife tomorrow. She’s all right, but a bit shocked.’
    ‘Well, you would be, wouldn’t you? Tied up in the kitchen all night listening to your husband being murdered.’
    ‘Yes, and from what I can gather so far it seems like the Bishops had a strong marriage. They took family very seriously and if Adam Bishop loved anything at all I think he loved his wife.’
    ‘And she reciprocated?’
    ‘We’ve heard no reason to presume otherwise.’
    ‘I suppose we should look into it.’
    ‘If you’re wondering whether she was involved, I think we’re going to turn up about a million more obvious suspects than her. I have a profile from the local police. They knew Adam Bishop well and he sounds like an absolute bastard. He ran a petty fiefdom in and around the Kilburn High Road. Neighbours, colleagues, business associates — all either danced to his tune or paid the price. The Willesden Bill don’t think this is a psycho thing at all, sexual or otherwise, and I don’t either. It’s a builder thing. Adam Bishop pushed his power too far and got done in by some angry rival or other.’
    ‘I don’t think angry rivals in the building trade do their killing with blunt five-centimetre-long spikes.’
    ‘Look, Ed, I know you’re very clever and all that, but don’t you think you’re being a bit too clever here? I mean, why don’t we just pursue the obvious?’
    ‘That’s what I’m doing, and it’s obvious to me that this is no ordinary revenge killing.’
    ‘And it’s obvious to me that it was. Adam Bishop was a disgusting, ugly pig of a man. I refuse to believe that anybody seeking psychopathic sexual gratification would choose a lump like that to stick his prick into, or anything else for that matter.’
    ‘Well, that’s a very blinkered thing to say,’ said Newson. ‘You’ve been a policewoman long enough to know that it takes all sorts to make a world. Just because a person is ostensibly unattractive doesn’t preclude them from sexual activity or from being sexually appealing. Otherwise where the hell would that leave me?’
    If Newson had hoped that Natasha would instantly assure him that he was not remotely ostensibly unattractive he was disappointed.
    ‘Look at the bloke, Ed,’ Natasha said, producing ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures of Adam Bishop from her bag. ‘Tell me this killing is sexual.’
    ‘You’re being subjective. Go into Google and do a search on ‘torturing fat ugly men’. I bet you score twenty hits straight off. In fact it’s occurred to me that we may not be dealing with a murder here at all but a consensual sadomasochistic liaison that just went too far. Bishop may have wanted to be stabbed and milked of his blood.’
    ‘Stabbed in the eyes?’ Natasha asked rather too loudly, causing people around the café to look up from their frothy cups.
    ‘Yes, very possibly in the eyes,’ Newson hissed. ‘Remember the case in Germany where some nutter agreed to have his