The Poisoned Pawn Read Free Page A

it’s like, living every day with that disfigurement. I’m sure he thinks of his best friend every time he looks in the mirror.”
    “Can’t they do something about those scars with plastic surgery?”
    “Now, that I don’t know. He’s still recovering, Martin. I’m worried about him. First Steve was killed and Michael so badly mutilated in the same attack. And now his own wife has passed away without him even knowing. He’s a good man, but there’s only so much anyone can handle before they break. Best give me the keys, man. You’re starting to weave.”
    Mullins handed the car keys over sheepishly. He stepped around to the passenger side of the unmarked car. O’Malley folded himself into the driver’s seat.
    “She was gorgeous, that wife of his. I could never be anywhere near her for more than a minute or two before I had to excuse myself and find a place to settle down, if you know what I mean. Thick blonde hair, long legs, a little thin for my taste, but a lovely woman nonetheless. I’ll tell you this, whatever they say in public, a lot of officers’ wives will be glad she won’t be flirting with their husbands at the Christmas parties anymore. My own included.”
    The patrolman turned his head towards Ellis’s house as he pulled his car door closed. “Did you hear that?”
    “Hear what, son? I don’t hear anything. Too late for fireworks. It’s long past midnight.”
    “It must be my imagination. I could have sworn I heard him laughing.”

FOUR
    Inspector Ricardo Ramirez rolled out of bed, groaning. He walked heavily to the kitchen and picked up the phone, scratching himself sleepily.
    “This is the clerk to the Minister of the Interior,” a woman said. “The minister wants to see you immediately. He is extremely busy, comrade, getting ready for the Liberation Day festivities. You should be grateful he is taking time from his busy schedule to interrupt your holiday.”
    Unfortunately for Ramirez, Francesca did not share his gratitude. Examining a corpse at a crime scene, even one so badly decomposed, he thought later, would have been preferable.
    “I’m sorry, Francesca,” he said, as his wife walked into the kitchen, her hair tousled, “but I have to meet with the Minister of the Interior. It shouldn’t take long.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “You promised we would go to the opera today, Ricardo. Can’t they leave you alone for a single day?”
    “I’ll get the tickets as soon as we’re finished, I promise.”
    “You’d better hope there are still tickets left,” she said, frowning. “I’ll believe you once we are actually sitting in thetheatre, listening to the Peachums plot to murder their son-in-law for his money.”
    Ramirez kissed her on the side of the mouth. “Sweetheart, I’d better get dressed and get going or I’ll be late.”
    “Will he even notice if you’re not there?” she said. “That man is such an idiot.”
    Ramirez dashed down the three flights of stairs to the street and started up his car. He drove quickly through Old Havana, steering the mini-car around ancient taxis, his hand kept firmly on the horn.
    The small blue car sliced cleanly through crowds of hungover, sunburned revellers who made the nearly fatal mistake of thinking the sidewalks were safe. Ramirez was amused at how quickly even non-athletic, middle-aged men leaped out of the way like Chinese acrobats as the car hurtled to its destination. But being late for a meeting with a member of the inner Cabinet was at least a disciplinary offence, if not a capital one.
    The dead cigar lady slid sideways on the passenger seat. She clung to the door handle as the car skidded to a stop. Ramirez had not yet been able to get her to communicate with him. She seemed to think the large knife sticking out of her chest was all he needed to know.
    In the hours since she’d materialized in the police parking lot, she’d spent most of her time looking disappointed in him. She must have been someone’s