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'Very well,' I replied, covering my eyes. 'I'll prove it to you. Speak to me in turn but leave off your speech designators.'
'Okay,' said Unnamed Police Officer #1, 'who is this talking?'
'And who is this?' added Dr Singh.
'I said leave off your speech designators. Try again.'
'It's harder than you think,' sighed Unnamed Police Officer #1. 'Okay, here goes.'
There was a pause.
'Which one of us is talking now?'
'And who am I?'
'Mrs Singh first, Unnamed Police Officer #1 second. Was I correct?'
'Amazing!' murmured Mrs Singh. 'How do you do that?'
'I can recognise your voices. I have a sense of smell, too.'
'No kidding? Do you know anyone in publishing?'
'None who would help. My husband is, or was, an author, but his contacts wouldn't know me from Eve at present. I'm a SpecOps officer; I don't have much to do with contemporary fiction.'
'SpecOps?' queried UPO #2. 'What's that?'
'We're going to be scrapped, you know,' interrupted Briggs, 'unless we can get a publisher.'
'We could be broken down into letters,' added UPO #1 in a hushed tone, 'cast into the Text Sea; and I have a wife and two kids – or at least, in my backstory I do.'
'I can't help you,' I told them, 'I'm not even—'
'Places, please!' yelled Briggs so suddenly I jumped.
The pathologist and the two unnamed officers hurried back to their places and awaited Jack, who I could hear talking to someone in the house.
'Good luck,' hissed Briggs from the side of his mouth as he motioned me to sit on a low wall. 'I'll prompt you if you dry.'
'Thanks.'
DCI Briggs was sitting on a low wall with a plainclothes policewoman who busied herself taking notes and did not look up. Briggs stood as Jack entered and looked at his watch in an unsubtle way. Jack answered the unasked question in the defensive, which he soon realised was a mistake.
'I'm sorry, sir, I came here as quick as I could.'
Briggs grunted and waved a hand in the direction of the corpse.
'It looks like he died from gunshot wounds,' he said grimly, 'discovered dead at 8.47 this morning.'
'Anything else I need to know?' asked Spratt.
'A couple of points. First, the deceased is the nephew of crime boss Angel DeFablio, so I wanted someone good with the press in case the media decide to have a bonanza. Second, I'm giving you this job as a favour. You're not exactly first seed with the seventh floor at the moment. There are some people who want to see you take a fall – and I don't want that to happen.'
'Is there a third point?'
'No one else is available.'
'I preferred it when there were only two.'
