Not Dead Enough

said.
    ‘Memory need a jog, does it? Would a day in a custody cell help? Be difficult to get your drugs there, wouldn’t it?’
    ‘Fuck off. Leave me alone.’
    Packer looked at the young woman, who did not seem to know where to put herself. She grabbed her cash and her card and fled.
    ‘I’m clean,’ Skunk suddenly added sullenly.
    ‘I know that, mate. I don’t want to bust you. Just wondered if you’d like to give me some information.’
    ‘What’s in it for me?’
    ‘What do you know about Barry Spiker?’
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    A fire engine screamed down North Street, siren louder than a ship’s foghorn, and Packer waited for it to pass by. ‘Yes, you have. You do jobs for him.’
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    ‘So that Audi convertible you were swanning around the seafront in on Friday night – that was your car, was it?’
    ‘Dunno what you mean.’
    ‘I think you do. There was a car following you, an unmarked police car. I was in it. You drive pretty well,’ he said, with grudging admiration.
    ‘Na. Dunno what you mean.’
    Packer put his stump of an index finger right up close to Skunk’s face. ‘I’ve got a long memory, Skunk. Understand.’
    ‘I did time for that.’
    ‘And then you came out, but my finger didn’t come back, and I’m still pretty pissed off, so I’m going to make a deal with you. Either I’m going to be in your face for the rest of your shitty little life, or you help me.’
    After some moments’ silence, Skunk said, ‘What kind of help?’
    ‘Information. Just a phone call, that’s all. Just a phone call from you next time Spiker gives you a job.’
    ‘And then?’
    Packer explained what he wanted Skunk to do. When he had finished he said, ‘Then we’ll call it quits.’
    ‘And I get arrested, right?’
    ‘No, we don’t touch you. And I’m out of your face. Do we have a deal?’
    ‘Is there any cash in it for me?’
    Packer looked down at him. He was such a pathetic figure, the DC suddenly felt sorry for him. ‘We’ll bung you something afterwards, as a reward. Deal?’
    Skunk gave a limp, indifferent shrug.
    ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

74
    Saturday’s press conference had been bad enough, but this one now was even worse. Around fifty people were crammed into the briefing room and a lot more than on Saturday were packed along the corridor. A capacity house, Grace thought grimly. The only good thing was that he had heavyweight support here this morning.
    Flanking him on either side, so they formed a line of three in front of the concave board carrying the Sussex Police website address and the Crimestoppers legend, were Assistant Chief Constable Alison Vosper, who had changed clothes since he left her office and was now wearing her spotless, freshly pressed uniform, and the Brighton Police Divisional Commander, Chief Superintendent Ken Brickhill, a blunt, plain-speaking policeman of the old school, in his equally immaculate uniform. A tough individual, Brickhill had no time for the politically correct lobby, and would happily hang most of the villains in Brighton and Hove, given half a chance. Unsurprisingly, he was respected by just about everyone who had ever served under him.
    Some of the windows in here actually opened, but even so, with sunlight beating through the blinds, it was stiflingly hot. Someone made a quip about the Black Hole of Calcutta, while the press officer, flamboyantly but slightly shabbily dressed Dennis Ponds, squeezed his way around the table to join the trio, muttering an excuse for being late.
    Ponds started by leaning too closely to the microphone, so that his first words were almost lost in squawk-back. ‘Good morning,’ he said, starting again, his rather unctuous, ingratiating voice clearer this time. ‘This press conference will start with Detective Superintendent Grace running through the investigations into the deaths of Mrs Katherine Bishop and Miss Sophie Harrington. Then Assistant Chief Constable Vosper and Chief Superintendent Brickhill, Divisional Commander of Brighton Police, will talk about the community and the public at large.’ He handed over to Grace with a theatrical sweep of his arm and stepped away.
    Flashbulbs strobed for some moments, as Roy Grace outlined the details of the investigation so far. He of course didn’t tell them everything, but kept to the facts on times and events, confirming a lot of information that they already knew. He appealed in respect of both investigations for