me, or you can arrest me and we'll go down to the sta¬tion and I don't say a word until my brief arrives. You choose." I gave the pair of them my sweetest smile, some¬how choking down the anger. I knew whose hand was behind this. It had Cliff Jackson's sadistic fingerprints all over it.
Linda breathed out hard through her nose and com¬pressed her lips into a thin line. I imagined she was think¬ing about the rocket Cliff Jackson was going to fire at her when she got back to base without me meekly following at her heels. That wasn't my problem, and I wasn't going to be guilt-tripped into behaving as if it was. When I made no response, Linda shrugged and said, "We'd better have that brew, then."
The pair of them followed me down the path and into the house. I pointed at the living room, told them they were having coffee and brewed it up in the kitchen, des¬perately trying to figure out why Jackson had sent a team around to hassle me. I dripped a pot of coffee while I thought about it, laying milk, sugar, mugs, and spoons on a tray at the same time. By the time the coffee was done, I was no nearer an answer. I was going to have to opt for the obvious and ask Linda Shaw.
I walked through the living room door, dumped the tray on the coffee table in front of the detectives, and took the initiative. "This had better be good, Linda," I said. "I have had a bitch of a week, and it's only Tuesday. Tell me why I'm sitting here talking to you instead of running myself a long hot bath."
Linda flashed a quick look at her partner, who was enjoying himself far too much to help her out. He leaned forward and poured out three mugs of coffee. Looking like she'd bitten into a pickled lemon, Linda said, "We've received an allegation which my inspector felt merited investigation."
"From whom? About whom?" I demanded, best gram¬mar on show.
She poured milk into her coffee and made a major pro¬duction number out of stirring it. "Our informant alleges that you have engaged in a campaign of threats against the life of one Richard Barclay."
I was beyond speech. I was beyond movement. I sat with my mouth open, hand halfway toward a mug of cof¬fee, like a Damien Hirst installation floating motionless in formaldehyde.
"The complainant alleges that this harassment has included placing false death announcements in the local press. We have verified that such an advert has appeared. And now Mr. Barclay appears to have gone missing," the male detective asserted, sitting back in his seat, legs wide apart, arm along the back of the sofa, asserting himself all over my living room.
Anger kicked in. "And this informant. It wouldn't be an anonymous tip-off, would it?"
He looked at her, his face puzzled, hers resigned. "You know we can't disclose that," Linda said wearily. "But we have been trying without success to contact Mr. Barclay since nine this morning, and as my colleague says, we have confirmed that a death announcement was placed in the Chronicle containing false information. It does appear that you have some explaining to do, Ms. Brannigan." Any more apologetic and you could have used her voice as a doormat.
I'd had enough. "Bollocks," I said. "We both know what's really happening here. You get an anonymous tip-off and your boss rubs his hands with glee. Oh goody, a borderline legitimate excuse to nip around and make Brannigan's life a misery. You've got no evidence that any crime has taken place. Even if somebody did place a bull¬shit ad in the Chronicle, and The Times too for all I know or care, you've got nothing to indicate it's anything other than a practical joke or that it's anything at all to do with me." My voice rose in outrage. I knew I was on firm ground; I'd paid for the Chronicle announcement cash on the nail, making sure I popped in at lunchtime when the classified ads department is at its busiest.
"It's our duty to investigate serious allegations," the Tyson look-alike rumbled. "And so far you haven't explained why anyone would want to accuse you of a serious crime like this. I mean, it's not the sort of thing most people do unless they've got a good reason for it. Like knowing about some crime you've committed, Ms. Brannigan."
I stood up. I was inches away from