Page 110 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

law. “Well, from what little I saw of it, the book basically lists ways to
commit suicide while making it look accidental in order to defraud an
insurer.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That figures. Right. Now, you’ve got to get
upstairs. Don’t worry: I’ll be nearby, and I’ll have back-up.”
“Worry? Me? Whatever for? You just confiscated my passport to
the good life.”
“Yes, but any life is better than none. Just go to your office and do
exactly as I say. I’ve been up there already and I have a good idea of
what’s going to happen. But you have to do your part.”
“Okay.” I was tired of being ordered about, but that’s how it goes
when you’re not self-employed.
“Go into your office and sit at your desk in front of your
computer. But slump down as if you’d fallen asleep while working. If
anyone comes in, don’t move. Try not to breathe, even. Can you do
that?”
“Oh, sure. I’m barely breathing now.”
“I’m serious.” She really was. “Please go now.”
I went, dejected and apprehensive. No brass ring, no pot of gold at
the end of the rainbow, no plum for Little Jack Horner. Just a bit of
play-acting for an overbearing policewoman. Well, it would soon be
over, this stupid charade, and I would probably be among the ranks
of the unemployed. I slumped there thinking about the nasty things
Fletcher Mallard would have to say when he learned the Lesley job
had been bungled.
I thought, too, about the few pages of the manuscript I had
scanned on Lesley’s computer. What a bizarre topic! No wonder
Cornish Rock wanted to get that book! Get it and keep it out of
circulation, if they really feared it would start an epidemic of fake
fatal accidents. And Art Lesley had written the introduction as if to
tweak their noses, to rouse them into buying the rights and
suppressing the book. But Mallard Books, limited resources
notwithstanding, had gotten it instead. Something in that
introduction rang a bell in my head, some slight turn of phrase I had
recently heard, quite by coincidence. Or was it? I concentrated. Yes,
now I remembered. Something about stirring a ripple on the
profitability of insurance companies. An odd locution, to be sure, but
vintage Art Lesley. And who else had used it? I trawled through

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