Cremains

'Cremains' - Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

It's not every day that you see some old granny crushed to death under a baby grand piano, and I'm truly grateful for that. I really am. But the even bigger shock was that this woman – a complete stranger – would be coming back to haunt me in the days to come. Not in a spooky, walking-through-walls kind of way but something a lot more real and far more dangerous.

The inevitable small crowd had gathered round on the pavement to have a good gawp, of course, and not one of them was lifting so much as a finger to get the poor cow out from under the wreckage. Probably too late anyway. All that was visible of her was her blue rinse and one arm of a slightly less blue housecoat.

Two blokes in orange overalls were standing a few feet away from the ghoul brigade and staring up at a second-floor window of the four-storey apartment block. There was some kind of winch arrangement just above the window with about ten feet of rope dangling from it. At the bottom of the rope, half a dozen strips of webbing swayed gently in the breeze. Best guess? The two blokes in Guantanamo jumpsuits had been delivering or removing the joanna, and the old biddy had been standing right underneath it when the harness snapped. Wham, bam, and raspberry jam.

I'm not a great one for too much of the blood and gore, as it happens, so I carried on up the opposite side of the street without breaking stride. Second turning on the left and glad to see the BMW in its usual spot and with all its wheels still attached. Not that this is the sort of area where even the Rottweilers go round in pairs. Far from it, in fact, and I've got the mortgage repayments to prove it. On the other hand, leafy suburbia is exactly the type of place that some of the thieving little ne'er-do-wells like to target in the hope of richer spoils. Well, they can count me out on that score for a start 'cos I'm totally bloody skint right at this moment, although I'm expecting my fortunes to improve quite dramatically in a few short hours from now. Unless, that is, Alan and Scratch have made a complete bollocks of things, which, based on past experience, is not at all beyond the realms of possibility.

I took the rolled-up copy of The Times from under my arm and dropped it into a bin on the corner of the street, noticing that I'd built up quite a collection since it had last been emptied. Lazy bastards. It's not as if they don't get a shitload out of me in Council Tax.

I fished the plastic clicker thing out of my suit jacket and scored a direct hit on the Beamer's rear window, causing the usual clunking sound as the doors unlocked, and the hazard lights flashed. What do they call them? Smart keys, isn't it? Not so bloody smart the time when the battery ran out on the stupid piece of crap and locked me out until I remembered the strip of metal inside it that worked like some kind of pretend key. Late forties hardly qualifies me as one of those grumpy old gits who's constantly moaning on about how much better everything used to be in their day, but you knew where you were with a proper key, didn't you? Smarmy gimp at the showroom told me this was a top-of-the-range BMW and I couldn't have a proper ordinary key even if I paid extra. Told me if I was dead set on having a car with a key, 'Perhaps sir might want to consider a second-hand Morris Minor instead.' Cheeky twat.

I climbed in behind the wheel, plonked the briefcase on the passenger seat and tossed the rolled umbrella over into the back. Haven't needed it for days now, but it helps me look the part, that's for sure.

I fired up the engine. Nice purr. Almost worth the obscene amount of cash I had to fork out every month just for that sound. Carla would have had a blue fit if she knew I even had a Beamer, never mind that I was already way behind on the payments. As far as she was concerned, all we'd got was a four-year-old Honda Civic that spends most of its time sitting in the driveway. Still, there's a fair old bit that Carla doesn't know, and I'm definitely aiming to keep it that way.