On the Seventh Day of Christmas
Dec. 31st, 2005 05:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
franceslievensPrevious parts
“Yeah, I know Gracie.”
“When was that?”
“Ten, maybe twelve years ago. She was Marshall's girlfriend, one of Sam's henchmen. The only henchman he ever had I think. Died a couple of years back in some horrible carcrash.”
“I remember. Had to investigate his death.”
“Marshall tried to get Gracie to do the streets as well. Make money for him. But she never took the bait. Was much too smart for that. She got a uni degree and everything now.”
There fell a silence between them. Gavarni took another sip from his coffee. How came he didn't know about Grace Saunders in the first place? She had to practically lead him towards Irene herself, although he had known her as an informant for over ten years now. She had been one of his very first contacts when he got transferred to this part of the city. “You still see her Irene?”
“Yeah, she stops by now and then. Talks with the girls. Helps the ones that want out. Isn't she a lawyer or something?”
Gavarni shrugged. “And on Christmas day?”
“She'd been round on Christmas Eve, talking mainly with Layla. Things weren't going fab with her. Well, seems Gracie couldn't help her after all. She killed herself only a day later.”
The fat guy looked surprised. “But how did she end up in the canal?”
“Well, someone chucked her in, didn't they?”
“But who, Irene?”
“That's something I shouldn't be helping you with, Gavarni. I think you've got all the pieces of the puzzle. Just gotta put them together.”
Gavarni frowned for a second and then his face lit up. He smiled at the whore in front of him who was lighting a cigarette. She returned the smile. “See, I told yah you knew.”
The old detective studied the face of the woman in front of him. Once she might have been beautiful. She might. Now he saw grey roots in her hair that was died orange. She wore too much lipstick and her teeth and fingers were yellowed from too many cigarettes. Gavarni realised she wasn't making much money in her profession these days. “Don't you want to get out, Irene?”
“No, I'm too old for that, love.”
“Did you never consider it when you were younger?”
“Yes I did. Once. But I figured there were always going to be lads like you looking for information. And when I was gone who would be their eyes and ears?”
Gavarni got up and put some bank notes on the table. “For the coffee,” he said, but both he and Irene knew that coffees in a dump right next to the canal don't cost that much.
“Yeah, I know Gracie.”
“When was that?”
“Ten, maybe twelve years ago. She was Marshall's girlfriend, one of Sam's henchmen. The only henchman he ever had I think. Died a couple of years back in some horrible carcrash.”
“I remember. Had to investigate his death.”
“Marshall tried to get Gracie to do the streets as well. Make money for him. But she never took the bait. Was much too smart for that. She got a uni degree and everything now.”
There fell a silence between them. Gavarni took another sip from his coffee. How came he didn't know about Grace Saunders in the first place? She had to practically lead him towards Irene herself, although he had known her as an informant for over ten years now. She had been one of his very first contacts when he got transferred to this part of the city. “You still see her Irene?”
“Yeah, she stops by now and then. Talks with the girls. Helps the ones that want out. Isn't she a lawyer or something?”
Gavarni shrugged. “And on Christmas day?”
“She'd been round on Christmas Eve, talking mainly with Layla. Things weren't going fab with her. Well, seems Gracie couldn't help her after all. She killed herself only a day later.”
The fat guy looked surprised. “But how did she end up in the canal?”
“Well, someone chucked her in, didn't they?”
“But who, Irene?”
“That's something I shouldn't be helping you with, Gavarni. I think you've got all the pieces of the puzzle. Just gotta put them together.”
Gavarni frowned for a second and then his face lit up. He smiled at the whore in front of him who was lighting a cigarette. She returned the smile. “See, I told yah you knew.”
The old detective studied the face of the woman in front of him. Once she might have been beautiful. She might. Now he saw grey roots in her hair that was died orange. She wore too much lipstick and her teeth and fingers were yellowed from too many cigarettes. Gavarni realised she wasn't making much money in her profession these days. “Don't you want to get out, Irene?”
“No, I'm too old for that, love.”
“Did you never consider it when you were younger?”
“Yes I did. Once. But I figured there were always going to be lads like you looking for information. And when I was gone who would be their eyes and ears?”
Gavarni got up and put some bank notes on the table. “For the coffee,” he said, but both he and Irene knew that coffees in a dump right next to the canal don't cost that much.
