Bad Samaritan by Michael J. Malone Page A

would only be enough to cause damage to Ken’s health. Which wouldn’t be enough for his purposes. Migraine, nausea and dizziness ain’t fatal. Kidney failure or tachycardia could lead to complications, but again, would be to slow to push the man into his coffin.
    The levels needed to be high enough to kill. And by his reckoning, once they were at that level it would only be a matter of minutes.
    â€˜That’s me, Ken,’ Jim shouted above the people shouting on the TV. ‘Are you cold? Want me to leave the heating on?’
    â€˜Aye, please,’ said Ken. ‘There is a wee chill in the air.’

9
    We’re at muster and reviewing the case information so far. Harkie and the new girl are detailing the results of the samples taken from the victim. Semen was identified on her clothing and skin was lodged under her fingernails.
    â€˜They’re going to run the DNA through the database, see if we can get a match.’ The new girl sounds hugely optimistic. Cases rarely run quite that smoothly, but I don’t want to ruin her feel-good mood, so settle for a nod by way of thanks. The best lessons are the ones you learn for yourself. Better that than me sounding like a miserable shit.
    â€˜Emma and Claire, the two “it” girls from university are proving difficult to find, Ray.’
    â€˜What? You were with Daryl Drain, the notorious womaniser, and you couldn’t find two attractive young ladies?’ I ask.
    Daryl leans back in his seat, crosses his arms. ‘Changed man, mate. Since I met Cath my days of scouting for talent are over.’
    Ale blows through her pursed lip. Then, ‘Aye. Right.’
    â€˜Honest.’ Daryl looks wounded. ‘Cross my heart. From now on, I’m a one-woman man.’
    Looks of scepticism through the room.
    â€˜Naw, don’t, DD,’ says Harkie. ‘My sex life is entirely vicarious. Through your shenanigans.’
    Drain shudders. ‘Man, that is a horrible thought and jeezuz, what did I do to deserve such a bad rep?’
    â€˜Anyway,’ I interrupt before someone sounds off a list. ‘Anybody got anything else?’
    â€˜Aye,’ says Drain. ‘Spoke to a few more of the neighbours, and they all confirmed that neither Mr or Mrs Banks left the house that night.’
    Which means we can score Dad off the potential list of suspects.
    â€˜What about the ex-boyfriend? Who was chasing him up?’
    The phone rings. Ale answers. Listens. Whatever she hears has her mouth form an “o” of surprise. She hangs up.
    â€˜That’s Dumbarton Road police station. They’ve just locked up Mr Banks. Seems he went looking for the ex-boyfriend and tried to tear his head off.’
    My stomach lurches. ‘Is the boy badly hurt?’ The Banks have enough to contend with. No need to add GBH or worse to their lot.
    â€˜Didn’t say. He’s been taken to hospital to assess his wounds.’
    â€˜Right. Ale, you’re with me. We’re going to see Mr Banks. Daryl, you get back on the hunt for Emma and Claire. Take Nick with you. He might improve your chances.’
    * * *
    Over at the Dumbarton Road office, the desk sergeant is Ron McKie. He’s one of the good guys. A don’t-take-any-crap attitude married with a generous dollop of common sense goes a long way in his position. Ron and I go back some. He was always a man that was willing to listen to the new boys. Kept them right but tore a strip off them if need be. He rests his capacious belly on the front desk and assesses Alessandra. Not in a lecherous, “who’s the totty” kind of way. But, he would have taken in her level gaze and confident stance and immediately thought: aye, we’ve got a good wan here .
    â€˜Awright, Ed?’ he says when he sees me. He is a keen reader of US crime fiction, and I ’d almost forgotten the nickname he had granted me all those years ago. ‘Soon as we put your