The Easy Sin by Jon Cleary

Standing behind him, more solidly fleshed, are developers and estate agents wondering how much higher they can push property prices.
    Errol Magee had had the sense not to call his building I-Saw House. It had a number, was twelve storeys high and stood between two high-rise blocks of units—excuse me, apartments. Other high-rise buildings ran down to the water's edge, a wall of cliff. Gulls cruised the upper storeys as if looking for ledges on which to nest.
    Sheryl, true to her training, parked in a No Standing zone. The three of them got out of the car and went into the building and up to the executive floor. There was no one in the lobby and no one in the lifts. Malone had the abrupt feeling that he was entering a shell.
    The executive floor was like none that Malone had ever been on. A receptionist lolled in a chair behind a desk on which were two computers. Behind her were empty work-stations, yards from which the horses had bolted. In the far distance two men sat behind a long table.
    â€œCan I help you?” She was in her early twenties, jeans and a plaid shirt open almost to her belt. She was pretty but appeared to have done everything she could to avoid the label. “Oh, it's you, Kylie! Hi.”
    â€œThese are the police, Louise. Who's in today?”
    The girl looked over her shoulder towards the far distance, then turned back. She hadn't risen. “Just Jared. You want to see him?”
    â€œNo,” said Malone, “she doesn't want to see him. I do, Inspector Malone. Now do you think you could stir yourself and tell Jared we're here and that I'm not a patient man? Right, Detective Dallen?”
    â€œOh, boss,” said Sheryl, “you have a terrible temper. Better do what he says, love.”
    The girl looked at Kylie as if to say, Where’d you dig up these two ? Then she got up and sauntered down towards the end of the room.
    Malone looked at Kylie. “Are they all like that who work in IT? Rude and laid back?”
    For the first time since leaving Minto she smiled. “No. But she's a mathematical whiz, she's not really the receptionist. The girl they had had manners.”
    â€œWhere's she now?” Malone looked around. “Where's everybody?”
    Kylie shrugged, the smile suddenly gone. She's more worried than she's letting on, thought Malone.
    Then Louise, the mathematical whiz, came back. “He'll see you.”
    Malone, Sheryl and Kylie travelled the huge floor, walking between the work-stations that, empty, looked like stylized roofless caves. As they came to the end of the room the two men at the long table stood up.
    The taller of the two men came round the table and put out his hand. “I'm Jared Cragg.” It sounded more like a rock-heap than a name, but Malone, who remembered the good old days of Clarrie and Joe and Smithy, kept his face expressionless. He couldn't imagine this soft-faced, slimly built man being called Craggy. But the soft paw was much firmer in its grip than he had expected. “It's about Errol? Oh, this is Joe Smith.”
    Malone couldn't believe his luck; he shook hands warmly with Smithy. “Yes, it's about Mr. Magee.”
    â€œWell, basically, he's a bastard.” Cragg couldn't have been more than thirty, but he looked as if his last ten years had been flattened and stretched like strudel dough. His eyes were tired and disillusioned, they had none of the spark of the New Economy. “Have you caught him yet?”
    â€œCaught him?”
    â€œWell, he's basically done a bunk, hasn't he? He knew who was coming in today. Mr. Smith is from Ballantine, Ballantine and Kowinsky. The receivers.”
    Smith was middle-aged in every way: dress, looks, demeanour. He made Cragg in his dark blue shirt with button-down collar and no tie, his off-white cargo pants and his trainers look like an over-the-hill teenager. But he was good-humoured, as if he had decided that was the only way to combat the depression of throwing