Read Clean Break for Free Online Page A

you’re from the Health and Safety Executive,” he said. “Those nosy bastards are always poking around where they’re not wanted.”
    I shook my head in despair as he departed. Some clients are like that. Before you’ve agreed to work for them, they’re practically on their knees. Soon as you come on board, they treat you like something nasty on their Gucci loafers. “And I thought heavy metal bands were arseholes,” Richard mused.

    â€œThey are,” I said. “And while we’re on the subject, how come you knew about the KerrSter death?”
    Richard winked and produced one of those smiles that got me tangled up with him in the first place. “Not much point in having the Chronicle delivered if you don’t bother reading it, is there?” he asked sweetly.
    â€œSome of us have more important things to do than laze around smoking joints and reading the papers,” I snarled.
    Richard pretended to look huffed. At least, I think he was pretending. “Oh well, if that’s the way things are, you won’t be wanting me to take you to dinner, will you?” he said airily.
    â€œTry me,” I said. There are few things in life that don’t look better after aromatic crispy duck. How was I to know Trevor Kerr would be one of them?

4
    As I waited for the security guard in charge of the barrier at Kerrchem’s car park to check that I wasn’t some devious industrial spy trying to sneak in to steal their secrets, I stared across at the sprawling factory, its red brick smudged black by years of industrial pollution. Somewhere inside there I’d find the end of the ball of string that would unravel to reveal a killer.
    Eventually, he let me in and directed me to the administration offices. Trevor Kerr’s secretary was already at her desk when I walked in at twenty-five past eight. Unfortunately, her boss wasn’t. I introduced myself. “Mr. Kerr’s expecting me,” I added.
    She’d clearly been hired for her efficiency rather than her charm. “Health and Safety Executive,” she said in the same tone of voice I’d have used for the VAT inspector. “Take a seat. Mr. Kerr will be here soon.” She returned to her word processor, attacking the keys with the ferocity of someone playing Mortal Kombat.
    I looked around. Neither of the two chairs looked as if it had been chosen for comfort. The only available reading material was some trade journal that I wouldn’t have picked up even on a twelve-hour flight with a Sylvester Stallone film as the in-flight movie. “Maybe I could make a start on the documents I need to see?” I said. “To save wasting time.”
    â€œOnly Mr. Kerr can authorize the release of company information to a third party,” she said coldly. “He knows you’re coming. I’m sure he won’t keep you waiting for long.”
    I wished I shared her conviction. I tried to make myself comfortable and used the time to review the limited information I’d gleaned so far. After Richard and I had stuffed ourselves in a small Chinese restaurant in Whitefield, where we’d both felt seriously
overdressed, I’d sat down with the previous weeks’ papers and brought myself up to speed. Richard, meanwhile, had changed and gone off to some dive in Longsight to hear a local techno band who’d just landed a record deal. Frankly, I felt I’d got the best end of the bargain.
    On my way through the stuttering early rush-hour traffic, I’d stopped by the office to fax my local friendly financial services expert. I needed some background on Trevor Kerr and his company, and if there was dirt to be dug, Josh Gilbert was the man. Josh and I have an arrangement: he supplies me with financial information and I buy him expensive dinners. The fact that Josh wouldn’t know a scruple if it took him out to the Savoy is fine by me; I don’t have to think about