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debate, gave him a bowlful of leftovers from last night’s Indian takeout. Yeah, he’d probably crap it all over the nice, beige carpet later, but I could always throw a rug over it.
    While Mutt chowed down on his lamb balti, I slumped on the couch and pulled my cell phone from my jeans pocket. Turning the TV on, I dialed my client and flicked through the home shopping channels while I waited for him to pick up.
    “Mr. Banning? You’ve found her?” Doug Baxter, Rhian’s ex-fiancé, sounded painfully eager, desperate for news. The Voice liked it. I could almost feel it licking up Baxter’s misery.
    I rubbed the back of my neck. I hated this part of the job. “Yeah, Mr. Baxter, I found her, but there’s bad news, I’m afraid.”
    Baxter was silent, already knowing what I’d say. His breath was heavy and slow, like he was trying not to hyperventilate or cry. It made me itchy. I see a lot of grief in my job, and it always makes me itchy, uncomfortable. Like I’m seeing the person naked. I don’t like it. Didn’t like it, until a demon jumped inside me, anyway. Since then... Well, I still don’t like it, but the misery keeps the demon quiet, keeps it from pushing me to create some mayhem for it.
    “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Baxter said finally, all the life sapped from his voice.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter. There will be a full police investigation, so I need your permission to pass the details of the case along.”
    “Investigation? Rhian... She...She was murdered, wasn’t she? Someone killed her.” Now I heard fire in his voice, a bit of pepper and fight. The Voice didn’t like that as much, but I privately saluted Baxter for it. Anger was much more productive than depression.
    “I’m afraid she was. I’ve already spoken to the officer in charge, and she’ll do all she can to bring Rhian’s killer to justice, Mr. Baxter. I promise that.” I knew Anna would. She was a one-woman crusade, that lady, a blonde hurricane of justice and righteous indignation.
    “Okay.” Baxter paused. “Okay, fine. I guess we should meet to discuss your fee and the…all the…details.”
    “Sure.” I checked my watch. It was too late to take Mutt to a vet, but too early to give up on life for the day and go to bed. “You want to meet this evening? We can meet up in the Coburg Bar.”
    “Sounds fine,” Baxter said, meaning sounds horrific . I got that. He’d just found out the love of his life was dead. I wouldn’t want to spend the evening talking to me either. Hell, I wouldn’t want that on a good day.
    We agreed on a time and I hung up, turning my attention fully to the shopping channels. Some blonde chick and a bald guy extolled the virtues of some kitchen gadget that made mountains and mountains of coleslaw, saving time and money. I wanted one. I mean, I didn’t eat coleslaw – or cook, if I could avoid it, but I wanted one anyway. I kept buying shit like that and telling myself I’ll use it, get healthy, start eating properly, and then left it to gather dust in the kitchen cupboard.
    I should probably get laid more.
    I ordered the coleslaw thing and checked on Mutt. He’d cleaned up the curry and was pawing at the back door. Smart dog . I let him out into the rain, and he ran around happily in my tiny, pathetic garden, barked at the wall, then came back inside again and stood there giving me that goofy dog-face.
    “Tomorrow we’re going to the vet,” I told him, scratching him behind the ears. “I bet you’re crawling with fleas and parasites, aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”
    He lolled his tongue in agreement and padded through to the lounge. I left him asleep on the couch, while I changed into dry clothes for my meeting with Baxter.
    If I was lucky it would be a short one. I’d offer my condolences, he’d write me a check, and we’d move on with our lives. I could move on to the next case, if I’d had one lined up.
    I didn’t have one lined up. I didn’t have anything lined up except more