Page 108 of Dying Truth
Kim knocked on the door of flat 47a, the home of Monty Johnson.
The name of the occupant and the abode did not sit well together.
Two chains slid back to reveal a dark-haired man in a red-patterned dressing gown over shorts and a tee shirt. A freshly lit cigarette dangled from his fingertips.
‘Mr Johnson?’ she asked, doubtfully.
He huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically.
‘Well you clearly have no news for me if you’re asking me that,’ he said, and flounced back along the hallway to the living room. The open door indicated he wanted them to follow.
Kim had been in these flats before and usually a dark, narrow hallway led to a spacious light lounge with big windows.
The man stood next to the window, ignoring a smoking ashtray. He was clearly lighting one after the other.
Bryant reached towards the ashtray, and Kim offered him a warning glance. His abstinence was more than three years old, but still. He ground the offending cigarette against the ceramic edge, extinguishing it.
‘Why all the interest in Monty’s car?’ he asked, without turning.
His response told them he was not the man they were looking for.
‘Is Mr Johnson here?’ Bryant asked.
‘Obviously not,’ he answered shortly. ‘Now why are all those police—’
‘And you are?’ Kim asked, directly.
He turned, lips pursed at her tone.
‘I’m Monty’s significant other,’ he said, using his fingers to form speech marks around the phrase.
‘Name?’ Kim asked.
‘Rupert Downing,’ he answered. ‘Or Miss Kitty if you come to Nexus three nights a week.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Kim said. ‘Now about Mr Johnson. Can you—’
‘What the hell are they doing now?’ he squealed.
Kim glanced out of the window to see a tow truck parked behind the car.
‘The car is being removed for further examination, Mr Downing; now if you could just sit down I’ll—’
‘Examined for what?’ he asked, with his arms folded.
‘If you sit down I’ll explain,’ Kim said, as her limited well of patience began to run dry.
He sat, like a berated schoolboy, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
Kim sat opposite.
‘Sir, do you have any idea where Mr Johnson is? We really do need to speak to him.’
The man shook his head. ‘Is he in trouble?’
‘Yes, I think he might be. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Last night,’ he answered. ‘Monty dropped me off at the club and then came home.’ He frowned and glanced outside. ‘At least I think he came home but now that you mention it…’
