Spares. Michael Marshall Smith
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There was a pause. ‘Say again?’
‘The floor's been cleaned. It's like it never happened.’ I didn't mention Mal's display.
Howie shrugged. ‘So someone buried him as a random act of kindness, and tidied up as an encore.’
‘I locked the door when we left yesterday. It was still locked when I got there.’
Howie looked at the papers in his hand. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘I'm asking if we can stay another night.’
‘Are we on the same page here, Jack? Someone who is both very organized and quite tidy is trying to kill you, and you want to hang around?’
‘I also need to borrow your computer.’
‘To work out how much petrol it'll take you to get a long way from here?’
‘Turn speech recognition on, Howie. You know I'm going to stay.’
Howie sighed and jerked his thumb in the direction of his machine. ‘Help yourself. Then come out into the bar and have a beer. You look like you need it.’
When he'd gone I flipped the drive out of his machine and slotted Mal's in. Then I connected the digipic up to the serial slot and turned the whole lot on.
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