CHAPTER TWO

I WENT OVER to the Press room at Police Headquarters. There was one guy I wanted to talk to, and I was hoping he’d be there. He was.

I pushed open the door and looked around the smoke-laden room. Four of the usual mob were playing cards round a small table in the centre of the room. I just gave them a quick glance and looked further. Over in the corner, on a battered couch, Ackie was sleeping.

Ackie was the ugliest guy I’d ever seen. He was a little runt, with coarse hair growing out of his ears, his nose and out of his collar. His face must have given the midwife a series of nightmares when he was born, but I knew he was about the smartest Press man on the beat.

I wandered over to him and pulled up a chair. Then I shook him awake.

When he saw me, he sat up and glared. “You’re a sweet pal,” he said. “Can’t you let me snatch some sleep?”

“Aw, forget it, Mo,” I said. “Sit down, I wantta talk to you.”

Ackie rubbed his face hard with his hand, pushing his rubbery nose to the most extraordinary angles.