“Excuse me, but do you work for the BBC?” I asked, imitating his home Counties accent.
“I will ask the questions Mr Prince,’ he snapped back, a permanent rubber smile painted on his face.His small blue eyes though were glacial and didn’t express the remotest emotion.“Tell me, please, what is your interest is in Eamonn O’Brien?”
“What if I like the cut of his jib? And what’s it got to do with you anyway?”
The slap he gave me was like the crack of a whip and the sting that followed took a good thirty seconds before it took hold.
“No more smart remarks, if you please.”
He removed his hand from my head and rubbed it on the white overalls he was still wearing, as though my hair had irritated the skin on his palm.
“Just tell me why you and your fellow goons are dressed up like three bakers. I’m sure you could come up with a better disguise.”
“Please behave Mr Prince and kindly explain to me what your interest is in Mr O’Brien and while you’re at it, what business are you conducting for Wilfred Henderson?”
“Wilf and the yacht club set like to keep a little colour in their inner circle old chap and as for O’Brien, he’s just a missing friend.”
When I used the word missing there was no surprise in those impassive steel blue eyes. I assumed from his reaction I wasn’t the only party looking for O’Brien.
But why was he so important?
Vic Prince is a wise cracking detective, plying his trade in 1940’s war torn
Liverpool. Unable to enlist because of flat feet and asthma, Prince has an
affinity with the City because his great grandfather was brought to these shores on the last Slave Ship in 1807.
In this first in a series of five short novels, Prince is on the trail of a missing
Persian cat and is also on the lookout for the missing son of a beautiful widow, but after discovering both cases are connected, Prince learns there is far more to each case than at first it seemed...
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