"I suppose," Taz said, fondling the hand gun in his jacket pocket, "you expect me to do the washing up."
"Don't worry." Her voice shimmered like a heat haze. "I'll throw it all into the landfill."
She had thought of everything. They kissed, too long.
"He's next door," she said, suddenly pulling away. Her laugh unnerved him. "That's why you're here, isn't it? He's under the sofa."
"You serious?"
She shrugged. "He drinks."
Just to see the shock in her eyes he shot her at point blank. It was the kind of meaningless murder that had made him a celebrity detective.
