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vaguely predestined, you have to work five times as hard to involve yourself
in the unfolding of the case and ten times harder still to change the outcome.
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I couldn t stop the wolf eating them but I did my best.
Your best? said Kreeper with a contemptuous laugh. How can you have the
cold arrogance to stand there and tell me you did everything in your power to
stop them from being eaten?
Because, said Jack slowly, the wolf ate me, too.
Virginia s mouth dropped open. She didn t know about this; not many people
did. Being swallowed whole wasn t something he d like to repeat, as it had
ruined a perfectly good suit, but once past the esophagus it hadn t been so
bad. Strangely, it wasn t as dark as he had suspected but certainly cramped,
with Redand her granny in there, too. But Briggs had been right: Without the
woodsman s timely intervention, they d all be wolf shit by now, and Kreeper
would be talking to a column of air.
Fed up, Jack pounced. They didn t tell you that? Didn t tell you I went in
alone and unarmed to face a murderous wolf as soon as I realized it wasn t
Gran in bed?
She shook her head.
Did they tell you I grabbed Riding-Hood s ankles as she disappeared down his
gullet? That I had my feet pressed against the wolf s jaws to stop her from
going down? That I couldn t save her and was gobbled up, too?
His voice rose. He d been vilified in the press about this, and he d had
enough. But get this, he continued, I could have just legged it and called
the regulars. But I didn t. I faced down the wolf and was devoured for my
trouble. The first time, in fact, that a serving police officer in theBritish
Isles has been eaten alive in the line of duty. Did Josh Hatchett write any
ofthat ?
Jack stopped talking and looked around. Every occupant of the Déjà Vu
ballroom was staring at him, hanging on his every word. Neville had a look
like thunder. He had hopedVirginia would decimate his ex-wife s husband, but
he had underestimated Jack. Again.
What was it like? asked a nearby guest, breaking the silence that had
descended on the ballroom.
The gastric juices burn your nose hairs, if you must know, replied Jack,
adding by way of explanation and giving a shrug,
It s an NCD thing.
Neville and Virginia took the opportunity to slip away. Partly because they
felt defeated and deflated, and partly because Neville could see Madeleine
approaching, and he was something of a coward in the presence of his ex-wife.
Really, said Madeleine, leading Jack to another part of the room as the
conversation started up again, I leave you alone forfive minutes and you
start banging on about being eaten. Honestly, what did I tell you?
Sorry.
Madeleine sighed and stared at him. She understood him, but the NCD thing
could be confusing for anyone not used to it. Jack shrugged and took another
drink from a passing waiter. He felt bored and tired. It had been a long day.
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I didn t come to an awards ceremony to have my professional actions judged,
he grumbled.
Madeleine gave him a hug. Never mind, sweetheart. Let s find our table.
Inspector?
Jack turned to see the last person on earth he wanted to meet face-to-face.
Someone who had made his life something very close to unpleasant for a long
time. Someone who, if Jack hadn t been a policeman, would have deserved and
probably received a punch on the nose. It was Josh Hatchett ofThe Toad .
What do you want? asked Jack, politeness not foremost in his mind.
I heard you say you were swallowed alive, said Josh, unable to contain his
curiosity any longer. What was it like?
Ask an oyster. Good evening, Mr. Hatchett.
Jack turned to go, but Josh stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Jack
stared at the hand, and Josh quickly released him. The journalist sighed,
leaned forward and lowered his voice.
I m not here to talk about the Red Riding-Hood& problem.
Magnanimity personified.
I ll come straight to the point.
It s what you seem to do best.
It s my sister. She s vanished.
Who is she? A magician s assistant?
I m serious.
Try Missing Persons.
I told them yesterday. They instructed me to wait a month before filing her
missing. Josh rubbed his face. He looked tired and haggard even for a
journalist. I need help, Inspector.
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