The money was a stark reminder as to how far down a very murky road I had gone in my search to put hard cash in to my wallet. I felt grubby and strangely corrupted by my earlier actions and needed to wash away the sullied deed that I had just undertaken.
I returned to my sitting room after having a shave and a hot bath. I felt cleaner but still strangely tainted by what I had just done. I’d lain in the tub for the better part of an hour trying to forget about the malevolent reminder of Clarence Mayfield’s murder and the voodoo chicken’s foot warning I’d been sent, as well as the matter of Stella Hopkins’ disappearance and the further sizable retainer that my wealthy employer had left for me earlier. But I still couldn’t get my mind to settle and I again began to question what the hell I’d gotten myself into and why the taciturn alderman was prepared to cough up his hard-earned riches for me to do his bidding and why he needed to keep the local law on the back burner.
