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No. 58
Money Comes Walking In
Private eyes come in all shapes and sizes, and none of them look like television stars. Some do insurance
work, some hang around cheap hotels with camcorders hoping to get evidence for divorce cases, and
damn few ever get to investigate complicated murder mysteries. Some chase things that don't exist, or
shouldn't. Me, I find things. Sometimes I'd rather not find them, but that comes with the territory.
The flaking sign on the door in those days said Taylor Investigations. I'm Taylor. Tall, dark and not
particularly handsome. I bear the scars of old cases proudly, and I never let down a client. Provided
they've paid at least some cash up front.
My office back then was cosy, if you were feeling charitable, cramped if you weren't. I spent a lot of
time there. It beat having a life. It was a low-rent office in a low-rent area. All the businesses with any
sense were moving out, making more room for those of us who operated in the greyer areas of the legal
and illegal. Even the rats were just passing through, on their way to somewhere more civilised. My
neighbours were a dentist and an accountant, both of them struck off, both of whom made more money
than I did.
It was raining hard the night Joanna Barrett came to see me. The kind of cold, driving, pitiless rain that
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