Hylton H Smith
Published by Promethean
Copyright by Hylton H Smith 2012
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Monday November 5th 2018
Jack Renton checked his watch and reflected on the absurdity of the situation. The smell of fireworks was still in the air from Sunday night. He was looking at potential fireworks of a different kind. The Angel of the North was once a revered iconic landmark, a welcome to the world from the Northeast of England. It was no longer a safe location, even in daylight. Today, at 5.47 am, it was unusually crowded, particularly with police vehicles and personnel. Renton was never at his best in the early hours, but this incident had already ascended to the top of his Monday morning workload, and would likely remain there for many Mondays to come. His resigned demeanour wasn’t directly linked to the process of identification of the body. Everyone knew Alistair Banks, a wealthy industrialist who had continually sought confrontation with the purveyors of institutional red-tape. He was seen by the populace as a vigilante for the cause of the individual, whereas the establishment was openly hostile toward him, and would not be disappointed to see his empire crumble. As Renton waited impatiently for the Medical Examiner, he was already pretty sure the location of the body had been carefully selected, and that the killing had taken place elsewhere. The Angel would answer the prayers of the killer, ensuring that discovery would be quick and act as some kind of announcement.