Papercuts 7: The Next to Last of the Mohicans

By Colin Bateman

Through world wars and civil strife, the Bangor Express has never missed an issue, but now it is losing money hand-over-fist and Rob Cullen, fresh off the plane from his London news desk, has absolutely no idea that he's the man to save it. Lured back to Northern Ireland for the first time in 20 years by the demise of his one-time mentor, the Bangor Express makes Rob an offer he can't refuse and the Guardian reporter can't resist sticking around. After all, it has been a long time since Rob had a real story to get his teeth in to... and with the Bangor Express, that's just what he's going to get.

A burglar phones the office to report the dead body of Bertha Molloy that he found in a house, and when Alix discovers Bertha's daughter is still claiming her pension, the Express team spring into action. It's all going so well, but Rob has been offered his old job back at the Guardian. Rob misses his children and knows what he should do, but he can't help feeling that there are reasons to stay; the future of the paper hangs in the balance, as does his developing romance with Alix...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781784973766

Colin Bateman

Colin Bateman is an author, screenwriter and playwright. He is the creator of the BBC series Murphy's Law and was listed by the Daily Telegraph as one of the Top 50 crime writers of all time. Find out more at colinbateman.com

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About Papercuts #7: The Next to Last of the Mohicans

About Colin Bateman

Reviews

About Papercuts

Also by Colin Bateman

Table of Contents

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To read this book as the author intended – and for a fuller reading experience – turn on ‘original’ or ‘publisher’s font’ in your text display options.

For Matthew and Isaac

Johnny Cash shot a man in Reno,

just to watch him die.

Rob Cullen bought curly kale in Tesco’s,

just to watch it wither.

CONTENTS

Cover

Welcome Page

Display Options Notice

Dedication

Epigraph

The Next to Last of the Mohicans

About Papercuts #7: The Next to Last of the Mohicans

Reviews

About Colin Bateman

About Papercuts

Also by Colin Bateman

An Invitation from the Publisher

Copyright

There was a burglary on Westmoreland Drive – an opportunistic thief, spotting a downstairs window open, decided to chance his arm, but found more than he bargained for. Probably nobody would have been any the wiser, because he sneaked in and sneaked out, except he felt so badly about it he decided he had to tell someone, but his good breeding wouldn’t allow him to call the cops. So Rob, the only one left in the office that morning, took the call. The burglar didn’t exactly introduce himself as a burglar, instead dressed it up a bit – he was off-his-head drunk, desperately needed to use a toilet, saw her window open and went in. It was the smell that alerted him – he hadn’t even gone into the room, didn’t need to see anything to know that someone had died in there, and quite a while ago too. He wanted to make it very clear that it was nothing to do with him, he was only looking for a place to piss, he wasn’t going to do it on the street, he wasn’t a dog. He hadn’t touched anything, done any damage, stolen anything. Rob asked him for a contact number, and the burglar almost fell for it. Then he told Rob to fuck off and hung up.

Rob called the police, and then made sure he was outside the house in time for their arrival. He was on nodding terms with the two constables who turned up. They didn’t object to him going up to the front door, but asked him to wait there. Their faces were already grey, their lips turned down at the corners, their noses bunched up trying to repel what they were so bloody obviously about to discover. There was no mistaking it. Death had a distinctive aroma, a pungency that seeped through walls.

Five minutes later one of them came out and was sick on the well-tended rosebushes.

Charlie Harper, the undertaker, arrived not long after. He was all breezy on the way in, but ten minutes later came out for a breather, a sheen of clammy cold sweat on his brow and a shake to his hand as he struggled to light his cigarette.

Rob hadn’t been at the paper for very long, but he already knew him pretty well because between the death notices and the obituaries there was a lot of interaction. Rob said, ‘I thought you’d be used to it.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘My job is to stop them ever getting to that state. She’s been there at least a month.’

‘Any signs of...?’

‘Foul play? No such luck.’

‘Any idea who she is?’

‘Nobody special, Mr Cullen,’ said