He was a dead man and he knew it. As soon as he ceased to be of any use to this bastard, the guy would shoot him. So Robbie Parsons had to keep on being of use. He was glad he'd earned his medallion; he was grateful for all of those months of routing and re-routing himself around London that had qualified him to drive a black cab. Robbie had maps in his mind. He would entertain himself, while cruising around looking for a fare, by setting destinations involving landmarks he would either have to pass or not pass in the course of getting to a certain location. Maps in his mind, so no matter where this black guy told him to go (and he'd told him nothing thus far), Robbie knew how to take the longest way round without raising suspicions. The guy behind him wasn't a Londoner, but then most Londoners didn't know sod-all about London, anyway. Excerpted from The Knowledge by Martha Grimes All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.