This is the second half of my present. You suggested a continuation of The Name is Avon
Avon woke up to someone playing a set of rusty bagpipes very badly inside his head, a blinding light shining into his eyes AND someone treating his midsection like a popup balloon that needed less air and they didn't have a pin handy. The combination nearly made him throw up.
A man with a voice that sounded uglier than a piece of mouldy bread said, "Confess!"
Avon had absolutely no idea what the ugly-voiced man was talking about. "Confess to what?"
"Don't act like you don’t know."
Avon squinted his eyes, trying to see who was speaking to him. "I don't have to act. I have no idea what you're talking about." Someone hit him again.
Ugly voice said, "The woman in your residence. Why did you kill her?"
Cally! Avon did throw up this time.
Tom's voice entered the room and shouted, "What are you doing?" The glaring light was turned off as Avon tried to cleared his mouth of the foul taste. "Let go of him."
The hands holding Avon's arms let go of him and he collapsed to his knees.
Tom's voice ordered, "Get out of here!"
Ugly voice said, "We were told to question him. That's what we were doing."
Tom shouted, "Get out! I'll speak to your superiors later."
The various people left, leaving Avon and Tom in the room.
Tom bent down to help him up. "You alright?"
"Not one of my best days. Thanks." Avon stood on unsteady feet. His head was still pounding and his mouth tasted like someone else's laundry. He felt weaker than a judge who had nasal hygiene problems. "What happened?"
Tom looked at him strangely. "They found you in your flat unconscious. There was a dead woman next to you. It looks like you shot her with your gun."
Avon put his hand to his aching head in confusion. It felt as if his day had started going downhill the moment he woke up and now someone had decided to speed it up by teaching him how to tap dance. "I…didn't shoot her. At least…I don't remember doing it."
His client was dead and for some reason this idea gave him a sickening feeling in his stomach. He looked at Tom. "Do you think I killed her?"
Tom studied his friend for a moment. "I know a lot of people would believe it."
"No. I don't believe you would, unless she was trying to kill you. Was she?"
Avon wracked his brain. There was the flash of a memory. The look of horror on his client's face as she saw who was behind him. "I don't think so." Of course, his memory was only slightly less reliable than a can of expired fruit right now.
"You've really landed yourself in it this time, Avon. I'm not sure I can help you."
Avon said, "I want to see her."
Tom drew back in surprise. "Are you sure it's a good idea?"
"They said I killed her. I want to see her with my own eyes. Maybe it'll jog my memory."