Lazy Bones by Mark Billingham Page A
Authors: Mark Billingham
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological fiction, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Mystery Fiction, Police, Police Procedural, Serial Murders, Rapists, Thorne; Tom (Fictitious character), Police - Great Britain, Rapists - Crimes against
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stopping the night down there...'
'I'm not going down there in that bloody death-trap you drive...'
'I'l hire a car, al right? It'l be a laugh, we'l have a good time. OK?'
Thorne could hear a clinking, the sound of something metal ic being fiddled with. His dad had taken to buying cheap, second-hand radios, disassembling them and throwing the pieces away.
'Dad? Is that OK? We can talk about the details closer to the day if
you want.' 'Tom?' 'Yeah?'
To Thorne, the silence that fol owed seemed like the sound of thoughts getting lost. Slipping down cracks, just beyond reach and then gone, flailing as they tumbled into darkness.
Final y, there was an engagement, like a piece of film catching, regaining its proper speed. Holes locking on to ratchets.
'Sort that Doctor Who thing out for me, wil you, Son?'
Thorne swal owed hard. 'I'l ask around and cal you tomorrow. OK?'
'Thanks...'
'And listen, Dad, dig out that navy suit. I'm sure it's not wool.' 'Oh shit, you never said anything about a suit...'
5O
22 DECEMBER, 1975
They were both in the kitchen. ,4 few feet apart, and nowhere near each other.
Just a couple of days til Christmas, and from the radio on the window sil the traditional songs did a good job of fil ing the silences. Seasonal stuff from Sinatra or Elvis mixed in with the more recent Christmas hits from Slade and Wizzard. That awful Queen song looked like it was going to be the Christmas Number One. He didn't like it much anyway but he knew that he'd never be able to hear it again without thinking about her. ,4bout her body, before and after. Her face and how it must have looked, Franklin pushing her down among the cardboard boxes...
She stood with her back to him, washing up at the sink. He sat at the table and looked at the Daily Mirror. The newsprint, the soapsuds, the absurdly cheery DJ- things to look at and listen to as, separately, they both went over and over it. Remembering what had happened at the station that morning.
Thinking about the police officer, pacing around the Interview Room,
winking at the WPC in the corner, leaning down on the desk and shouting. He thought about the copper's face. The smile that felt like a slap. She was thinking about the way he'd smel ed.
'Right,' the qfficer had said. 'Let's go over it again.',4nd then, afterwards, he'd said it again. ,4rid again. Shaking his head indulgently when she'd final y broken down, beckoning the WPC
who strol ed across, pul ing a tissue from the sleeve of her unijbrm. ,4 minute or two, a glass of water and then they were back into it. The detective sergeant marching around the place, as if in al his years of training he'd never learned the difference between victim and criminal.
He'd done nothing, said nothing. Wanted to, but thought better of it. Instead, he'd sat and watched and listened to his wife crying and thought 51
stupid thoughts, like why, when it was so cold, when he was buttoned up in his heaviest coat, was the bastard detective sergeant in shirtsleeves? Rings of sweat beneath both beefy arms.
Now there was a choir singing on the radio...
He stood up and walked slowly towards the sink, stopping when he was within touching distance of her. He could see something stifJbn around her shoulders as he drew close.
"You need to .forget everything he said, OK? That sergeant. He was just going over it to get everything straight. Making sure. Doing his job. He knows it'l be worse than that on the day.
He knows how hard the defence lawyer's going to be. I suppose he's just preparing us for it, you know? If we go through it now, maybe it won't be so hard in court.'He took another step and he was standing right behind her. Her head was perfectly stil . He couldn't tel what she was looking at, but al the while her hands remained busy in the white plastic washing-up bowl...
'Tel you what,' he said. "Iet's just get through Christmas shal we, love? It's not just for us after al , is it? New year soon, and then we can just keep our
'I'm not going down there in that bloody death-trap you drive...'
'I'l hire a car, al right? It'l be a laugh, we'l have a good time. OK?'
Thorne could hear a clinking, the sound of something metal ic being fiddled with. His dad had taken to buying cheap, second-hand radios, disassembling them and throwing the pieces away.
'Dad? Is that OK? We can talk about the details closer to the day if
you want.' 'Tom?' 'Yeah?'
To Thorne, the silence that fol owed seemed like the sound of thoughts getting lost. Slipping down cracks, just beyond reach and then gone, flailing as they tumbled into darkness.
Final y, there was an engagement, like a piece of film catching, regaining its proper speed. Holes locking on to ratchets.
'Sort that Doctor Who thing out for me, wil you, Son?'
Thorne swal owed hard. 'I'l ask around and cal you tomorrow. OK?'
'Thanks...'
'And listen, Dad, dig out that navy suit. I'm sure it's not wool.' 'Oh shit, you never said anything about a suit...'
5O
22 DECEMBER, 1975
They were both in the kitchen. ,4 few feet apart, and nowhere near each other.
Just a couple of days til Christmas, and from the radio on the window sil the traditional songs did a good job of fil ing the silences. Seasonal stuff from Sinatra or Elvis mixed in with the more recent Christmas hits from Slade and Wizzard. That awful Queen song looked like it was going to be the Christmas Number One. He didn't like it much anyway but he knew that he'd never be able to hear it again without thinking about her. ,4bout her body, before and after. Her face and how it must have looked, Franklin pushing her down among the cardboard boxes...
She stood with her back to him, washing up at the sink. He sat at the table and looked at the Daily Mirror. The newsprint, the soapsuds, the absurdly cheery DJ- things to look at and listen to as, separately, they both went over and over it. Remembering what had happened at the station that morning.
Thinking about the police officer, pacing around the Interview Room,
winking at the WPC in the corner, leaning down on the desk and shouting. He thought about the copper's face. The smile that felt like a slap. She was thinking about the way he'd smel ed.
'Right,' the qfficer had said. 'Let's go over it again.',4nd then, afterwards, he'd said it again. ,4rid again. Shaking his head indulgently when she'd final y broken down, beckoning the WPC
who strol ed across, pul ing a tissue from the sleeve of her unijbrm. ,4 minute or two, a glass of water and then they were back into it. The detective sergeant marching around the place, as if in al his years of training he'd never learned the difference between victim and criminal.
He'd done nothing, said nothing. Wanted to, but thought better of it. Instead, he'd sat and watched and listened to his wife crying and thought 51
stupid thoughts, like why, when it was so cold, when he was buttoned up in his heaviest coat, was the bastard detective sergeant in shirtsleeves? Rings of sweat beneath both beefy arms.
Now there was a choir singing on the radio...
He stood up and walked slowly towards the sink, stopping when he was within touching distance of her. He could see something stifJbn around her shoulders as he drew close.
"You need to .forget everything he said, OK? That sergeant. He was just going over it to get everything straight. Making sure. Doing his job. He knows it'l be worse than that on the day.
He knows how hard the defence lawyer's going to be. I suppose he's just preparing us for it, you know? If we go through it now, maybe it won't be so hard in court.'He took another step and he was standing right behind her. Her head was perfectly stil . He couldn't tel what she was looking at, but al the while her hands remained busy in the white plastic washing-up bowl...
'Tel you what,' he said. "Iet's just get through Christmas shal we, love? It's not just for us after al , is it? New year soon, and then we can just keep our
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