certain that Palmer was reassured by the smile before letting it slowly dissolve. Looking serious. Concerned. Shaking his head.
'He said he was going to do stuff to Karen, Martin.'
Bardsley tried for the last time to tel them that he didn't have a fucking clue who Karen was, but the words were lost as he dissolved into sobs.
Nicklin lowered his voice and spoke slowly. Things he didn't want to tel his friend; things he had to tel him. 'Dirty stuff, Mart. He cal ed her names.' Palmer wrapped his fat fist around the butt of the pistol and dropped down slowly, his knees heavy on the back of Bardsley's calves. 'Said you'd done things to her ... touched her tits.' Palmer pushed the barrel into the soft, pale flesh of Bardsley's buttocks and held it there. Bardsley whimpered.
Nicklin whispered. 'Go on Martin...'
Palmer looked down at Bardsley's soft, spotty backside, afraid to so much as glance at the boy next to him. Afraid of his friend's excitement. He could see the twin rol s of sweaty, girlish fat on his chest shudder as his heart thumped beneath them. He could taste the perspiration that was running into his mouth. He knew that he should throw the pistol away and get to his feet and run through the park, without looking back, down .past the bowling green and up and across the playground, not stopping until he was home...
Nicklin put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and as the mynah bird screeched raucously behind him, Palmer pul ed the trigger.
Bardsley screamed as the jet of compressed air fired the tiny lead pel et deep into his flesh.
FOUR
The train journey back to London had been half an hour quicker than the outward leg, but had seemed infinitely longer. For the first twenty minutes or so, Thorne and McEvoy had tried to make conversation, then given up. He picked up the newspaper he'd already read and she made for the smoking carriage.
Thorne had closed his eyes and tried, without any success at al , to
go to sleep.
McEvoy hadn't bothered coming back.
It was after six by the time Thorne final y got back to Hendon.
Becke House was in the Peel Centre, a vast compound that also housed the Metropolitan Police Training Col ege. Hundreds of fresh faced recruits buzzing about, learning how to put handcuffs on, learning procedure. Learning nothing.
A BBC film crew had been around for the past few months making
a documentary on the new intake. Thorne had spoken to the director one day in the canteen, suggested that he might like to catch up with his subjects again in a year or two; see how those ruddy-cheeked recruits had matured into the job. The director had been hugely,
stupidly enthusiastic. Thorne had walked away thinking: that'l be one show they'l need to put out after the watershed...
Thorne headed for the office. He decided he wanted to put in another couple of hours. It would be a good idea to save the drive back to Kentish Town until the rush hour had died down a little. That was the excuse he gave himself anyway.
Hol and was the only member of the team there, stil hunched over a computer screen. In spite of the day he'd had, Thorne didn't envy him. He'd been forced to attend two courses and was stil a computer il iterate. The only things he could access with any speed were the Tottenham Hotspur FC supporters' newsgroup and the technical support line.
'Where's the DCI?'
Hol and looked up from his computer, rubbing his eyes. 'Meeting with the Detective Super.'
'Jesus Christ.' Thorne shook his head. 'We've only just started.' 'Where's McEvoy?'
'Probably soaking in a long hot bath by now...' Hol and nodded. Thorne noticed how tired he was looking. 'Go home, Dave. Start again in the morning.'
'Yeah, I'd better, before I get RSI. My mouse finger's fucked.' He stopped laughing when he pictured Sophie's expression as he walked through the door. 'I'l just finish what I'm doing...'
One week into it, and neither of them wanting to go home. Both afraid of looks on faces.
Thorne pushed open the door to
Gayla Drummond
Nalini Singh
Shae Connor
Rick Hautala
Sara Craven
Melody Snow Monroe
Edwina Currie
Susan Coolidge
Jodi Cooper
Jane Yolen