Read Online A Tapping at My Door: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (The DS Nathan Cody Series) by David Jackson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Jackson
Ads: Link
and some breakfast. Order has been restored.
The killings can continue.
8
There is a lot to do, and Blunt makes sure it gets done properly. There is a house to search, neighbours to interview, investigators to receive a bollocking when they make the tiniest mistake. Cody admires her for it. Strange as she is, she knows her job. She knows how to investigate a murder, and God help anyone who thinks they know better.
Cody and Webley are assigned the task of talking to the man who found the body. He’s a pensioner. Lives alone next door. Has a glass eye, which Cody finds distracting. Has a hacking cough, too, which Cody also finds distracting, mainly because it sounds like he’s about to expel a lung. The man’s rambling account is that he heard nothing in the night. Sleeps the sleep of the just, you see. Then this morning he went outside to put an empty cereal box into his recycling bin. Shredded Wheat. Low sugar, because of his diabetes, you see. And high fibre, because of his troublesome bowels. He could tell you some hair-raising stories about those bowels of his. Anyway, over the fence he could see that his neighbour’s rear house door was open, but it didn’t seem important at first. People can open their doors when they want – why should that be suspicious? But an hour later he went out again. An empty milk carton after making some tea. More recycling. Good for the environment, though, isn’t it? Anyway, her door was still open. You start to think then, don’t you? A back door open for that long? In October? Bit odd that. So he called out. Just hello – something like that. Not her name, because he couldn’t remember her name. Received no reply. So he went out of his door – the one that leads into the tunnel between the two houses. He knocked on her door. Once, twice, several times. Again nothing. He thought he should give up. Go back into his house. None of his business, really. But still . . . So he tried the latch. Opened the door. And that was it. All that blood. The flies – even in October, the flies. Couldn’t even see her face because of something covering it. A bag, or a cloth, or . . . something. Well, he knew then, didn’t he? Knew it was really bad. Knew this was something for the police.
They get little else out of him. He didn’t really know Latham. She hadn’t lived here long, and kept herself to herself. Doesn’t know what she did for a living. Visitors? Yes, sometimes. Women, mostly. Anybody suspicious on the streets? Yes, of course – didn’t you bother to look at the people outside when you got here? – but no more than usual.
Following that, Blunt sends them back to the station, while she stays to keep the investigative machinery operating smoothly. Even though he outranks Webley, Cody doesn’t ask her to drive. Driving gives him something on which to concentrate. Stops his mind venturing into areas he’d rather avoid. But he can’t help noticing how quiet she is. How the bubbly nature she exhibited earlier seems to have been popped.
He wonders if, despite all Webley’s fine words, she still has a problem with the discovery that she will have to work with him.
‘You all right?’
‘What? Yeah. I’m okay.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re not okay. Trust me, I can tell.’
‘So why did you ask me? If you can tell?’
‘I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth.’
‘All right, so I’m a liar. I’m a liar and I’m not okay.’
‘Because of me?’
She looks at him. ‘What?’
‘Is it because I’m here, at MIT?’
‘No, Cody. I thought we’d already cleared the books on that score. I’m talking about Terri. I knew her, and now she’s dead. That’s what I’m talking about.’
And now he feels like a complete egotistical, insensitive fool.
‘Sorry. It must have been tough.’ Too late, Cody, he thinks. Now it just sounds hollow.
‘I’ve worked a few murders,’ she says. ‘Seen some horrible sights, just like you
The killings can continue.
8
There is a lot to do, and Blunt makes sure it gets done properly. There is a house to search, neighbours to interview, investigators to receive a bollocking when they make the tiniest mistake. Cody admires her for it. Strange as she is, she knows her job. She knows how to investigate a murder, and God help anyone who thinks they know better.
Cody and Webley are assigned the task of talking to the man who found the body. He’s a pensioner. Lives alone next door. Has a glass eye, which Cody finds distracting. Has a hacking cough, too, which Cody also finds distracting, mainly because it sounds like he’s about to expel a lung. The man’s rambling account is that he heard nothing in the night. Sleeps the sleep of the just, you see. Then this morning he went outside to put an empty cereal box into his recycling bin. Shredded Wheat. Low sugar, because of his diabetes, you see. And high fibre, because of his troublesome bowels. He could tell you some hair-raising stories about those bowels of his. Anyway, over the fence he could see that his neighbour’s rear house door was open, but it didn’t seem important at first. People can open their doors when they want – why should that be suspicious? But an hour later he went out again. An empty milk carton after making some tea. More recycling. Good for the environment, though, isn’t it? Anyway, her door was still open. You start to think then, don’t you? A back door open for that long? In October? Bit odd that. So he called out. Just hello – something like that. Not her name, because he couldn’t remember her name. Received no reply. So he went out of his door – the one that leads into the tunnel between the two houses. He knocked on her door. Once, twice, several times. Again nothing. He thought he should give up. Go back into his house. None of his business, really. But still . . . So he tried the latch. Opened the door. And that was it. All that blood. The flies – even in October, the flies. Couldn’t even see her face because of something covering it. A bag, or a cloth, or . . . something. Well, he knew then, didn’t he? Knew it was really bad. Knew this was something for the police.
They get little else out of him. He didn’t really know Latham. She hadn’t lived here long, and kept herself to herself. Doesn’t know what she did for a living. Visitors? Yes, sometimes. Women, mostly. Anybody suspicious on the streets? Yes, of course – didn’t you bother to look at the people outside when you got here? – but no more than usual.
Following that, Blunt sends them back to the station, while she stays to keep the investigative machinery operating smoothly. Even though he outranks Webley, Cody doesn’t ask her to drive. Driving gives him something on which to concentrate. Stops his mind venturing into areas he’d rather avoid. But he can’t help noticing how quiet she is. How the bubbly nature she exhibited earlier seems to have been popped.
He wonders if, despite all Webley’s fine words, she still has a problem with the discovery that she will have to work with him.
‘You all right?’
‘What? Yeah. I’m okay.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re not okay. Trust me, I can tell.’
‘So why did you ask me? If you can tell?’
‘I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth.’
‘All right, so I’m a liar. I’m a liar and I’m not okay.’
‘Because of me?’
She looks at him. ‘What?’
‘Is it because I’m here, at MIT?’
‘No, Cody. I thought we’d already cleared the books on that score. I’m talking about Terri. I knew her, and now she’s dead. That’s what I’m talking about.’
And now he feels like a complete egotistical, insensitive fool.
‘Sorry. It must have been tough.’ Too late, Cody, he thinks. Now it just sounds hollow.
‘I’ve worked a few murders,’ she says. ‘Seen some horrible sights, just like you
Similar Books
