Read Online Buried-6 by Mark Billingham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Billingham
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Mystery Fiction, Police, Hard-Boiled, Police Procedural, Kidnapping, Police - England - London, Thorne; Tom (Fictitious character)
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and a credit card. It’s pretty bloody simple these days. They shut down a site a couple of weeks ago that was sel ing a vial of ketamine and a couple of syringes in a smart leather case. Knocking them out at £19.99 as “date-rape kits”.’
‘Doesn’t he need to know what he’s doing, though? If he’s going to keep the kid sedated al the time?’
Thorne listened to the exchange, but kept his eyes fixed on the television screen; on the frozen, flickering image of the boy and the man who was holding him. There was terror in the boy’s eyes. It had been there throughout, of course, albeit partial y hidden by the brave face he’d been putting on for his parents. But the mask had fal en quickly away when the man began walking towards him with the needle.
The Scottish officer shook his head. ‘You can also find out how to do it on the Net. Plenty of teach-yourself guides out there. What size doses to use or whatever.’
‘Or you learn from experience,’ Thorne said.
There was a sizeable pause after that.
Then the ACTIONS were outlined and al ocated. There was little of substance to work on other than the partial number plate of the blue or black car, and talking to a few more witnesses who’d seen Luke getting into it.
Porter waited until most of her team had been given tasks and those few who hadn’t were clearing away chairs or paperwork before she talked to Thorne and Hol and about their roles. ‘I’m going back to the school this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I don’t know which of you is better at talking to teenage boys . . .’
Hol and was the first to speak up, aware of a good, long look from Thorne as he answered. ‘Yeah, I’l tag along.’
‘Tom?’
‘I thought I might have a word with one or two people Tony Mul en used to work with,’ Thorne said. ‘Show them the list. See if their memory’s any better than his.’
At the end of the previous day, Mul en had handed over the list of al those who might have held a grudge against him.
‘He has got quite a lot to think about,’ Porter said.
Thorne could see she had a point, but he was not completely convinced. ‘That’s exactly why I thought it might be more . . . comprehensive, I suppose. If my son was taken and there was no obvious reason why, I’d be sticking down the name of anyone who’d so much as looked at me funny.’
Mul en had come up with just five names. Five men who might, at one time , have had cause to wish or do him harm. Each had been run through the CRIMINT database within minutes, and once those traced to Australia, HMP Parkhurst and Kensal Green cemetery had been eliminated, they were down to two.
Porter was pul ing papers from her desktop, bits and pieces from a drawer and sweeping them into her handbag. ‘I’m going over to the house for an hour or two first. I’l probably head straight to the school from there. You never know, he’s had a bit more time to think, he might have come up with another name or two overnight.’
She picked up her mobile phone and clipped it to her belt, then dropped a second handset into her handbag. The Airwave had been rol ed out across the force over the previous year and a half, one handset issued to every officer. It was certainly an ingenious piece of kit: a phone and a radio, with a range that, for the first time, would al ow the user to talk to a fel ow officer anywhere in the UK at the touch of a button. Stil , in spite of a blizzard of memos, some officers preferred to stick with their own phones. These were less flashy perhaps, but they were general y smal er, lighter and, most importantly, didn’t have GPS capability built in. Mysteriously, a large number of these state-of-the-art Airwave handsets were getting lost, or left at home by officers who were none too keen on Control-room staff knowing exactly where they were at al times.
Thorne was interested to note that, as far as he could see, Porter’s Airwave had not been switched on when she’d dropped it into
‘Doesn’t he need to know what he’s doing, though? If he’s going to keep the kid sedated al the time?’
Thorne listened to the exchange, but kept his eyes fixed on the television screen; on the frozen, flickering image of the boy and the man who was holding him. There was terror in the boy’s eyes. It had been there throughout, of course, albeit partial y hidden by the brave face he’d been putting on for his parents. But the mask had fal en quickly away when the man began walking towards him with the needle.
The Scottish officer shook his head. ‘You can also find out how to do it on the Net. Plenty of teach-yourself guides out there. What size doses to use or whatever.’
‘Or you learn from experience,’ Thorne said.
There was a sizeable pause after that.
Then the ACTIONS were outlined and al ocated. There was little of substance to work on other than the partial number plate of the blue or black car, and talking to a few more witnesses who’d seen Luke getting into it.
Porter waited until most of her team had been given tasks and those few who hadn’t were clearing away chairs or paperwork before she talked to Thorne and Hol and about their roles. ‘I’m going back to the school this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I don’t know which of you is better at talking to teenage boys . . .’
Hol and was the first to speak up, aware of a good, long look from Thorne as he answered. ‘Yeah, I’l tag along.’
‘Tom?’
‘I thought I might have a word with one or two people Tony Mul en used to work with,’ Thorne said. ‘Show them the list. See if their memory’s any better than his.’
At the end of the previous day, Mul en had handed over the list of al those who might have held a grudge against him.
‘He has got quite a lot to think about,’ Porter said.
Thorne could see she had a point, but he was not completely convinced. ‘That’s exactly why I thought it might be more . . . comprehensive, I suppose. If my son was taken and there was no obvious reason why, I’d be sticking down the name of anyone who’d so much as looked at me funny.’
Mul en had come up with just five names. Five men who might, at one time , have had cause to wish or do him harm. Each had been run through the CRIMINT database within minutes, and once those traced to Australia, HMP Parkhurst and Kensal Green cemetery had been eliminated, they were down to two.
Porter was pul ing papers from her desktop, bits and pieces from a drawer and sweeping them into her handbag. ‘I’m going over to the house for an hour or two first. I’l probably head straight to the school from there. You never know, he’s had a bit more time to think, he might have come up with another name or two overnight.’
She picked up her mobile phone and clipped it to her belt, then dropped a second handset into her handbag. The Airwave had been rol ed out across the force over the previous year and a half, one handset issued to every officer. It was certainly an ingenious piece of kit: a phone and a radio, with a range that, for the first time, would al ow the user to talk to a fel ow officer anywhere in the UK at the touch of a button. Stil , in spite of a blizzard of memos, some officers preferred to stick with their own phones. These were less flashy perhaps, but they were general y smal er, lighter and, most importantly, didn’t have GPS capability built in. Mysteriously, a large number of these state-of-the-art Airwave handsets were getting lost, or left at home by officers who were none too keen on Control-room staff knowing exactly where they were at al times.
Thorne was interested to note that, as far as he could see, Porter’s Airwave had not been switched on when she’d dropped it into
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