Read Online Death's Jest-Book by Reginald Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reginald Hill
Ads: Link
himself be tempted. It
was a safe indulgence. Over the years he had grown sufficiently
strong in resisting temptation to be able to drink the heady potion
more deeply than most men.
The lights turned green, the
engine roared, but it was the roar of an old lion saying he could run
down that wildebeest if he wanted but on the whole he thought he'd
probably stretch under a bush and have a nap.
The sergeant moved forward
sedately and legally.
It was his slowness that
permitted him to see the attempted abduction taking place in the car
park which ran much of the length of the park.
Separated from the main road by a
long colonnade of lime trees, it was in fact more like a parallel
thoroughfare. During the day, visitors to the park left the cars
there in a single line. On a summer night it might be quite crowded,
but in the middle of winter, apart from the odd vehicle whose
steamed-up windows advertised the presence of young love or old lust,
there was rarely much activity. But as he went by, Wield saw a man
trying to drag a young boy into his slow-moving car.
He braked sharply, went into a
speedway racer's skid, straightened up to negotiate the gap between
two lime trees, found it was already occupied by a bench, realigned
his machine at the next gap, went through, lost a bit of traction on
the loose shaley surface as he straightened up, and lost some time
wrestling the Thunderbird back under control. All the while he was
blasting out warnings of his approach on the horn.
Prevention was better than cure
and the last thing he wanted was a high-speed chase through city
streets in pursuit of a car carrying a kidnapped child.
It worked. Ahead he saw the boy
sprawling on the ground with the abductor's vehicle roaring off in a
cloud of dust which, aided by the fact that the car's lights weren't
switched on, made it impossible to get the number plate.
He pulled up alongside the boy,
who had pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked about ten,
maybe a bit older, twelve, say. He had big dark eyes, curly black
hair and a thin pale face. He had grazed his hand on falling and he
was holding it to his mouth to wash it and ease the pain. He looked
angry rather than terrified.
'You OK, son?' said Wield,
dismounting.
'Yeah, I think so.'
His accent was local urban. He
began to rise and Wield said, 'Hold on. Got any pain anywhere?'
'Nah. Just this fucking hand.'
'You sure? OK. Easy does it.'
Wield took his arm and helped him
up.
He winced as he rose then moved
all his limbs in turn as if to show they worked.
'Great,' said Wield. He reached
inside his leathers and pulled out his mobile.
'What you doing?' demanded the
boy.
'Just getting someone to look out
for that guy who grabbed you. Did you notice the make of car? Looked
like a Montego to me.'
'No. I mean, I didn't notice.
Look, why bother? Forget it. He's gone.'
A very self-possessed youngster.
'You might forget it, son. But
that doesn't mean he's not going to try again.'
Try what?'
'Abducting someone.'
'Yeah . . . well
The boy thrust his hands deep
into the pockets of his thin windcheater, hunched his shoulders and
began to move away. He looked waif and forlorn.
'Hey, where are you going?' said
Wield.
'What's it to you?'
'I'm worried, that's all’
said Wield. 'Look, you've had a shock. You shouldn't be wandering
round here at this time of night. Hop up behind me and I'll give you
a lift.'
The boy regarded him
speculatively.
'Lift where?' he said.
Wield considered. Offering to
take the boy home might not be a good move. Maybe it was what awaited
him at home that sent him wandering the streets so late. Best way to
find out could be a low-key, friendly chat, unencumbered by the
revelation that he was a cop. He put the phone away. The car would be
long gone by now and what did he have anyway? A dark blue Montego,
maybe.
'Fancy a coffee or a Coke or
something?' he said.
'OK’ said the boy. 'Why
not? You know Turk's?'
'Know of it’ said
was a safe indulgence. Over the years he had grown sufficiently
strong in resisting temptation to be able to drink the heady potion
more deeply than most men.
The lights turned green, the
engine roared, but it was the roar of an old lion saying he could run
down that wildebeest if he wanted but on the whole he thought he'd
probably stretch under a bush and have a nap.
The sergeant moved forward
sedately and legally.
It was his slowness that
permitted him to see the attempted abduction taking place in the car
park which ran much of the length of the park.
Separated from the main road by a
long colonnade of lime trees, it was in fact more like a parallel
thoroughfare. During the day, visitors to the park left the cars
there in a single line. On a summer night it might be quite crowded,
but in the middle of winter, apart from the odd vehicle whose
steamed-up windows advertised the presence of young love or old lust,
there was rarely much activity. But as he went by, Wield saw a man
trying to drag a young boy into his slow-moving car.
He braked sharply, went into a
speedway racer's skid, straightened up to negotiate the gap between
two lime trees, found it was already occupied by a bench, realigned
his machine at the next gap, went through, lost a bit of traction on
the loose shaley surface as he straightened up, and lost some time
wrestling the Thunderbird back under control. All the while he was
blasting out warnings of his approach on the horn.
Prevention was better than cure
and the last thing he wanted was a high-speed chase through city
streets in pursuit of a car carrying a kidnapped child.
It worked. Ahead he saw the boy
sprawling on the ground with the abductor's vehicle roaring off in a
cloud of dust which, aided by the fact that the car's lights weren't
switched on, made it impossible to get the number plate.
He pulled up alongside the boy,
who had pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked about ten,
maybe a bit older, twelve, say. He had big dark eyes, curly black
hair and a thin pale face. He had grazed his hand on falling and he
was holding it to his mouth to wash it and ease the pain. He looked
angry rather than terrified.
'You OK, son?' said Wield,
dismounting.
'Yeah, I think so.'
His accent was local urban. He
began to rise and Wield said, 'Hold on. Got any pain anywhere?'
'Nah. Just this fucking hand.'
'You sure? OK. Easy does it.'
Wield took his arm and helped him
up.
He winced as he rose then moved
all his limbs in turn as if to show they worked.
'Great,' said Wield. He reached
inside his leathers and pulled out his mobile.
'What you doing?' demanded the
boy.
'Just getting someone to look out
for that guy who grabbed you. Did you notice the make of car? Looked
like a Montego to me.'
'No. I mean, I didn't notice.
Look, why bother? Forget it. He's gone.'
A very self-possessed youngster.
'You might forget it, son. But
that doesn't mean he's not going to try again.'
Try what?'
'Abducting someone.'
'Yeah . . . well
The boy thrust his hands deep
into the pockets of his thin windcheater, hunched his shoulders and
began to move away. He looked waif and forlorn.
'Hey, where are you going?' said
Wield.
'What's it to you?'
'I'm worried, that's all’
said Wield. 'Look, you've had a shock. You shouldn't be wandering
round here at this time of night. Hop up behind me and I'll give you
a lift.'
The boy regarded him
speculatively.
'Lift where?' he said.
Wield considered. Offering to
take the boy home might not be a good move. Maybe it was what awaited
him at home that sent him wandering the streets so late. Best way to
find out could be a low-key, friendly chat, unencumbered by the
revelation that he was a cop. He put the phone away. The car would be
long gone by now and what did he have anyway? A dark blue Montego,
maybe.
'Fancy a coffee or a Coke or
something?' he said.
'OK’ said the boy. 'Why
not? You know Turk's?'
'Know of it’ said
Similar Books
