Read Online Easy Meat by John Harvey - Free Book Online

trapped somehow,” Millington said, “between here and the end of the bed.”
    “Yes.”
    Behind Resnick’s temple the same nerve triggered again, a pulse of memory. If he closed his eyes he knew he would hear, along with the cries of those who had been attacked where he now stood, the screams of Rachel Chaplin, jagged and sharp, echoing from the upper bedroom of his own house. Would see the dead man’s savagely self-mutilated body lodged between floor and wall.
    “Think he was trying to knock it out of ’em, where they were hiding whatever he were after?”
    “I don’t know, Graham.” Stretching his leg across the perimeter of blood, Resnick moved to the far side of the bed. “I don’t know if whoever did this was being that rational.”
    “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How come she came off so much the worse for wear?”
    Resnick was staring at the space, the floor. “Whatever damage was done, it was done there. She must have been leaning over him, protecting him in some way. Whatever way she could.”
    Naylor called up from below and a few moments later appeared at the door. “People two doors down, sir, friends of the Netherfields …” Netherfield, Resnick thought, up to that moment he had not known their name. “… seems the husband, Eric, always kept this piece of iron railing beside the bed. In case of burglars, that’s what he always said.”
    “Right,” said Resnick, “find that and I wouldn’t mind betting we’ve found the weapon that did this.”
    Sounds from below informed him that the Scene of Crime team had arrived and while they photographed and dusted, employed the proverbial fine-tooth comb, Resnick and Millington could make themselves scarce, make themselves useful elsewhere.
    “You’ll be wanting to get out to Queen’s, I reckon,” Millington said by the front door. “I’ll just hang on and give Kevin a hand here. Get a start on the morning.”
    Crossing the street towards his car, Resnick checked his watch: morning had already started.

Nine
    “Why did you run away from the home, Martin?” Lynn asked.
    From under the fall of dark hair, Martin Hodgson squinted back at her in disbelief.
    “Why, Martin?”
    “Why d’you think?”
    “I don’t know, I’m asking you.”
    “If you don’t know, you must be thick.”
    “And if I were you, I’d watch my mouth.”
    Leaning back in his chair, Martin contorted his face and peered downwards. “All I can see is me top lip.”
    She controlled the urge to slap him hard across the face, kick the chair out from under him, cocky little sod, and see him sprawling on the floor. For a moment she wondered whether if someone had done that to him sooner, and hard enough, he would still have turned out the way he had; or was he like he was because that had happened too many times?
    “When we brought you in,” Lynn said, “you had over a hundred pounds in your pockets.”
    “So?”
    “So where did it come from?”
    Martin shook his head; the same expression was back on his face again, sullen and hard. “Where d’you think?”
    “Tell me.”
    “You shouldn’t be doin’ this, interrogating me on me own. You know how old I am, you know the rules.”
    Despite herself, Lynn smiled. “Interrogation? Is that what this is?”
    “Yeh. What else d’you call it?”
    “It’s just a chat.”
    “You mean, I could get up and go?”
    “No.”
    “Then I should have someone here, right?”
    “Social services’ve been informed.”
    “Bollocks to that. I want a brief.”
    “As soon as one can be found.”
    “Then I’m not sayin’ another thing till he comes.”
    “Just tell me about the money.”
    “What about it?”
    “Where it came from?”
    Martin squinted up his eyes. “You know where you found me, right?”
    “You got it on the Forest?”
    “Yeh, grows on trees.”
    Caught her! Lynn sat on her hands, staring at the ceiling. Grinning, Martin let his chair rock forward and then slowly folded his arms across the table and