Read Online Fell Purpose by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
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trembled. At a turn of the stairs, when Slider was facing her for a moment, he raised his eyebrow enquiringly and she said, ‘It’s Foxxy Roxx. Wiv two exes.’
‘Where?’
‘Everywhere. It’s metal.’
‘Heavy metal?’ he said, to show he knew what she was talking about.
‘No, it’s more like Glam Metal,’ Hart said. ‘Still a bit crusty for a kid, though.’
‘You think she ought to be listening to Perry Como?’
She looked blank for a beat, and then said helpfully, ‘There’s a band called Epic Coma, but they’re more Gothic.’
‘How do you know all this metal stuff?’
‘Me bruvvers grew out of reggae.’
On the second floor the door to the left was open. Through it the music pounded, and they could see a slim young girl dancing about. She was wearing a black leotard and pink footless tights and a grey sweatband round her head, but above it her short coal-black hair stood up in waxed spikes, and she wore heavy black make-up about the eyes and near-purple lipstick. There was a heap of clothes on the bed, and her dance, all in time to the music, involved picking up garments, taking them to a full-length cheval mirror to hold them up against herself, and rejecting them on to a pile on a chair. She moved very well, Slider thought, and had obviously trained in dance, but ballet practice this was not. The contrast between the girlish occupation and the savage music was slightly disturbing.
The room was a cornucopia of possessions, electronic goods, sports equipment, hobby paraphernalia – evidence of past fads requiring considerable financial investment, before interest waned and a newer, shinier preoccupation took over. There were outgrown toys, ornaments, souvenirs, and clothes not only on the bed and chair but bulging out of the wardrobe and hanging on the back of the door. William Whiteley opened a department store with less stock, Slider thought.
He banged on the door, but she didn’t hear him through the music, which was beginning to give him a neck ache. But the dogs had surged past him and attracted her attention, and then she caught sight of him in the mirror and whipped round so hard it was practically a fouetté en tournant . In a gesture of unexpected modesty she clutched the garment she was holding to her front, high up at the neck. Her lips moved to say who are you , but their sound could not compete with Foxxy Roxx.
Slider held up his badge while Hart beside him lifted her hands in a placating, we-won’t-harm-you gesture, and then pointed to the CD player that was pumping out the decibels. The girl went to it crabwise, keeping her eyes on the intruders, and a moment later a blissful silence fell, surprising the dogs so much that one of them barked involuntarily, and then looked embarrassed.
‘Sophy Cooper-Hutchinson?’ Slider said with comfortable formality. ‘I’m sorry if we startled you. Your sister let us in and told us to come up. I’m Detective Inspector Slider from Shepherd’s Bush police station, and this is Detective Constable Hart.’
‘But I haven’t done anything!’ she cried, dropping the dress she had been holding. She had a tattoo like a pattern of thorns growing up around her neck from under her leotard, unpleasantly violent-looking against her young skin. She saw Slider notice it and said impatiently, defensively, ‘It’s just a transfer. It washes off. I’ll take it off before my parents get back. It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Was that what you were doing with Zellah Sunday night – giving each other transfers?’ Hart said.
‘Oh, she’s so lame, she wouldn’t even do that, in case it wouldn’t all come off,’ she said contemptuously, and then with an instant change of tone and sentiment, ‘But it’s cool, she’s my mate, she can do what she likes. It’s a free country.’ Slider was still blinking at this volte-face when her face changed again. She scowled and demanded, ‘What is this? What do you want, anyway?’
‘So you haven’t
‘Where?’
‘Everywhere. It’s metal.’
‘Heavy metal?’ he said, to show he knew what she was talking about.
‘No, it’s more like Glam Metal,’ Hart said. ‘Still a bit crusty for a kid, though.’
‘You think she ought to be listening to Perry Como?’
She looked blank for a beat, and then said helpfully, ‘There’s a band called Epic Coma, but they’re more Gothic.’
‘How do you know all this metal stuff?’
‘Me bruvvers grew out of reggae.’
On the second floor the door to the left was open. Through it the music pounded, and they could see a slim young girl dancing about. She was wearing a black leotard and pink footless tights and a grey sweatband round her head, but above it her short coal-black hair stood up in waxed spikes, and she wore heavy black make-up about the eyes and near-purple lipstick. There was a heap of clothes on the bed, and her dance, all in time to the music, involved picking up garments, taking them to a full-length cheval mirror to hold them up against herself, and rejecting them on to a pile on a chair. She moved very well, Slider thought, and had obviously trained in dance, but ballet practice this was not. The contrast between the girlish occupation and the savage music was slightly disturbing.
The room was a cornucopia of possessions, electronic goods, sports equipment, hobby paraphernalia – evidence of past fads requiring considerable financial investment, before interest waned and a newer, shinier preoccupation took over. There were outgrown toys, ornaments, souvenirs, and clothes not only on the bed and chair but bulging out of the wardrobe and hanging on the back of the door. William Whiteley opened a department store with less stock, Slider thought.
He banged on the door, but she didn’t hear him through the music, which was beginning to give him a neck ache. But the dogs had surged past him and attracted her attention, and then she caught sight of him in the mirror and whipped round so hard it was practically a fouetté en tournant . In a gesture of unexpected modesty she clutched the garment she was holding to her front, high up at the neck. Her lips moved to say who are you , but their sound could not compete with Foxxy Roxx.
Slider held up his badge while Hart beside him lifted her hands in a placating, we-won’t-harm-you gesture, and then pointed to the CD player that was pumping out the decibels. The girl went to it crabwise, keeping her eyes on the intruders, and a moment later a blissful silence fell, surprising the dogs so much that one of them barked involuntarily, and then looked embarrassed.
‘Sophy Cooper-Hutchinson?’ Slider said with comfortable formality. ‘I’m sorry if we startled you. Your sister let us in and told us to come up. I’m Detective Inspector Slider from Shepherd’s Bush police station, and this is Detective Constable Hart.’
‘But I haven’t done anything!’ she cried, dropping the dress she had been holding. She had a tattoo like a pattern of thorns growing up around her neck from under her leotard, unpleasantly violent-looking against her young skin. She saw Slider notice it and said impatiently, defensively, ‘It’s just a transfer. It washes off. I’ll take it off before my parents get back. It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘Was that what you were doing with Zellah Sunday night – giving each other transfers?’ Hart said.
‘Oh, she’s so lame, she wouldn’t even do that, in case it wouldn’t all come off,’ she said contemptuously, and then with an instant change of tone and sentiment, ‘But it’s cool, she’s my mate, she can do what she likes. It’s a free country.’ Slider was still blinking at this volte-face when her face changed again. She scowled and demanded, ‘What is this? What do you want, anyway?’
‘So you haven’t
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