Read Online Lazybones by Mark Billingham - Free Book Online

everywhere, her arm moving hard and fast, striking out instinctively, the mug in her hand smashing across his nose.
    Then she screamed at what she had done and she reached out for him and they sank down onto the linoleum, which quickly grew slippery with blood and suds.
    While the voices of young boys filled the kitchen, singing about holly and ivy.

FOUR
    Back when the Peel Centre had been the home of cadets in training, Becke House had been a dormitory building. To Thorne it still felt utilitarian, dead. He swore, on occasion, that rounding a corner, or pushing open an office door, he could catch a whiff of sweat and homesickness…
    No surprise when, a month or so earlier, everyone on Team 3 had got very excited at news of improved facilities and extra working space. In reality, it amounted to little more than an increased stationery budget, a reconditioned coffee machine, and one more airless cubbyhole, which Brigstocke had immediately commandeered. There were now three offices in the narrow corridor that ran off the major incident room. Brigstocke had the new one, while Thorne shared his with Yvonne Kitson. Holland and Stone were left with the smallest of the lot, negotiating rights to the wastepaper basket and arguing about who got the chair with the cushion.
    Thorne hated Becke House. Actually it depressed him, sapped his energy to the point where he hadn’t enough left to hate it properly. He’d heard somebody once joking about Sick Building Syndrome, but to him the place wasn’t so much sick as terminally ill.
    He’d spent the morning catching up. Sitting at his gunmetal gray desk, sweating like a pig, and reading every scrap of paperwork there was on the case. He readthe postmortem report, the forensic report, his own report on the visit to Derby Prison. He read Holland’s notes on the search of Remfry’s house, the interviews with relatives of the women Remfry had raped, and the statements from some of the men he’d shared cells with in three different prisons.
    Inches thick already and only one promising lead. An ex-cellmate of Remfry’s had mentioned a prisoner named Gribbin, whom Remfry had talked about falling out with, back when the pair of them were on remand in Brixton. Gribbin had been released from prison himself only four months before Remfry and had skipped parole. There was a warrant out…
    When Thorne had finished reading, he spent some time fanning his face with an empty folder. He stared at the mysterious scorch marks on the polystyrene ceiling tiles. Then he read everything again.
    When Yvonne Kitson came in, he looked up, dropped the notes down onto his desk, and gazed toward the open window.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about jumping,” he said. “Suicide seems like quite an attractive option, and at least I’d get a breeze on the way down. What d’you reckon?”
    She laughed. “We’re only on the third floor.” Thorne shrugged. “Where’s the fan?”
    â€œBrigstocke’s got it.”
    â€œTypical…” She sat down on a chair against the wall and reached into a large handbag. Thorne laughed when she pulled out the familiar Tupperware container.
    â€œWednesday, so it must be tuna,” he said.
    She peeled the lid off and took out a sandwich. “Tuna salad, actually, smart-arse. My old man went a bit mad this morning and stuck a slice of lettuce on…”
    Thorne leaned back in his chair, tapped a plastic ruler along its arm. “How do you do it, Yvonne?”
    She looked up, her mouth full. “What?”
    Still holding the ruler, Thorne spread his arms wide, waved them around. “This. All of it. As well as three young kids…”
    â€œThe DCI’s got kids…”
    â€œYeah, and he’s a fucking mess like the rest of us. You seem to manage it all without breaking a sweat. Work, home, kids, dogs, and your sodding lunch in a box.” He held out the ruler toward