Read Online Lifeless - 5 by Mark Billingham - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Billingham
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Police, Police Procedural, Police - England - London, Thorne; Tom (Fictitious character), Homeless men - Crimes against, Homeless men
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the office he shared with Brigstocke, and waited for a second or two before turning on the light. The room looked a damn sight better in the dark. Who the hel could be expected to work efficiently in an airless grey box like this, or the even smal er one next door that Hol and and McE+oy worked out of?. Worn grey carpet, dirty yel ow wal s and a pair of battle scarred brown desks, like two rectangles of driftwood floating down a shitty river. No amount of potted plants or family photos, or knick-knacks on monitors could stop this roon sucking the energy out of him, blunting him.
There were moments in this office, when Thorne almost forgot what he did for a living.
He flicked on the light and saw a post-mortem report sitting on his desk.
When he almost forgot...
Sarah McEvoy consoled herself with a glass of wine, another cigarette and the thought that crying was easy.
She couldn't think of the boy in Birmingham as anything other than a potential witness and she knew that perhaps she should. She knew that there were feelings missing. Not maternal ones necessarily, or even feminine. Just human. She felt angry at what had happened to the boy's mother al right. Anger was always instant and powerful. It made her feel light-headed.
Anger was enjoyable, but sympathy never came as easily.
It wasn't fair. She felt that her behaviour was being judged. Maybe right now, Thorne was tel ing somebody else, Hol and probably, how.., hard she was. There was no middle ground as a woman. She was used to it, but it stil pissed her off. Frigid, or a slag. Girly, or one of the boys. Hard, or emotional y unstable. Actual y, hard-faced was a favourite with female col eagues.
Usual y fol owed by bitch or cow.
She was sure that Tom Thorne wouldn't be crying about anything. As it was, there had been quite a few times lately when she'd woken up and been pretty sure that she had been crying.
She could never be positive of course, however puffy she looked, or fucked up she felt. She certainly wasn't going to ask whoever she might have woken up next to, for the details.
Conversation of any sort, by that point, would be kept to a bare minimum in an effort to get rid of them as fast as possible.
She knew what those at work who guessed at her domestic arrangements would make of them. For this reason she did her best to ensure that it stayed as guesswork only. She wasn't frigid, so there was only one other option wasn't there? It was a smal jump for a smal brain from 'sexual y active' to 'sexual y active with superior officers'. There were stil those who suspected that any woman rising through the ranks, did so on her back.
Right. Lying on her back and staring at that glass ceiling...
It was nobody's business and it was her choice. A regular boyfriend was nice in theory and a bonus at parties, but in her experience it rarely meant regular sex, and she needed that. She needed to feel wanted, and if that occasional y meant used then that was fine, because it cut both ways.
Al the time she was checking to see what was on TV and thinking about what she might eat, she knew perfectly wel that she'd end up going out. She'd been thinking about it al the way back on the train. Staring at her own reflection in the blackness of the carriage window, smoking cigarettes down to the filter and wishing the hours away. She might even walk there. It was only fifteen minutes away. Fol owing the path of the railway line al the way from Wembley Park to Harlesden.
She'd need to get changed first though. The people she was going to see, like those on the train earlier, almost certainly had no idea what she did for a living, but she didn't want to take any chances.
In the single pool of light from a desktop lamp, Thorne sat, trying to keep his mind on death, but distracted constantly by an image that was ful of life. Much as he tried to concentrate on Ruth Murray's postmortem report, he couldn't stop the animated features of Charlie Garner from intruding: staring up at
There were moments in this office, when Thorne almost forgot what he did for a living.
He flicked on the light and saw a post-mortem report sitting on his desk.
When he almost forgot...
Sarah McEvoy consoled herself with a glass of wine, another cigarette and the thought that crying was easy.
She couldn't think of the boy in Birmingham as anything other than a potential witness and she knew that perhaps she should. She knew that there were feelings missing. Not maternal ones necessarily, or even feminine. Just human. She felt angry at what had happened to the boy's mother al right. Anger was always instant and powerful. It made her feel light-headed.
Anger was enjoyable, but sympathy never came as easily.
It wasn't fair. She felt that her behaviour was being judged. Maybe right now, Thorne was tel ing somebody else, Hol and probably, how.., hard she was. There was no middle ground as a woman. She was used to it, but it stil pissed her off. Frigid, or a slag. Girly, or one of the boys. Hard, or emotional y unstable. Actual y, hard-faced was a favourite with female col eagues.
Usual y fol owed by bitch or cow.
She was sure that Tom Thorne wouldn't be crying about anything. As it was, there had been quite a few times lately when she'd woken up and been pretty sure that she had been crying.
She could never be positive of course, however puffy she looked, or fucked up she felt. She certainly wasn't going to ask whoever she might have woken up next to, for the details.
Conversation of any sort, by that point, would be kept to a bare minimum in an effort to get rid of them as fast as possible.
She knew what those at work who guessed at her domestic arrangements would make of them. For this reason she did her best to ensure that it stayed as guesswork only. She wasn't frigid, so there was only one other option wasn't there? It was a smal jump for a smal brain from 'sexual y active' to 'sexual y active with superior officers'. There were stil those who suspected that any woman rising through the ranks, did so on her back.
Right. Lying on her back and staring at that glass ceiling...
It was nobody's business and it was her choice. A regular boyfriend was nice in theory and a bonus at parties, but in her experience it rarely meant regular sex, and she needed that. She needed to feel wanted, and if that occasional y meant used then that was fine, because it cut both ways.
Al the time she was checking to see what was on TV and thinking about what she might eat, she knew perfectly wel that she'd end up going out. She'd been thinking about it al the way back on the train. Staring at her own reflection in the blackness of the carriage window, smoking cigarettes down to the filter and wishing the hours away. She might even walk there. It was only fifteen minutes away. Fol owing the path of the railway line al the way from Wembley Park to Harlesden.
She'd need to get changed first though. The people she was going to see, like those on the train earlier, almost certainly had no idea what she did for a living, but she didn't want to take any chances.
In the single pool of light from a desktop lamp, Thorne sat, trying to keep his mind on death, but distracted constantly by an image that was ful of life. Much as he tried to concentrate on Ruth Murray's postmortem report, he couldn't stop the animated features of Charlie Garner from intruding: staring up at
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