Read Online Nameless Kill by Ryan Casey - Free Book Online

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    “Good,” Marlow said. “How’s he doing, anyway, our young deputy?”
    “He’s okay,” Brian said, imagining the smell of Brad’s boozy breath, the sight of his greasy hair. “He’s got a good SIO mind, anyway.”
    Marlow didn’t nod. He didn’t shake his head. He just stared at Brian. “Good. He better have.”
    Brian turned back to his desk. Tapped a few keys to take the screensaver off his computer. He could tell that Marlow was still peering at him.
    “Keep an eye on him,” Marlow said, quieter than his other words. “Although…‌well, you’ll know what to look for.”
    Brian felt his cheeks heating up. It was as if his skin‌—‌his entire front‌—‌was being torn off by Marlow, breaking down any of his mirage of strength. He tapped at a few more keys on the keyboard, not really doing anything.
    “Speak of the Devil,” Marlow said, hopping off Brian’s desk.
    Brian looked up. Brad was walking right towards him. His hair was as greasy as ever. His cheekbones were as narrowed and protruding as ever. And his…
    Wait. Was that a smile he could see on Brad’s face?
    “Bearer of news. Please tell me you’ve got something. We’re going to press in a few hours and I’ve barely got a thing to go on.”
    Brad arrived at Brian’s desk with yet another bundle of papers under his arm.
    “Has this fella heard of a laptop?” Marlow said, frowning at all the print-offs that Brad was wading through.
    Brad ignored him and continued to pull papers out from the stack. He smelled of booze. His hands were shaking.
    But he was smiling. He was smiling, which meant he had something.
    “I found a hat, by the way,” Brian said, Brad in a fixated world of his own. “Pink hat matching the one the girl’s wearing. Bought it at that little African Connection shop our friend Mrs. Delforth told us about. Dainty little place, if a bit unwelcoming‌—‌”
    Brad smacked a smaller bundle of papers down on Brian’s desk, sending a pot of pens tumbling over and making DCI Marlow jump.
    Brad pointed his finger at a black and white photograph in front of him. He kept his finger there and stared right at Brian, clearly not willing to talk until Brian caught up with him.
    “What is…‌what is this?” Brian asked.
    And then he saw it. He made out what the photograph was of.
    He tasted the sugary tea from earlier working its way up his throat.
    “Fuck, Brad,” Brian said, leaning backwards, the image of the dead boy still burning in his mind. The pale flesh. The glassy eyes. And the victim must’ve been, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?
    “What the hell is this about?” DCI Marlow asked. “And what does this have to do with‌—‌”
    “Look at his head,” Brad said, tapping on the photograph again, clearly desensitised to its contents.
    Brian was still for a few seconds. He took some steadying breaths, gulped down the bitter taste in his mouth, and leaned back to look at the photograph, a bit more prepared this time.
    It was a boy lying on some grass. He was clearly dead. His flesh was pale. His eyes were wide open and glassy. There was a mark around his neck, scratches on his stomach, and…
    The hairs on Brian’s arms raised up. He hadn’t noticed the boy’s head at first, probably because he hadn’t been looking properly. But now he saw it. Through the black and white, he saw it.
    The antlers, perched atop the boy’s head.
    And then, underneath the antlers, a pink hat, just like the one on the side of his desk.
    Nobody spoke for a few moments. Brian looked at Brad, then at Marlow‌—‌who scratched at his flaky beard‌—‌then back at the photograph. “What…‌When was this…‌When did this‌—‌”
    “This is Harry Brydle,” Brad said. “He was found dead in 2001.”
    “Oh yeah. Little Harry Brydle,” DCI Marlow chirped in, eyes widening. “I‌—‌I remember that. I remember.”
    Brad nodded once as if to say, “Good boy! Well done!”