Read Online Playing with Fire by Peter Robinson - Free Book Online

wouldn’t want those bastards anywhere near her,” he said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou know.”
    â€œWas she abused?”
    He nodded. “Him. Her stepfather. He used to do it to her regularly, and her mother did nothing. Too frightened of losing the miserable bastard. I swear I’ll kill him if I ever see him again. I mean it.”
    â€œYou won’t see him, Mark. And you don’t want to go talking about killing anyone. Even in grief. Now, where do they live?”
    â€œAdel.”
    â€œLa-di-da,” said Banks. Adel was a wealthy north Leeds suburb with a fine Norman church and a lot of green.
    Mark noticed Banks’s surprise. “He’s a doctor,” he said.
    â€œTina’s stepfather?”
    â€œUh-huh. That’s how she first got addicted. She used to nick morphine from his surgery when he’d…you know. It helped her get over the shame and the pain. He must have known about it, but he didn’t say anything.”
    â€œDid he know where she lived, on the boat?”
    â€œHe knew.”
    â€œDid he ever visit you there?”
    â€œYes. To try to take Tina back. I wouldn’t let him.”
    Mark probably weighed no more than eight or nine stone, but he looked wiry and strong. People like him often made deceptively tough scrappers, Banks knew, because he’d been like that himself at Mark’s age. He was still on the wiry side, despite all the beer and junk food. A matter of metabolism, he supposed. Jim Hatchley, on the other hand, seemed to show every pint he supped right in his gut.
    â€œSo Tina’s father knew about you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen was the last time he paid you a visit?”
    â€œAbout a week ago.”
    â€œYou sure he didn’t come yesterday?”
    â€œI don’t know. I was at work. On the building site. Tina didn’t say anything.”
    â€œWould she have?”
    â€œMaybe. But she was…you know…a bit out of it.”
    A little chat with Tina’s stepfather was definitely on the cards. “What’s his name?” Banks asked.
    â€œAspern,” Mark spat out. “Patrick Aspern.”
    â€œYou might as well give me his address.”
    Mark gave it to him.
    â€œAnd stay away,” Banks warned him.
    Mark looked sullen, but he said nothing.
    â€œIs there anything else you can tell me about Tom on the next boat? What did he look like?”
    â€œOrdinary, really. Short bloke, barrel-chested. He had long fingers, though. You couldn’t help but notice them. He didn’t shave very often, but he didn’t really have a beard. Didn’t wash his hair much, either.”
    â€œWhat color was it?”
    â€œBrown. Sort of long and greasy.”
    Maybe the victim wasn’t Tom after all. Banks remembered the tufts of red hair that had somehow escaped the flames and made a note to talk to Geoff Hamilton about the discrepancy.
    â€œDid he have any visitors?”
    â€œJust a couple, as far as I know.”
    â€œAt the same time?”
    â€œNo. Separate. I saw one of them two or three times, the other only once.”
    â€œWhat did he look like, the one you saw a few times?”
    â€œHard to say, really. It was always after dark.”
    â€œTry.”
    â€œWell, the only glimpse I got of him was when Tom opened his door and some light came out. He was thin, tallish, maybe six foot or more. A bit stooped.”
    â€œSee his face?”
    â€œNot really. I only saw him in the shadows.”
    â€œWhat about his hair?”
    â€œShort. And dark, I think. Or that could have just been the light.”
    â€œClothes?”
    â€œCan’t say, really. Maybe jeans and trainers.”
    â€œWould you recognize him if you saw him again?”
    â€œDunno. I don’t think so. There was one thing, though.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œHe carried one of those big cases. You know, like art students have.”
    â€œAn