Read Online Psycho Alley by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online

called the kitchen, mainly because of the huge chiller cabinet set against one wall with dozens of doors in it, set at the perfect temperature to keep a dead body fresh and fragrant. Cards with names scribbled on, slotted into the holders on the doors, declared whether there was a body on the roller behind the door. The place looked pretty full to Henry.
    They crossed the tiled floor to the double doors and stepped out of the rear of the mortuary into the cool Saturday evening. Debbie Black, who had driven up to Lancaster in a firm’s car, stood on the grass verge, smoking. Henry winced slightly at the sight.
    Baines elbowed him and hissed in his ear, ‘Know what they say about a woman who smokes?’
    Henry stopped. ‘No, go on, surprise me.’
    â€˜Fellatio, your todger’s happiest pastime.’ Baines winked lewdly.
    â€˜Just fuck off,’ Henry said tiredly, but not nastily. ‘I actually don’t shag every woman I work with, y’know, even though I’m regularly accused of it.’
    â€˜Not what I’ve heard.’
    They continued to walk towards Debbie, who blew smoke in languid rings into the atmosphere.
    â€˜Jesus, smoke rings, too!’ Baines gasped. ‘You lucky bastard.’
    Henry shook his head. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
    â€˜Great word,’ said Baines. ‘Underused.’
    â€˜Hi, guys,’ Debbie said, stamping out her cigarette whilst exhaling her last lungful and wafting away the smoke with distaste. ‘I only smoke after PMs … I can’t stand the smell of them. Keep a packet of fags on standby, just in case.’
    Henry nodded understandingly, although he had never known the desire to resort to cancer sticks. His stress default had usually been booze in the form of Stella Artois and Jack Daniel’s.
    Debbie looked distraught, as though it was more than the whiff of death that was troubling her.
    â€˜You OK?’ Henry asked.
    â€˜No, no, not really.’ She was shaking her head, eyes filling with moisture. ‘It’s just that …’ She looked up to the heavens, seeming annoyed with herself for showing emotion. ‘I know I shouldn’t let it bother me … it’s just what you said, Henry, when you described what happened when you clocked Uren.’ He looked puzzled. ‘You know,’ she prompted. ‘That poor girl was probably tied up in the back of his car, wasn’t she? And those two bastards had stopped for fish and chips. They had her tied up alive and they stopped for fuckin’ chips,’ she said angrily. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, drawing her hands over her face. She composed herself, took a few deep breaths, then regarded Henry levelly. ‘I want to be on the murder team, Henry. I want to have a chance at collaring Uren and I won’t accept anything less.’
    â€˜What’ve you got?’ Henry asked the question of the single person who formed the intelligence cell in the MIR. He didn’t particularly like the way the DC looked back at him, because he sensed the answer in his expression: nothing.
    â€˜Er, not much,’ mumbled the detective constable. His name was Jerry Tope and his nickname was ‘Bung’, short for ‘bungalow’ because, as legend had it, he had nothing ‘up top’. He was the DC Henry had snaffled from the local Intel unit.
    â€˜How much more than when I left?’
    The DC blinked nervously.
    â€˜That much, eh?’ Henry said, his mouth set.
    â€˜Er, just really the stuff that’s already on the system.’ Tope held up a fairly heavy file. ‘Downloaded.’
    â€˜Right,’ clicked Henry. ‘So basically, since Uren was released and then did a runner from the hostel, we’ve nothing on him, except a snippet from an interview?’
    The DC looked forlorn.
    â€˜In that case, I want everything that we do know to be turned into an action. I want all known