Read Online STANDPOINT a gripping thriller full of suspense by Derek Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Derek Thompson
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camera; it took time to stage that level of spontaneity.
Karl did the bare minimum and homed in on the youngest and prettiest Customs Officer. He swaggered about, displaying the subtlety of a Great Dane with a hard-on. Thomas drifted along behind him to witness the charm offensive at close quarters.
“Ah me, I do so love a girl in uniform!”
The woman turned, saw Karl’s beaming face and lifted her shoulders. “You must be the Floater everyone’s been warning me about.” Before Karl could answer, she flashed a smile. “So how do you want me?”
Karl did his thing, manufacturing life-like shots under cover from the rain. Thomas was regulated to bag man, moving equipment while the maestro was in full flow.
“By the way, whatever happened to the shooting victim?”
Thomas jerked to attention behind Karl; very slick, right in the middle of a sequence — classic misdirection.
“Funny you should ask.” Little Miss Flirtatious turned and made a Marilyn Monroe pout for the camera. “The way I heard it, he was whisked off to a private hospital somewhere.”
Karl moved from behind the camera and looked directly at Thomas, just for an instant — a regular Holmes and Watson moment. “Hey,” Karl knelt down near her to change his data card, “I wonder where all the booze in his van went?”
Karl’s supermodel looked over to Ann Crossley. “She supervised it.”
“Well then,” Karl chortled, “We’ll be alright for the Christmas Party! Okay sweetheart, I’m all done here — I just need to get the steam off my lens.”
She gave him a little wave and went off to join the others, glancing back a couple of times on her way.
“You know, the camera really loves her.”
“Looked like it wasn’t the only one.” Thomas folded his arms.
“Come on now, Tommy. I was working my subject, like any good photographer.”
Thomas squatted beside him while Karl put his trusty Nikon to bed. Thomas eyed it suspiciously. He preferred a Canon; but they’d had that debate many times over.
“You look pensive, Tommo — what’s eating you?”
“I don’t do let’s pretend very well, Karl. And you heard what she said . . .”
“Just keep to your boundaries and let me do my job.”
Thomas stalled him, arm outstretched. “But what exactly is your job?”
Karl walked around him. “Don’t go there, Tommo; don’t go there.”
* * *
17.45 on the dot, as requested. Christine’s door was already open. Thomas knocked politely on the frame; start as you mean to go on .
“Thomas!” Peterson cried delightedly, as if they were at a class reunion. “Come in, have a seat.”
On the desk was a fan-spread of reports, all bearing Thomas’s name.
“I understand you and Karl McNeill were on duty when the firearms incident took place at Harwich?” Before Thomas could reply, Peterson added, “But there’s nothing in your report.”
It was a pawn-to-king-four gambit — obvious, but effective. Thomas responded in kind. “I keep my reports factual and we were concentrating on the Customs Officers.” Facts . A light went on in his head. If he had any snaps of the red car heading up the exit lane, he’d probably have the registration number too.
“And these?” Peterson pawed at one of the mosaic shots. “What are these about?”
Thomas shrugged it off. “Just background detail. I like to set up early and get a feel for the location.”
Peterson stalled for a second and Thomas caught it. “Christine tells me that you have real potential.”
She shifted forward in her chair. “Bob and I have discussed this, and we think you’re ready for development. It means additional training in Staffordshire and it could open doors for you in the future.”
Thomas wore his best fake smile. Christine continued, “We’ll need a decision by the end of the week — there’s an opening next Monday.”
Peterson was staring intently at the mosaic photograph from the day of the shooting. Thomas kept his eyes firmly on
Karl did the bare minimum and homed in on the youngest and prettiest Customs Officer. He swaggered about, displaying the subtlety of a Great Dane with a hard-on. Thomas drifted along behind him to witness the charm offensive at close quarters.
“Ah me, I do so love a girl in uniform!”
The woman turned, saw Karl’s beaming face and lifted her shoulders. “You must be the Floater everyone’s been warning me about.” Before Karl could answer, she flashed a smile. “So how do you want me?”
Karl did his thing, manufacturing life-like shots under cover from the rain. Thomas was regulated to bag man, moving equipment while the maestro was in full flow.
“By the way, whatever happened to the shooting victim?”
Thomas jerked to attention behind Karl; very slick, right in the middle of a sequence — classic misdirection.
“Funny you should ask.” Little Miss Flirtatious turned and made a Marilyn Monroe pout for the camera. “The way I heard it, he was whisked off to a private hospital somewhere.”
Karl moved from behind the camera and looked directly at Thomas, just for an instant — a regular Holmes and Watson moment. “Hey,” Karl knelt down near her to change his data card, “I wonder where all the booze in his van went?”
Karl’s supermodel looked over to Ann Crossley. “She supervised it.”
“Well then,” Karl chortled, “We’ll be alright for the Christmas Party! Okay sweetheart, I’m all done here — I just need to get the steam off my lens.”
She gave him a little wave and went off to join the others, glancing back a couple of times on her way.
“You know, the camera really loves her.”
“Looked like it wasn’t the only one.” Thomas folded his arms.
“Come on now, Tommy. I was working my subject, like any good photographer.”
Thomas squatted beside him while Karl put his trusty Nikon to bed. Thomas eyed it suspiciously. He preferred a Canon; but they’d had that debate many times over.
“You look pensive, Tommo — what’s eating you?”
“I don’t do let’s pretend very well, Karl. And you heard what she said . . .”
“Just keep to your boundaries and let me do my job.”
Thomas stalled him, arm outstretched. “But what exactly is your job?”
Karl walked around him. “Don’t go there, Tommo; don’t go there.”
* * *
17.45 on the dot, as requested. Christine’s door was already open. Thomas knocked politely on the frame; start as you mean to go on .
“Thomas!” Peterson cried delightedly, as if they were at a class reunion. “Come in, have a seat.”
On the desk was a fan-spread of reports, all bearing Thomas’s name.
“I understand you and Karl McNeill were on duty when the firearms incident took place at Harwich?” Before Thomas could reply, Peterson added, “But there’s nothing in your report.”
It was a pawn-to-king-four gambit — obvious, but effective. Thomas responded in kind. “I keep my reports factual and we were concentrating on the Customs Officers.” Facts . A light went on in his head. If he had any snaps of the red car heading up the exit lane, he’d probably have the registration number too.
“And these?” Peterson pawed at one of the mosaic shots. “What are these about?”
Thomas shrugged it off. “Just background detail. I like to set up early and get a feel for the location.”
Peterson stalled for a second and Thomas caught it. “Christine tells me that you have real potential.”
She shifted forward in her chair. “Bob and I have discussed this, and we think you’re ready for development. It means additional training in Staffordshire and it could open doors for you in the future.”
Thomas wore his best fake smile. Christine continued, “We’ll need a decision by the end of the week — there’s an opening next Monday.”
Peterson was staring intently at the mosaic photograph from the day of the shooting. Thomas kept his eyes firmly on
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