Read Online The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page A

First I want you to read all the files, and there are some people I want you to meet.’
            The Colonel headed up the stairs, his stick clicking on the stone steps. He took Cramer up to the second floor and along a corridor to a large room containing a bed, a sagging armchair, an old oak wardrobe and matching dressing table. Under a sash window stood a table piled high with files. The Colonel waved his stick at the paperwork. ‘They’re copies of the files held by the various law enforcement agencies who’ve been investigating the killings. For those in Europe I’ve only included the Interpol paperwork. Languages weren’t your forte, I remember.’
            ‘ Mais oui , mon colonel ,’ Cramer replied dryly, his accent deliberately atrocious. He went over to the table and ran his hand over the files. His window overlooked the rear of the school and he could see a large car park with half a dozen vehicles bunched together in one section and, to the right, a line of single storey buildings with large metal chimneys. Through the windows he could just make out huge ovens, cooking equipment and rows of stainless steel cupboards and shelving so Cramer guessed they were the former school’s kitchens.
            ‘I’ll have some food sent up to you. Read as much as you can today and we’ll start in earnest tomorrow,’ said the Colonel. He stopped at the door. ‘Do you have any questions?’
            Cramer shook his head. ‘I probably will have after I’ve read all this. Just one thing.’
            The Colonel smiled. ‘Famous Grouse?’
            Cramer was surprised. ‘Am I that transparent?’
            ‘I wouldn’t have thought whisky was doing your stomach any good.’
            Cramer shrugged. ‘That might have been good advice a few years ago. Now it’s a bit late.’
            ‘The man whose place you’re taking drinks red wine. He never touches whisky.’
            ‘So when I take his place, I’ll drink wine.’
            ‘Just so you know.’
            ‘I hear you, Colonel.’ It was general practice in the SAS for troopers and noncommissioned officers to refer to their officers as ‘Boss’, but Cramer had never been able to bring himself to use the more informal term with the Colonel.
            The Colonel tapped his stick on the bare floorboards. ‘I’ll have it for you this evening.’ He closed the door behind him.
            Half an hour later, while Cramer was still reading through the first file, there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, not looking up. A middle-aged woman, plump with a pleasant face, her hair tied back in a bun, elbowed the door open and carried in a tray containing a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk. She introduced herself as Mrs Elliott, with the emphasis on the Mrs, and left the tray on the dressing table. He thought it best not to ask Mrs Elliott about the whisky. She didn’t look much like a drinker.
           
           
           
           
    The dogs leapt out of the starting gate at full stretch, their paws kicking up puffs of sand on the track. The crowd yelled and screamed as the greyhounds hurtled after the mechanical hare, but Thomas McCormack seemed more interested in the programme he was holding. ‘Next race, number six,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth.
            ‘Yeah?’ said Dermott Lynch. ‘Is it one of yours?’
            McCormack gave Lynch a crafty sideways look. ‘No, but it’s going to win.’
            Lynch studied the dog’s form as the greyhounds rounded the first bend. It had finished unplaced in its last three races, but he knew better than to question McCormack’s advice. McCormack owned a string of greyhounds and on at least two nights a week he could be found at Dublin’s Shelbourne Park dog track.
            Lynch looked up as the favourite crossed the finishing line and was engulfed in the waiting arms of a girl. She was