Read Online The Murder House by Simon Beaufort - Free Book Online Page A

sensation of unease had settled in his mind, and it was still with him when he bade Evans goodnight and drove home to his empty house.
Tuesday, 31 July
    It was evening, and I was sitting outside in a deckchair, enjoying one of those weak French beers that are so refreshing on a hot day. I’d started work at six that morning, and at quarter to two, just fifteen minutes before I was due to finish, Wright had sent me to deal with a juvenile shoplifter.
    For once I didn’t mind that this forced me to work three extra hours, as I was saving for a trip to Peru. Well, why not? If I didn’t see the world soon, I was going to miss it. I was twenty-seven, and it was time I did something interesting.
    I’d been in the job for more than five years, and it was obvious that I wasn’t going to amount to much. I’d finally yielded to pressure from Superintendent Taylor and taken my sergeant’s exams, although it didn’t take a genius to see that he wanted my success to look good on his station’s statistics, not because he thought I was any good. But, to be honest, the prospect of promotion filled me with dread. I’d started to look for other jobs, and had even applied to do postgraduate work at Newcastle. I’d been happy there, and although I wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be the same if I went back, anything had to be better than being pushed around by Sergeant Wright.
    When the phone rang I assumed it was my mother. It was half past eight, the sort of time she usually phoned. I went cold all over when I heard James’ voice at the other end.
    â€˜Hi, Helen,’ he said breezily, as though the episode on the train had never happened.
    â€˜What do you want?’ Time had done nothing to blunt my anger towards him.
    â€˜Actually, I wondered whether you’d pop over,’ he said chirpily. ‘It would be nice to see you.’
    â€˜What do you want?’ I repeated icily.
    â€˜Helen, Helen!’ came his mocking voice. ‘What makes you think I want anything?’
    I hung up.
    When the phone rang again a few seconds later, I snatched it up and was about to tell him where to go when I heard my mother speaking. I flopped back in my deckchair and listened to her burbling about my brother’s latest sporting success and my sister’s newest baby. She talked for a good half hour, without needing much input from me, then rang off. I put down the phone, and answered it without thinking when it rang again seconds later.
    â€˜Come over,’ came James’ voice crisply down the line. ‘I was going to do this nicely, but you’re being a bitch so I won’t. I’ve still got those photos I took of the Noble file. I heard there was quite a to-do over that. Fur and feathers all over the place. So get off your arse and come over.’
    â€˜We had a deal. I’m not going anywhere.’
    â€˜You’ll do as I say unless you want your colleagues to know that you gave police files to a defence lawyer.’ James’ voice was frigid.
    â€˜You can tell me what you want on the phone,’ I said, frightened now. ‘I’m not going anywhere, especially your flat.’
    â€˜Not my flat,’ said James, his tone indicating that he would never again deign to have the likes of me setting foot inside its hallowed portals. ‘A friend’s house – number nine, Orchard Street, not far from you. Be here in five minutes, or Oakley’s going to get a package in the post that’ll tell him that the officer he’s been nurturing so tenderly is a viper in his nest.’
    The phone went dead.
    I knew Orchard Street well, as I walked past it most days on my way to work. He was right: it wasn’t far.
    But should I go there to meet him? Part of me wanted to finish my beer and read my book, just to show him that I wasn’t afraid or intimidated. But the truth was that I was terrified. It wasn’t just about the