Read Online The Order of Things by Graham Hurley - Free Book Online

in the States or got rid of it since, but I’d say that’s unlikely.’
    Houghton ran quickly through the list. It included a blue anorak, a sleeping bag, lace-up boots and a sizeable rucksack.
    ‘You’re telling me they went to the States during the winter?’
    ‘Early March, boss. Oregon. Still bloody cold.’
    ‘And you’re suggesting he might be using all this gear now?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But it’s June, Jimmy.’
    ‘Sure. But he may be living rough. Nights can be tricky, even in high summer.’
    Houghton gave the proposition some thought. ‘Devon’s a big place,’ she said at last. ‘So where do you suggest we start?’
    It was raining by the time Suttle and Golding got down to Exmouth. The CSM had also shown Golding receipts from the Co-op in the town’s Magnolia Centre, where Bentner evidently did his weekly shop, and Suttle was on nodding terms with the handful of street people who sat cross-legged outside the store and begged for spare change. A couple of them, Suttle suspected, were ex-squaddies, adrift on Civvy Street with a big drink problem and absolutely zero prospects. They both had dogs and disappeared late afternoon with their rucksacks and their sleeping bags in the general direction of the seafront. Quite where they kipped was anyone’s guess, but now was a very good time to find out.
    Neither of them, as it happened, was around. Enquiries at the shop next door revealed that they hadn’t been seen all day. Maybe Suttle might check further up the precinct. Geordie John had been around earlier.
    Suttle had never heard of Geordie John. He turned out to be a scruffy forty-something with a sizeable gut barely contained by a US Army combat jacket that had seen better days. His jeans had gone at the knees and he badly needed a shave, but he had a face made for laughter and definitely wasn’t drunk. He’d spread himself on a tartan blanket outside Boots. Two puppies nestled between his thighs, and his upturned forage cap was brimming with small change.
    ‘Gentlemen?’ he peered up and gestured them in from the rain.
    Suttle squatted beside him in the shelter of the overhang. The army-issue rucksack was full to bursting, and there were tins of dog food in the Iceland bag beside it.
    Geordie John was amused by Suttle’s interest.
    ‘If you get a choice next time, come back as a puppy. The women in this town? Never bloody fails.’
    Suttle offered his warrant card. Golding, still on his feet, didn’t move. Geordie John was staring up at him.
    ‘What’s this about then?’
    Suttle wanted to know where he slept at night.
    ‘Depends who’s asking, my friend.’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Why do you want to know?’
    Suttle didn’t answer. Not at first. Then he asked whether other people slept at the same place, wherever it was.
    ‘Always. You can get rolled otherwise.’
    ‘The same people every night? People you know?’
    ‘Yeah. If you’re after names I’ve got a shit memory.’
    ‘Do strangers ever turn up?’
    ‘I’m not with you.’
    ‘People you don’t know.’
    ‘Yeah. Sometimes.’
    ‘And what happens then?’
    ‘Depends. Blonde? Nice tits? Good attitude?’ He threw his head back and laughed. No teeth.
    Suttle let him settle again. Then he produced Bentner’s passport photo. ‘How about this guy?’
    Geordie John spared it a glance, and Suttle knew at once that Golding had been right: Bentner was out there somewhere, not that far away, living rough.
    ‘Well?’
    Geordie John shook his head, rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn, then extended a filthy finger for one of the puppies to lick.
    ‘You’re telling me you’ve seen this guy?’ Suttle still had the photo.
    ‘I’m telling you nothing. Don’t get me wrong, but a man can’t live on dog food.’
    Catching Golding’s eye, Suttle nodded in the direction of a butcher’s shop across the precinct that sold burgers and sausage baps. Golding shrugged and then departed.
    Geordie John watched him go. He seemed, if anything,