Read Online The Torment of Others by Val McDermid - Free Book Online
Authors: Val McDermid
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joke of it, although one or two used his slowness or stupidity as an excuse for giving him a bad time. But he’s used to that too. Until the Voice came along and said he deserved better, that was how it was for him. The tree every dog pissed up. The one who was so crap everybody else looked good next to him .
Tonight, he’s going to prove them wrong. Tonight he’s going to do something none of them would dare. And he’s going to do it right .
Isn’t he?
The car park was a place of shadows, hemmed in by high brick walls topped with razor wire. When it had been built, nobody could have anticipated the explosion in car ownership, so it was always over-full, double-parked and a source of irritation to those who had to use it.
It was also supposed to be secure. A sturdy metal barrier had to be raised to permit entry or egress, and the officer in charge of it was supposed to monitor each entrant carefully. But the man leaning on one of the cars understood how to circumvent systems. When he’d been here before, he’d made allies of the security team, aware that there would probably be a time when he’d want to come back without the necessary authority.
That time was tonight. He’d been waiting for the best part of an hour, resting against the bonnet of the silver saloon, reading steadily through the papers he’d stuffed into his briefcase, his peripheral vision alert to anyone leaving the tall building in front of the car park. But the light was fading fast and the air held the crisp promise of winter. Waiting was becoming less attractive. He glanced at his watch. Just after six. He’d give it half an hour, then he’d slip away into the night. He didn’t want to lurk in the darkness, for a variety of reasons.
A few minutes later, he saw what he’d been waiting for. A gleam of blonde hair caught in the security lights by the back door, and he was on the move. He shoved the file back into his briefcase and stood upright, moving towards the back of the car to cut off his target before she could reach the driver’s door.
She looked over her shoulder, calling out a farewell to a colleague. When she turned back, he was only a few feet from her. Shock and astonishment shot across her face and she stopped dead. Her mouth formed an exclamation, but no sound emerged.
‘Hi, Carol,’ Tony said. ‘Fancy a curry?’
‘Jesus,’ she exhaled, her shoulders dropping. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing here?’
He spread his arms wide, a parody of innocence. ‘Like I said, inviting you out for a curry.’
‘Freaking me out, more like. What are you doing in Bradfield? You’re supposed to be in St Andrews.’ He raised one finger in admonishment. ‘Later. Now, are you going to unlock the car? I’m freezing.’
With an air of bemusement, Carol obediently popped the locks and watched him walk round to the passenger seat. She couldn’t help smiling. There was, she thought, nobody quite like Tony Hill.
Twenty minutes later, they’d found a relatively quiet corner table in a cheap and cheerful Bangladeshi café on the fringes of Temple Fields, the area of the city centre where the gay village sat uneasily alongside the red-light district. Their fellow customers were a mixture of students and individuals poised to go looking for love in all the wrong places. Carol and Tony had discovered the café when they’d first worked together on a case centred on Temple Fields, and it seemed the obvious place for this reunion.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Carol said as the waiter departed to bring them a couple of bottles of Kingfisher.
He held out his arm. ‘Go on, pinch me. I’m real.’
She leaned forward and gave his shoulder a gentle punch. ‘OK, you’re real. But why are you here?’
‘I jacked the job in. I was a fish out of water there, Carol. I needed to get back to the work I know I’m good at. I’d already got an offer of consultancy work over in Europe. And when John Brandon told me
Tonight, he’s going to prove them wrong. Tonight he’s going to do something none of them would dare. And he’s going to do it right .
Isn’t he?
The car park was a place of shadows, hemmed in by high brick walls topped with razor wire. When it had been built, nobody could have anticipated the explosion in car ownership, so it was always over-full, double-parked and a source of irritation to those who had to use it.
It was also supposed to be secure. A sturdy metal barrier had to be raised to permit entry or egress, and the officer in charge of it was supposed to monitor each entrant carefully. But the man leaning on one of the cars understood how to circumvent systems. When he’d been here before, he’d made allies of the security team, aware that there would probably be a time when he’d want to come back without the necessary authority.
That time was tonight. He’d been waiting for the best part of an hour, resting against the bonnet of the silver saloon, reading steadily through the papers he’d stuffed into his briefcase, his peripheral vision alert to anyone leaving the tall building in front of the car park. But the light was fading fast and the air held the crisp promise of winter. Waiting was becoming less attractive. He glanced at his watch. Just after six. He’d give it half an hour, then he’d slip away into the night. He didn’t want to lurk in the darkness, for a variety of reasons.
A few minutes later, he saw what he’d been waiting for. A gleam of blonde hair caught in the security lights by the back door, and he was on the move. He shoved the file back into his briefcase and stood upright, moving towards the back of the car to cut off his target before she could reach the driver’s door.
She looked over her shoulder, calling out a farewell to a colleague. When she turned back, he was only a few feet from her. Shock and astonishment shot across her face and she stopped dead. Her mouth formed an exclamation, but no sound emerged.
‘Hi, Carol,’ Tony said. ‘Fancy a curry?’
‘Jesus,’ she exhaled, her shoulders dropping. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing here?’
He spread his arms wide, a parody of innocence. ‘Like I said, inviting you out for a curry.’
‘Freaking me out, more like. What are you doing in Bradfield? You’re supposed to be in St Andrews.’ He raised one finger in admonishment. ‘Later. Now, are you going to unlock the car? I’m freezing.’
With an air of bemusement, Carol obediently popped the locks and watched him walk round to the passenger seat. She couldn’t help smiling. There was, she thought, nobody quite like Tony Hill.
Twenty minutes later, they’d found a relatively quiet corner table in a cheap and cheerful Bangladeshi café on the fringes of Temple Fields, the area of the city centre where the gay village sat uneasily alongside the red-light district. Their fellow customers were a mixture of students and individuals poised to go looking for love in all the wrong places. Carol and Tony had discovered the café when they’d first worked together on a case centred on Temple Fields, and it seemed the obvious place for this reunion.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Carol said as the waiter departed to bring them a couple of bottles of Kingfisher.
He held out his arm. ‘Go on, pinch me. I’m real.’
She leaned forward and gave his shoulder a gentle punch. ‘OK, you’re real. But why are you here?’
‘I jacked the job in. I was a fish out of water there, Carol. I needed to get back to the work I know I’m good at. I’d already got an offer of consultancy work over in Europe. And when John Brandon told me
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