Bitter Fruits: DI Erica Martin Book 1 (Erica Martin Thriller) by Alice Clark-Platts Read Free Book Online Page A

her door, and then Emily and I began the longer walk over Prebends Bridge and down the Bailey to Joyce. Emily seemed lost in thought to begin with and would occasionally let out little sighs, puffs of icy cloud which dispersed before her face in the dark of the night as we walked.
    ‘Are you okay?’ I asked after a while.
    Emily turned to me and shrugged. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks.’
    I nodded. The more time I spent with Emily, the more I liked her. Yes, I thought she was pretty, that went without saying. But it was more than that. Something in her made me feel like I was all right, after all. I hated to admit it to myself, but being with her, talking to her and listening through her to what went on in everyone else’s lives made me somehow feel as though I
belonged.
It wasn’t just that I found her attractive, although of course I did, it was more that. With her, I was stronger, I was
endorsed
.
    ‘Everything all right at Joyce? Any romance to report?’ I laughed softly.
    She was silent.
    ‘There
is
something?’ I questioned. ‘But we’ve only been here a couple of weeks.’ I gave another weak laugh, trying to disguise my disappointment.
    She dug her hands further into her pockets. ‘It’s nothing. No romance.’ She turned to look at me. ‘Honestly. It’s just, there’s …’ She stopped.
    ‘Someone you’re keen on?’
    ‘Well, yes. Sort of. Not that he’d notice me. He’s a second year. Plays hockey, sometimes subs on the cricket team.’
    ‘Hmmm,’ I pondered, knowing exactly what sort of idiot this would be.
    ‘He just seems
nice,
you know?’
    I didn’t, no.
    ‘Oh, anyway, it’s not worth bothering about. He’s probably got a million girlfriends.’
    Indeed.
    ‘Do you think?’ She looked so sweet as she turned her face to me then. She so wanted to be reassured. I couldn’t not do as she asked even though I hated the words as I said them, wanting in all honesty to crush any hope she might have. I took a breath.
    ‘Of course he won’t have. Won’t have time, with all that sport he’s playing. Just – just take it easy, I guess, Emily. We’ve only just started. You should take your time. Don’t get hooked into anything you may want to get out of in the future.’
    She sighed again. ‘I know. I’m being lame.’
    I chuckled sadly. ‘No, you’re not. It’s perfectly normal. Here we are anyway.’ I looked up at the shadowed outline of the pale buildings of Joyce. We stood before the metal railings which lined the street. Emily unexpectedly gave me a hug.
    ‘What was that for?’
    ‘Oh, you know. Just for being there for me.’ She darted into the building, waving goodnight. I turned to walk back the way I’d come, up the hill to Nightingale. I beamed the whole way there.



8
     
Monday 22 May, 10.48 a.m.
     
    Simon Rush’s room was dark and musty, filled with the ubiquitous adolescent smell of hormones and body odour. Martin strode across it and abruptly pulled open the curtains, letting light stream into the large oval-shaped space. Officers from the MCU began to fan out around the room, removing books from shelves, dusting for fingerprints.
    The room had been guarded and had remained as it was when Rush had left it that morning to come to Principal Mason’s office. His bed was to one side of the room, a blue duvet thrown haphazardly across it. Clothes had been abandoned on the carpet, pants at the bottom of the bed; overflowing ashtrays on the coffee table; wine bottles with candles stuck in the necks, the wax stopped in time. Stick it in a modern art museum, Martin thought, and you’d have the male Tracey Emin exhibition.
    Underneath the bay window was a line of those awful chairs that seemed to be found in every publicly funded institution in the country: wide seats,MDF arms, and all covered in that grey-green rough, furry fabric that reminded Martin of an old army coat her grandfather used to wear. From the number of chairs, Rush either held college meetings in here or