Lifeless - 5 by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online Page B

in a tiny workbench. 'I'm sure Father Christmas wil bring you lots of nice things if you're a good boy.' He pushed the bolt further in, his face a picture of concentration. McEvoy moved from her chair and knelt down, a few feet away. 'It looks like you're a good boy to me.' She picked up the plastic screwdriver and examined it, as Charlie furtively examined her. She tried hard to keep any hint of seriousness out of her voice. 'What would be very good is if you could tel me and Tom a little bit about when your mummy got hurt...' She glanced up at the Enrights. Mary's eyes were already fil ing with tears. Her husband sat motionless, his eyes on the floor. Charlie Garner said nothing.
    'What you could do, if you wanted, is tel your Nan about it. Do you
    want to do that?'
    He didn't...
    McEvoy felt herself sweating and it was only partial y due to the temperature. She was beginning to feel out of her depth. She started to say something but stopped. She could only watch helplessly as the boy stood up suddenly, marched past her and plonked himself down at Thorne's feet.
    Thorne gazed down at Charlie and shrugged. 'Hel o ...' Charlie produced a smal squeaky hammer and began vigorously banging on Thorne's shoe. It might have been nerves or it might have been
    because the moment was, in spite of everything, genuinely comical,
    but Thorne began to laugh. Then Charlie laughed too.
    'I hammer your shoe...'
    'Ow... ow... ouch!' Thorne winced in mock agony, and as the boy began to laugh even louder, he sensed that the moment might be right. 'Do you remember the man who was there when your mummy got hurt?'
    The laughter didn't exactly stop dead, but the answer to Thorne's question was obvious. Charlie was stil hammering on the shoe but it was purely reflexive. The intermittent squeak of the toy hammer was now the only sound in the room. Mary and Robert Enright sat stock stil on the sofa, and Sarah McEvoy was al but holding her breath, afraid that the slightest movement could spoil everything.
    Thorne spoke slowly and seriously. He was not fol owing a different tack to McEvoy for any particular reason. There was no sxategy involved. Instinct just told him to ask the child the question, simply and honestly. Can you tel me what the man who hurt your mummy looked like?'
    A squeak, as the hammer hit the shoe. And another. Then the tiny shoulders gave a recognisable shrug. Thorne had seen the same gesture in a hundred stroppy teenagers. Scared, but fronting it out. Maybe I know something, but you get nothing easily.
    'Was he older than me do you think?' Charlie glanced up, but only for a second before returning to his hammering. 'Was his hair the same colour as yours or was it darker? What do you think?' There was no discernible reaction. Thorne knew that he was losing the boy.
    Hearing a sniff, Thorne looked up and could see that the old man on the sofa was quietly weeping, his big shoulders rising and fal ing as he pressed a handkerchief to his face. Thorne looked at the boy and winked conspiratorial y, 'Was he tal er than your Grandad? I bet you can remember that.'
    Charlie stopped hammering. Without looking up he shook his head slowly and emphatical y. Thorne flicked his eyes to McEvoy. She raised her eyebrows back at him. They were thinking the same thing. If that 'no' was as definite as it looked, it certainly didn't tal y with
    Margie Knight's description. Thorne wondered who was the more credible witness. The nosy working girl or the three-year-old?
    Eye witnesses had screwed him up before. So, probably neither... Whatever, as far as Charlie was concerned, it looked as though the shake of the head was al they were going to get.
    The hammering was growing increasingly enthusiastic.
    'You're good at hammering, Charlie,' Thorne said.

    Mary Enright spoke up from the sofa, she too sensing that the questions were over. 'It's Bob The Builder. He's mad on it. It's what he cal s you sometimes, isn't it, Bob?' She turned to her husband, smiling.