Lost Souls by Neil White Read Free Book Online

and then she said, ‘I lost.’
    I thought back to the client as he’d bounced through the court foyer. He looked like he had spent his life being beaten by the system, every loss carved into the anger lines around his eyes. He had lost again but at least he had stood up to it.
    ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ I said. When she didn’t respond, I asked her, ‘Was justice done?’
    ‘Not yet,’ interrupted Sam, and he looked solemn.
    Alison looked puzzled.
    ‘The bill,’ said Sam, and then he began to grin. ‘The job’s not done until we get paid.
Then
there’s justice.’
    As Alison rolled her eyes, my eyes caught someone looking at Sam.
    He was in the middle of a pack of drinkers. They all looked haggard and tired, their faces much older than their years, red and puffy, their eyes unfocused. Their clothes hung loose and stained, their movements were slow and deliberate.
    I guessed that whoever it was, he wasn’t pleased with Sam’s last effort for him. His eyes were red like all the rest, drunk even that early in the morning, but the focus was sharp and clear. Despite the drink, his stare was hard and direct.
    I looked at Sam, who acted like he hadn’t noticed him. He was talking to Alison.
    I was about to say something when Sam reached down for his phone. When he looked at his screen, he seemed concerned for a moment and then held it up. ‘I’ve got a message to go and see Harry.’
    Alison winced. ‘So I can have your office after all.’
    Sam laughed, but I could tell from the look in his eye that there was some truth in that. I knew of Harry Parsons’ reputation, the curse of the local police, and I had heard that he was as ruthless with his staff.
    As Sam left, I watched the drunk follow him with his eyes, the glare ever-present.
    I turned to the prosecutor, a tall man in a shiny suit, with flashes of grey at his temples, badger-style, and frayed tips on his shirt collars. I didn’t know if he earned less or just cared less, but he seemed a fashion rail away from Sam Nixon. ‘Who’s that?’ I asked, as I nodded towards the man in the corridor.
    The prosecutor looked for a moment, chewed his lip as he thought of a name, and then said, ‘Terry McKay. He’s here most weeks. Drunk, usually.’ He checked his watch. ‘They’ll have to call his case soon. If it gets adjourned over lunch, we won’t see him again.’
    I smiled. Terry McKay. I made a note of the name and went back into court.
    Laura sensed Pete’s anger as they arrived back at the station. He was gunning for Eric Randle now. She wasn’t sure that they had got it wrong, but it had turned Pete silent and brooding. The echoes of their footsteps were the onlysounds as they walked along an old tiled corridor heading to the Incident Room. As they got there, Pete spoke in a whisper, an angry hiss. ‘Egan will love this,’ he said.
    There were a few officers in the Incident Room, sifting through information brought in by those cops knocking on doors. As they walked in, someone shouted out, ‘Did you get Randle?’ and Laura saw all the faces in the room turn to look at them.
    Pete threw his coat onto a desk. ‘Randle’s house is boarded up. He wasn’t there.’
    All the faces looked back to their screens, glad they weren’t the ones who had to break the news to Egan. Some whistled, some smirked.
    Pete stayed by his desk and rummaged around in his drawers for something. Laura sensed that it was just to make himself look busy, so she walked on and headed for Yusuf, the officer who had recognised Randle’s name earlier.
    As she approached, he smiled, almost bashful. He seemed too timid to be a cop, the antithesis of Pete Dawson, but as she heard Pete cursing at the other end of the room she realised that it was no bad thing.
    ‘You said Eric Randle’s name came up in the abduction cases,’ she began. ‘How come?’
    Yusuf sat back and nodded, pushed his glasses up on his nose. ‘His name comes up a lot,’ he said. ‘Whenever