Murder Mile by Tony Black Read Free Book Online Page B

room. Some pictures the SOCOs had taken had been stuck up there; he removed the photograph of Lindsey Sloan from the file McGuire held and stuck it beside the others. He was writing her name beside the picture when McGuire spoke.
    ‘Pretty girl?’
    Brennan nodded, placed the cap back on the pen. ‘What was Jim Gallagher after?’
    McGuire shrugged. ‘Search me.’
    ‘Let me know if he starts sniffing about, I don’t want him big-footing us.’
    McGuire ran a thumb over his chin, ‘Is that likely?’
    ‘He’s a glory hunter isn’t he. Find out what he’s working on and let me know, eh.’
    McGuire nodded. ‘Aye, sure.’
    ‘And whilst you’re at it I want you to get hold of a profiler.’
    ‘OK, we’re owed a favour by Northern, I’ll get them to send down McClymont.’
    Brennan shook his head, ‘No I want Joe Lorrimer.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘He’s Strathclyde. They might not owe us any favours, though.’
    McGuire creased back the corners of his mouth. ‘Benny won’t like it coming out our budget.’
    ‘Fuck Benny,’ said Brennan. ‘I’ll deal with him in my own way.’

Chapter 8
    DI ROB BRENNAN knew people didn’t like you when you were police. When they found out, they were over cautious around you. They’d hold back, make jokes about watching what they said; but they weren’t joking. The job followed you everywhere, and when someone knew what and who you were their attitude changed. It was always perceptible – pointed, blatant. There were some officers in the ranks who became different people out of uniform, off duty. They changed their personalities and became like class clowns, over eager to please, joking and affecting a false bonhomie. It never helped, thought Brennan, it worsened the situation. People were instinctively wary and raised their guards higher, they thought you were trying to inveigle some useful information out of them or, worse, catch them out.
    This was something they never told you about at the training academy; they told you how to think, feel and react on the job, to get the end product they wanted, but the toll the job took on the individual didn’t concern them. Training was pointless, there were some aspects of the job you just couldn’t be taught. Brennan remembered a spell on traffic as a young uniform, he was with another new recruit, a young woman from Stirling called Elsie. They were supposed to be no more than a speeding deterrent, it was a confidence builder for the pair of them – out on their own without a senior officer, free of the buddy system for the first time.
    An old Cortina had come haring over the brow of a hill.
    ‘Jesus, look at the speed of him,’ said Elsie.
    Brennan had run to the side of the road instinctively, ‘He’s going to hit that truck if he doesn’t straighten up.’
    There was a stationary row of traffic on the other side of the hill and the Cortina veered from side to side when the brakes were applied.
    Elsie raised her voice, ‘Rob, he’s going to hit it!’
    Brennan felt helpless, what could he do? Suddenly there was a loud thud, a dull noise, a dunt. Not what he had expected. The Cortina connected with the rear of the dump-truck which shuddered slightly but remained largely unmoved.
    ‘Oh, my God,’ said Elsie, her voice was a shrill wail.
    The pair of them jogged to the site of the collision; the driver of the truck was getting out of his cab as Brennan arrived first.
    ‘Stay inside, sir.’
    Brennan saw the two front wheels of the Cortina raised off the ground, the front end of the vehicle was wrapped round the axle of the dump-truck like tinfoil. About a quarter of the bonnet had survived, the windscreen had been destroyed; at least that’s what Brennan’s first thought was.
    As he got closer to the car, he saw the driver was still in the front seat, but he could see now that the windscreen had not shattered, it had popped out and severed the driver’s head clear from his shoulders. The driver’s torso, though