Philip Brennan 03-Cage of Bones by Tania Carver Read Free Book Online Page A

looked the other way. A concrete path, chipped, cracked and sprouting weeds, sided by a chain-link fence struggling to withstand an assault from the bushes, trees and weeds threatening to spill out over it. The path led past another dilapidated house. ‘What’s down there?’
    ‘Council allotments,’ said Mickey, following his gaze.
    Phil looked again at the house on the opposite side of the path. Saw that it was in fact a small row of terraced houses, two-storey, in a terminal state of disrepair. The roofs were down to skeletal frames, the meat of tiles and fat of insulation starved off them. The windows and doors boarded up, the wood warped, aged down to grey. Gutters and drains rust-stained. The outside walls graffitied and tagged, filthy. And all around the terrace, weeds and vegetation making a bid for reclamation.
    ‘Jane, stay here. Co-ordinate with Forensics. Sorry, CSIs. Wouldn’t want to upset them.’
    Thin smiles. Forensics had recently been rebranded as CSIs in line with the TV series. Made them feel more glamorous. On the outside at least.
    ‘Anni’s at the hospital with the kid. He’s still sleeping. No response. She’ll be looking into missing children, children’s homes, runaways.’
    Another look round. The gawpers were still on the bridge. Nearby, but a world away. And Phil reckoned that deep down, they knew that. When they had seen enough they could walk away, taking the frisson of adventure back with them to their normal world. Plus a sense of thankfulness that what was happening down there wasn’t happening to them. But Phil couldn’t walk away.
    And neither could the boy in the cellar.
    ‘I’ll check that house over there.’ He looked round his team. ‘We ready?’
    They were.
    ‘Right. ‘Let’s go.’
    Then Phil’s phone rang.

12
     
    R ose Martin swallowed hard. Then again. Felt that rush, that tingle of adrenalin, that she hadn’t experienced in months. This was where she belonged. Back. Working.
    Since the call, everything had felt good. Right. She had pulled up to the Road Closed sign on Colchester Road just outside the village of Wakes Colne, holding her warrant card up to the windscreen, being allowed access where all other vehicles were being turned away. She felt that indescribable power that being above civilians gave her. She had missed it.
    She pulled her car up to the crime-scene tape, flashing her warrant card again, silencing the nearest uniform’s entreaty to turn away. Just ducking under the tape, walking along the closed-off country road, her heels echoing, had been thrilling. The trees either side of the road seemed to bend in, beckoning her towards the crime scene.
    She looked ahead. A 4x4 had ploughed into the banked up roadside, its left front side crumpled. Behind it, blue-suited CSIs stood and knelt in the road alongside uniforms. All attention directed downwards. She speeded up. Eager to rejoin her clan, immerse herself in that life once more. Lead them.
    Then she stopped dead. Looked at them once more. Crouching. Kneeling. The body. There would be the body.
    Her chest was gripped by a sudden fear; her arms began to shake. Her feet wouldn’t move forward. She wanted to turn, run back to her car, put herself on the other side of the tape once more. Forget about it. Hide herself away.
    Marina was right. She had said this would happen.
    Marina. Rose closed her eyes, controlled her breathing. Nothing that woman or her bastard boyfriend had to say was of any relevance to her. She would prove them wrong. Show them that she was strong enough to return, cool-headed and unafraid of anything the job could throw at her. She would show them.
    The shaking subsided. Her breathing returned to normal. She flexed her fingers, regaining control of her body, willing it. Yes. She would show them.
    She started walking again, the viaduct behind her, the leaves on the trees slowly moving, rubbing together, like jazz brushes over drum skins. She moved slowly at first, then with