Prime Suspect 3: Silent Victims by Lynda La Plante Read Free Book Online

really don’t understand why you and your associates persist in coming in here . . .”
    His indignation was wasted on Otley, who had strolled off in the general direction of the television lounge. Ron came from the corner alcove with a plastic cup of soup. Parker-Jones took it from him and hurried past Otley into the lounge, still complaining in his fruity, rather portentous voice.
    “You people make my job and the social services work exceptionally difficult. I attempt to get these boys off the street, give them a place they can come to—and I am continually harassed, as are the boys.”
    He held out the cup of soup. A tousled head poked up from behind an armchair. A nail-bitten hand reached out.
    “They are not in my care, they come here of their own free will. They come here because this is one of the few places they can come to.” He sounded righteously outraged, as if he had been accused of something, his reputation besmirched.
    Otley stood in the doorway watching as Martin Fletcher took the soup in both hands. The boy looked up at Parker-Jones, his bruised and battered face breaking into a wan smile. Parker-Jones ruffled his hair and smiled back, the steadfast rock in an ugly, shifting world.
    Tennison pushed through the glass double doors into the corridor leading to the Pullman lounge at Euston Station. She checked her appearance in a small hand-mirror, flicking her hair into place with her fingertips. The stewardess behind the glass door pressed the entry release buzzer. Tennison entered the thickly carpeted room, the din of the station below hushed behind triple glazing and velvet drapes. She looked around nervously. The stewardess held out her hand, presumably for a first-class ticket.
    “I’m just meeting someone here.” Tennison returned the stewardess’s smile with a small embarrassed one of her own. “I don’t have a—”
    “It’s okay, she’s with me.”
    Jake Hunter threaded his way through the deep comfortable armchairs grouped around low tables. The lounge was almost empty. The stewardess dimpled at his smile, and he led Tennison across to his table. She put her briefcase by the chair and unbuttoned her raincoat.
    “I’ve never been in here before. Mind you, I don’t usually travel first class. Thank you,” she said, as Jake helped her off with her coat. She hadn’t dressed to please him, though the dark red linen jacket and charcoal gray pencil skirt made her feel slim and attractive, and she was glad she wore it.
    They sat down. Jake drew his armchair closer.
    “I’ve got about an hour before my train, but I just wanted to—”
    Tennison interrupted, speaking in a rush. She was still flustered. “I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk to you. There’s a case I’m working on.”
    Jake caught her arm as she reached for her briefcase.
    “I don’t want to talk about any work, Jane. I just didn’t think we, or I . . . could walk away without, without . . .”
    He sighed and sat back, rubbing his chin, as the stewardess appeared beside them with the drinks menu.
    “Whisky and soda, please,” Tennison said, ignoring the card. She watched the stewardess go, and then took a good look around. “I’m very impressed. I didn’t know this was even here.”
    Jake leaned forward and took her hand. She thought of pulling away, but didn’t. He had to have his say, and she couldn’t stop him. Did she want to? Good question. If only she knew herself.
    “Jane, we’ve got to talk, because, I . . .” She realized he was nervous too. It was a struggle to get the words out. “Jane, I’m married and I have four kids. . . .”
    “I know,” Tennison said calmly. “It’s on the flyleaf of your book.”
    “Yeah!” Jake sounded almost angry. He leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. “But what isn’t is the way I feel about you. What I’ve always felt about you.”
    “No, but you wrote that in the front of the book.”
    “Can you just be serious, just for a second,