Relentless by Simon Kernick Read Free Book Online Page A

for
tonight.'
'It's Miss Marple, isn't it?'
'That's right. "Body in the Library".'
'It's a wild life you lead, boss.'
'You only live once. How about you? Anything happening
that's now going to have to wait?'
'The usual. Breaking-up arguments, nappy changing, midnight
feeds.'
'Shit, I bet you're glad Calley's dead, aren't you? Gives you an texcuse to stay out.'
Mo chuckled again. 'I wouldn't go that far, boss, but let's say
pit's a very dark cloud with a small silver lining.'
They came off the M25 at junction 17, Maple Cross, and
roceeded through a maze of back roads in the general direction
Ruislip before turning off onto a narrow, tree-lined lane that
aund its way through a mixture of woodland and fields dotted
ith the odd detached cottage and executive home, until finally
lqpse group of four houses, spaced well apart, appeared on
    the right-hand side as the road straightened and widened. The
houses backed on to a wooded hill and faced a wide, green,
undulating field in which a herd of sheep grazed peacefully. It
was a lovely rustic English scene, rare this close to London, and
one that was only spoiled by the row of police cars and vans
parked outside the third house along, and the line of yellow
scene-of-crime tape running across the road. An older couple,
presumably the neighbours, were standing outside the second
house, talking to two note-taking detectives, while several whiteoveralled
scene-of-crime officers milled about beside one of the
vans.
Mo drove past the neighbours and parked up behind one of
the police cars. 'Nice house,' he said admiringly, looking up at
the two-storey whitewashed cottage with the thatched roof and
latticed windows that had belonged to Jack Calley. A very
swish-ldoking black BMW 7-Series was parked in a spacious
gravel driveway that would have amply accommodated another
three of them.
'That's what you get from being a financial lawyer,' said Bolt,
getting out of the car.
A uniformed officer who looked about twelve approached
them, cap under his arm. Bolt noticed he was already going bald
on top, and felt sorry for the poor sod.
'We're here to talk to the SIO,' he explained as he and Mo
produced their warrant cards and introduced themselves.
'National Crime Squad, eh? Do you reckon it's gangland?'
The young officer looked excited and Bolt didn't have the
heart to put a pin in his balloon, so he said that it could be.
'Where's the body?' he asked.
The young uniform pointed behind him, up into the woods.
'Follow the path and you'll get to him. The SIO's up there too.'
    so
They went to the back of one of the vans, where a SOCO
officer gave them the kit of overalls, hoods, gloves and booties,
and once they'd put everything on they headed up the path that
ran round the side of Calley's house and into the shadows of the
beech trees.
The two of them made an odd pair. Bolt was a tall, rangy man
in his late thirties with the broad shoulders of a rower, closely
cropped ash-blond hair that was just beginning to fleck with
grey, and a face you wouldn't choose to argue with. It was long
and lean in shape, the features hard and naturally well defined,
and clearly belonged to someone who knew how to handle
himself. There was a vivid S-shaped scar running almost the
length of his chin, and two more scars, like shapeless runes, on
his left cheek - relics of a life-changing night three years earlier.
Yet the overall result remained somewhere close to handsome.
His eyes were his chief selling point. His former wife had called
them the most striking she'd ever seen, and although she could
probably have been accused of bias, they did draw people, being
perfectly oval and a lively cerulean blue, and when he smiled,
E which was often enough these days, they became surrounded by
peep laughter lines.
Mo, by contrast, was a small, stocky guy with a head that
J sometimes appeared too big for his body. It was topped by a
ifrizzy mop of curly hair that couldn't seem to decide whether
pt was black or silver, and had ended