Saxon

Saxon by Stuart Davies Read Free Book Online

Book: Saxon by Stuart Davies Read Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Davies
at making the most of it.
    Parker was the first to volunteer to go to Starbucks so that he could check his Hotmail and send his daily messages.
    The two men made themselves at home.
    Monday, May 6, Conquest Hospital Mortuary, Brighton , 4.15PM
    The traumas of the morning were already fading into Tucker’s distant past. Melanie had just smiled at him. She’d even spoken to him. His skin came up in goose pimples at the thought.
    ‘You look nice this afternoon, Steve,’ she’d said.
    And that git, Dalton, had passed some comment too but Tucker couldn’t remember what it was now. Something about a big improvement and something about him, Tucker, takingthings well and in a positive manner.
    ‘Tosser,’ muttered Tucker under his breath. ‘Total fuckin’ tosser, s’wot ’e is.’
    No matter what anyone else had said to him, Melanie’s words were engraved on his soul. Little did he know the effort it had cost her to say the words. Nor could he have guessed that her entire being revolted at the thought of saying them.
    No, Tucker was totally unaware of Melanie’s feelings as his fingers strayed to his trouser pocket.
    Monday, May 6, Brighton Police Station, 4.15PM
    Saxon read the pathologist’s report on Janson. Depressingly sparse would be an understatement. Cause of death: Mr Janson died from a broken neck. There were no marks on the body. No bruising on the head or neck. Nothing. His general health was good. In fact, for a man of his age, he was in remarkably good shape, apart from his being dead.
    There were two obvious possibilities. Saxon figured that either Janson knew the killer and let him or her in, or maybe the killer was a hit man, possibly an ex-soldier. In which case, Janson would have not known he was dead until he saw the tunnel with the beckoning white light.
    The clues amounted to precisely zero, the same as in the two previous cases, and so far it seemed that none of the victims knew each other. For Rupert Hall and David Crowley, all their phone books and diaries had been thoroughly probed and, unless they were using a cipher on a par with the Enigma code, there was, as far as Saxon could tell, absolutely nothing to connect them at all – apart from their sexual preferences, their age, the fact that they were both male, over 50 and living alone.
    Janson might well turn out to share the same sexual preferences. He certainly fit the other points. Overall, they didn’t add up to much. Certainly, there was nothing to point the investigation in any one clear direction. Saxon sighed andstretched.
    He jumped when the telephone buzzed on his desk. He moved forward again and reached for the phone. It was Superintendent Alex Mitchell, the station’s commanding officer.
    ‘Commander Saxon, good morning to you, sir.’ The voice was hearty. ‘It’s Mitchell here. Would you mind if I pop up and have a chat with you? I know you’re busy, so I’ll keep it brief,’ he said, sounding apologetic. The public school charm oozed through the phone line.
    Saxon wasn’t pleased. ‘No problem,’ he answered. ‘Come when you’re ready.’ He hung up the phone quickly. He was exasperated. Saxon didn’t need interruptions from Mitchell. He had more important things on his mind, than to talk about rising crime figures and detection rates. Wasting his time listening to that creep Alex Mitchell, explaining how good he was at his job, was not on his agenda – nor would it ever be if he had his way.
    To Saxon, who didn’t care for him at all, Mitchell was your typical fast-track cop: university, then one year on the beat. Saxon tried to avoid sweeping generalisations as far as possible, but Mitchell just invited it. In the past, Saxon had found that Mitchell was good at giving the impression of listening and paying attention. However, he soon realised that all Mitchell was doing was rehearsing his next pronouncement either to the press or the chief constable. Conversations with Mitchell were often a frustrating

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