Soft Target by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online

I'm sorry I snapped.'
    'You didn't, Daniel. You just told an interfering old woman to mind her own business. Nothing wrong with that.' She finished pouring water into the teapot and replaced the lid.
    She wanted to be mollified, Shepherd could tell. Self criticism was one of the overused weapons in Moira's extensive psychological armoury. 'You're not interfering, and I know you've only got his best interests at heart,' he said.
    'We all have,' said Moira. She began wiping down the worktop, even though it was spotless. 'He's been through a lot and what he needs now, more than anything, is stability.'
    'I'm getting there,' said Shepherd.
    Moira opened her mouth, then evidently decided not to say anything. She carried on wiping.
    'I'll phone tonight from Manchester,' he said.
    'What's happening up there?'
    'Just a job. It should be over this afternoon, then I'll be back in London.'
    'What about Sue's things? I could come down one weekend.
    Help you sort out the clothing and shoes. There are charity shops that will take them.'
    'I'll do it,' said Shepherd. He kissed her left cheek awkwardly, then hurried down the hallway and out of the front door. She was right, of course. It was time to clear out Sue's clothes. Four months was a long time. He'd tried several times. He'd opened her side of the fitted wardrobe in the bedroom and even gone as far as taking out some of her clothes, but he'd never managed to throw any away. Somehow it seemed disloyal. They weren't just clothes, they were Sue's clothes. Everything she had, everything she'd touched, everything she'd worn - it was all a part of her and he wasn't prepared yet to discard anything. Or her.
    He looked up as he climbed into the car and saw Liam standing at a bedroom window. Shepherd waved and flashed him a thumbs-up. Liam did the same and Shepherd grinned.
    At least his visit hadn't been a complete disaster.
    Shepherd parked on the top floor of a multi-storey car park close to Piccadilly Gardens and sat for ten minutes to see who drove up. There were housewives, families with children,
    young couples out for a Saturday's shopping in the city centre. Eventually he locked the car and walked down to the third floor. The blue Transit surveillance van was in the corner furthest away from the stairs and lifts. Shepherd tapped the rolled-up copy of the Financial Times against his 40 leg as he walked over to it, knocked twice on the rear door and climbed inside. Hargrove was there with Jimmy Faley,
    the young officer who'd been on the Hendrickson surveillance,
    and an Asian technician whom Shepherd hadn't met before.
    Hargrove took a swig from his plastic bottle of Evian water.
    'This is Amar Singh,' he said. 'He's on attachment from the National Criminal Intelligence Service with some state-oftheart surveillance gear.' Shepherd shook Singh's hand.
    'I can't imagine a worse place to record a conversation,'
    said Singh.
    'Yeah, it wasn't my choice,' said Shepherd. He nodded at Faley and sat down on a plastic stool.
    Singh pushed a black attache case across the metal floor.
    'Make sure the briefcase is as close to her as possible,' he said.
    'You don't have to teach me to suck eggs,' said Shepherd.
    'I'm not teaching you to suck anything,' said the technician,
    'but its effective range is down to three feet on the outside and I wouldn't want you blaming me if all we pick up is traffic. I'd be happier if you were wearing a wire, too.'
    'She's jumpy enough to pat me down,' said Shepherd.
    'In a crowded square?'
    'A lover's hug, hands down my back, a quick grope between the legs, all she's got to do is touch something hard and she'll be off.'
    'She might just think you're pleased to see her,' said Singh.
    Shepherd gave him a tight smile. 'I've got better things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, believe me,' he said. He looked at Hargrove. 'Long-range mikes?'
    'We'll have two guys on top of the office blocks overlooking the square, but I don't hold out much hope. There's a lot of noise