Stolen Souls by Stuart Neville Read Free Book Online Page A

at the spot where his skinny arse had been just moments before.
    “Don’t,” Darius said again, louder.
    Sam reached for something on the seat. He brought it up to point at Herkus’s forehead. Or thereabouts. The pistol danced in his grip like a landed fish while blood dripped from his chin.
    Herkus sighed. “You need to take the safety off.”
    Sam stared for a moment before turning the pistol in his grip, looking for the catch.
    In one smooth, quick sweep of his hand, Herkus snatched it from his grasp. Sam gaped at his own empty fingers.
    “It’s a Glock,” Herkus said. “It has no safety catch. Sit down.”
    Sam did as he was told while Herkus stashed the gun in his jacket pocket.
    “I ask you again, where is Tomas?”
    Sam spat again. “My hucking heeth!” he said, tears welling in his eyes. He brought his fingertips to his swelling lip.
    Darius wiped red spots from his cheek and spoke in Lithuanian. “I told you already. We don’t know. He went off with the girl and didn’t come back.”
    “All right.” Herkus smiled and spoke to Sam in English. “Let’s go for a drive.”

10
    L ENNON SHIVERED AS the attendants to the scene grew in number. First, the forensic medical officer arrived. Dr. Eoin Donaghy wore a raincoat over his pajamas. His sole duty here was to officially pronounce extinction of life. It took only a few seconds of examining the corpse for him to announce, with confidence, “Yep, he’s dead all right.”
    He trudged back over to Lennon’s side, peeling off the surgical gloves he’d worn for the examination, as brief as it was. “It’s a cold night to be out killing anyone,” he said.
    “True,” Lennon said.
    “Shame about the young lad, the harbor policeman. How bad was it?”
    “Bad enough,” Lennon said. “But he’ll pull through.”
    “Good, good,” the doctor said. “Well, if there’s nothing else?”
    “No,” Lennon said, “that’ll be all. Thank you.”
    They shook hands, and the doctor walked back to his car. Connolly approached. “I’ve got a name,” he said.
    He’d spent the last fifteen minutes in his patrol car, talking to the duty officer at his station, having him check records for public order arrests Connolly had made over the last few months.
    “I knew I’d seen him before,” he said. “Tomas Strazdas. Lithuanian. I lifted him for disorderly conduct back in October. He’d been giving the nightclub doormen grief. He got an evening in the cells and a caution.”
    “Is that all?” Lennon asked.
    “He’d given one of the doormen a good dig in the mouth,” Connolly said. “The doorman was all for pressing charges, until the next morning.”
    “You think someone got to him?”
    “Maybe,” Connolly said. “I remember some big fella, another Lithuanian, lifted him from the station the next day. I thought it strange at the time. The big fella was kind of, what’s the word? When you’re talking to your boss?”
    “Deferential?” Lennon suggested.
    “Yeah, that’s the one. Deferential. Like Tomas here was the big fella’s boss.”
    “I think we’ll have to do a bit of digging into poor Tomas’s background. You up for some detective work?”
    Connolly’s face stiffened with the effort of suppressing a smile. “Yes, I think so.”
    “Good,” Lennon said. “I’ll clear it with DCI Thompson. When you’re done here, go home and get some rest. See me in my office at eleven.”
    Connolly’s happy glow intensified with a layer of hope. “I’m due on night shift tomorrow evening.”
    “On Christmas Eve? I’ll straighten that out, don’t worry. You’ll get to spend the night with your family.”
    Connolly could hold his grin back no longer. “Thank you,” he said.
    “It’s all right,” Lennon said. “Just be sure to make the most of the opportunity. You do some solid work for me, I’ll see it doesn’t go unnoticed by the higher-ups.”
    A marked four-by-four pulled up on the other side of the crime-scene tape. Two men