The Kill by Jane Casey Read Free Book Online

the smell of blood in your nostrils.’ He started walking. I really didn’t want to walk down that dark road after him. It wasn’t just that my stomach had clenched at the thought of a crime scene soaked in fresh blood. It wasn’t just that I’d had more than enough of Derwent’s company for one evening, or that I had better things to do with my time. It was simply that I didn’t want to start investigating Terence Hammond’s death. I had a strong urge to get back into the car and refuse to come out. I didn’t believe in premonitions or fate, but I had a bad feeling I couldn’t shake despite all of my faith in rational thought. And once or twice before, that bad feeling had saved my neck.
    But since I could imagine how well that would go down with my inspector, I pulled my jacket tightly around me and hurried to catch up with him, walking fast until we got to a place where we could pause to take in the view.
    The place where Terence Hammond had met his sudden end was on a side road that snaked up a hill and ended in a clump of trees. Impossible to imagine it without the scrum of police and forensic investigators, without the white tent screening the actual crime scene from view. Bright lights shone on whatever was inside the tent, and I thought it looked fake, as if it was staged. The figures around the tent moved like puppets in a show that was very definitely not suitable for children. Too much caffeine, too little sleep. That was why I couldn’t shake the stifling feeling that I’d been here before. In a way, I had. There was a procedure in murder investigations, a well-worn path from body to interview room, from police cell to the dock. The familiarity of it all should have been comforting.
    It felt suffocating.
    ‘Kerrigan.’
    I turned and saw Derwent watching me. His face was shadowed, unreadable. ‘Sorry,’ I said.
    ‘Why would you need to apologise?’
    ‘I don’t know. I thought you were annoyed.’
    ‘Why would I be annoyed? Feeling guilty about something?’ He spoke softly, inviting me to trust him. Never .
    ‘Of course not.’
    He tilted his head back, plainly not believing a word of it. I’d seen him do it to suspects time and again, and it worked more often than not. It almost worked on me.
    ‘I’m just tired.’
    ‘No. That’s not it.’ He took a step closer. ‘Lost your nerve, Kerrigan? Lost your edge?’
    ‘Is this your version of mentoring? Because really, don’t bother. You did your good deed for the night on the way here. That kid might have needed your advice but I don’t need any help from you.’
    ‘Your heart isn’t in this one.’
    It was like a punch to my stomach. ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘You were quiet at the briefing. You didn’t talk about it in the car. You’re not exactly hurrying to get up there.’
    All true. ‘I feel a bit off, that’s all.’
    Derwent tucked an imaginary violin under his chin and played a few moping notes. ‘Stop sulking, Kerrigan. You don’t want to be here. You’d rather be having fun. You and everyone else on this hill, including Terence Hammond, would rather be somewhere else. And his wife will wish things were different too, in about an hour, when Hammond’s boss turns up at her front door. She’ll know straightaway. Cops’ wives always know. It’s the thing she’s dreaded since the first time he put on his uniform and went out on the street. And now it’s happened. That’s bad enough. Then she’ll find out how it happened, and where, and the questions will start.’ He jabbed a finger in my direction. ‘You can help find some answers for her, or you can consider yourself too special to bother, and go back to neighbourhoods. Spend your time on dog shit and parking. See how you like it.’
    My face was burning. ‘I never said I was too special for this.’
    ‘No, but you thought it.’ He leaned forward and tapped my forehead. ‘Turn this on, Kerrigan. Get interested or get a transfer, because I’m not