The Shadows of Justice by Simon Hall Read Free Book Online

alongside but occasionally sprinting off to investigate the call of an intriguing sound or the lure of a distant scent.
    Across the rooftops and through the trees, the rising sun cast her fiery weaves. Hidden birds rustled in the leaves and sang out their welcome for the promise of another fine day.
    Sre , sre , sre , Dan trilled to Rutherford. “Why won’t that sound get out of my head, dog?”
    Another potential clue had been uncovered last night. The analysis of the ransom call had picked up a faraway noise, hidden within the hum of the line. It was thought to be a lawnmower.
    Dan was due to meet Nigel and Loud at Charles Cross at a quarter to seven. He hadn’t got to sleep until well after one last night.
    Initially, in a familiar attempt to claim as much of the sweet, carefree release of bed as possible he’d set the alarm for six. But Rutherford produced one of his specialist never-been-loved looks. Had the dog been able to speak, he would doubtless have raised the issue of the hours of confinement in the car last night. So they’d got up half an hour earlier to share a run.
    A couple more laps, then back to the flat to shower and he would set off for the city centre. Dan wanted to be there in plenty of time. An important day lay ahead.
    Rutherford returned from a futile mission to catch a pigeon and together they increased the pace, following the ring of a track worn in the morning’s dew. Past the line of oak and lime trees, past the children’s play area, past the hill of the underground reservoir, heading for the entrance to the park.
    In the time remaining, Dan thought through the briefing he’d studied last night: the details of the life of Roger Newman and all his impressive array of achievements. His daughter, her upbringing and their very public difficulties.
    But most importantly, the questions Dan would ask in the interview with Roger, and how to shape the ten minutes of television which would be broadcast around the world.
    ***
    Loud and Nigel were both waiting in the car park of Charles Cross, as was Adam. He was pacing again and continually glancing over at the gate.
    The latest of his best suits was the attire of choice: navy blue and purchased only a month ago. It was the result of a shopping expedition to Bristol. Plymouth had been adjudged as unable to offer the calibre of menswear outfitters suitable for the Chief Inspector’s style.
    Not to mention vanity Dan thought, but managed not to say. The hint of a television appearance was sufficient to send Adam into a whirl of agonising about the day’s couture.
    It had been no surprise to anyone who knew the detective that he also returned with three new ties and two new shirts. All boasted the kind of price tags that Dan, a budget shopper at the best of times, would have assumed as an error had he not known otherwise.
    Nigel was checking the camera, microphones and lights. Interviews could be knocked off in a few seconds when they were hard up against a deadline, but lighting added tone, depth and class to an image.
    “We want this to look good,” the kindly cameraman muttered to himself. “The poor, poor man.”
    He was also wearing a tie, although of a more antiquated variety. It was an appendage Nigel carried in the car, but donned only for the most serious of stories.
    “I can’t stop thinking how I’d feel if one of my boys was kidnapped,” he said. “The guy must be going through torment.”
    “The thought had occurred to me,” Dan replied levelly, trying to ignore Adam who was nodding in agreement.
    He hadn’t stopped looking at his watch and glancing at the gate. “Newman will be here in a minute,” the detective chided, as he hovered. “This is really important.”
    “Yes, I am aware of that,” Dan said, marshalling the remaining forces of his thinning patience. “Would you like to heap on any more pressure, or will that do for now?”
    ***
    Katrina was sitting in the MIR, waiting. The brightness of the morning sun