The Unquiet Grave by Steven Dunne Read Free Book Online Page B

heel visible where the sole hung off.
    A second later, Noble slammed the door on the bewildered prisoner, banging on the roof for the patrol car to pull away. He returned to Pullin, examining the smart trainers through the bag.
    ‘Yeah, lucky break,’ muttered Noble.
    ‘Not for the kid obviously, poor bastard,’ said Pullin. ‘Fancy having that hanging out of your backside. . .’
    ‘We don’t know for certain he was raped, Keith.’ Noble took out another cigarette to avoid another conversation about making assumptions.
    ‘You saw the body,’ said Pullin. ‘Time was,’ he continued, drawing closer as though imparting some great secret, ‘when a kiddie was raped and murdered, your lot took whoever done it on a little detour and kicked the living shit out of him. After he got sent down he’d have his card marked for the screws and his fellow inmates to keep up the good work.’
    ‘Happy days, eh?’ replied Noble tersely.
    ‘Not any more,’ bemoaned Pullin, missing the sarcasm. ‘Now these perverts get three squares a day, soft loo paper and a thirty-two-inch TV for their romper room. Where’s the justice?’
    Noble couldn’t think of a suitable answer so he gave voice to his own thoughts. ‘The training shoes were a size nine.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘The suspect’s feet looked the same, maybe slightly smaller,’ continued Noble. He shrugged as though the rest was obvious.
    ‘Then he must have raped and killed the lad and nicked the shoes for himself – fucking obvious.’
    Unexpectedly, Noble found himself wincing at Pullin’s profanity. ‘You saw the state of his boots?’
    ‘Yes,’ replied Pullin, as though spelling it out for a child. ‘That’s why he took the trainers.’
    ‘Then why didn’t he put them on?’ demanded Noble, using the same patronising tone.
    Pullin was quiet for a moment. ‘Maybe he was too out of it.’
    ‘But not too out of it to hide them,’ rejoined Noble.
    Pullin thought it through. ‘You got me there.’ After finishing his cigarette, he marched off to gather his team.
    A Volvo pulled up to the rear of the convoy and Detective Inspector Frank Ford hauled himself out. A tall man, with thinning grey hair, pinched mean features and a slight stoop, Ford ducked under the tape and ambled over to Noble, a sour expression distorting his face.
    ‘Couldn’t this wait till morning, Johnny?’
    ‘Sorry, sir,’ Noble replied. ‘But you’re on call.’
    ‘Well, it better be worth it.’
    ‘It’s a dead child, sir,’ Noble explained. ‘Didn’t I say?’
    Ford tried to look interested and made his way into the building, picking his way delicately around the detritus common to the floors of all derelict houses.
    Noble followed, his heart sinking. He didn’t know DI Ford that well, except that he was two years away from retirement and didn’t seem overly keen to put himself out. In fact, on the phone, Ford had asked more than once whether his presence at the scene was required.
    After a quick inspection, Ford and Noble watched Higginbottom finish up then followed him back to the fresh air.
    ‘Well?’ said Ford.
    ‘The boy’s been dead two or three days, I’d suggest. Poor chap. Can’t be much more than twelve or thirteen. . .’
    ‘Was he raped?’ inquired Ford. Noble shot the doctor a tired glance, fairly certain the question was unanswerable at this stage.
    Higginbottom smiled patiently. ‘We can’t determine that here, Inspector. His trousers were pulled down and his underpants are missing, yes—’
    ‘They were cut off and found on an old mattress in the room above,’ chipped in Noble.
    ‘Raped then,’ said Ford with a kind of grim satisfaction.
    Higginbottom caught Noble’s eye. ‘Like I said, we’ll know soon enough. SOCO are bagging hands and feet, and swabbing for other trace,’ he said, ‘but we’ll have to wait for the autopsy. As for CoD, I can say that the boy’s neck is broken and the right side of his face and body are crushed. Lividity