TT13 Time of Death by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online Page B

‘Well, clearly you flash boys in the Met can get away with not making quite as much effort.’
    Thorne shrugged. He was wearing jeans and Timberlands, a brown leather jacket over a thick sweater, that dirty Hank Williams T-shirt underneath. ‘I’m on holiday.’
    ‘Oh yeah, course you are. I forgot.’ Cornish smiled. ‘You and your girlfriend. Detective Sergeant Weeks works on a child abuse investigation team, that right?’
    Thorne blinked again, said nothing. Cornish had not got that information from the newspapers.
    ‘You should make the most of your free time,’ Cornish said. ‘I mean, obviously the weather’s a bit grim, but there’s still plenty to see around here.’ His eyes widened at an idea. ‘Actually, there’s a fantastic model village in Shuttington if you’re interested.’
    ‘Not sure that’s my thing,’ Thorne said.
    Cornish laughed. ‘Yeah, well it’s under a foot of water at the moment anyway. Like a real village has been hit by a giant tidal wave or something. Bloody freaky, actually. Seriously though, head off from Polesford in any direction, get well away from the flooding obviously, there’s some gorgeous countryside. Good as anywhere.’
    ‘Maybe.’ Thorne put his hands in his pockets and took a step towards the door.
    Cornish came around his desk, his hand outstretched. ‘Stay in touch though, whatever,’ he said.
    He looked as though he meant it.

EIGHT
    They thought it was all about sex, they always did.
    The fact that both girls had been nice to look at was important of course, but not for the reason the police thought. Hard for your average copper to see that, he knew very well. To lift their head out of the gutter.
    In the car, both of them had been talkative, happy to rabbit on about all sorts; at least they were up until that moment when he’d slowed down and turned off the main road. Quiet as mice once he’d pulled over and switched the engine off. The look on their faces right then,
that
was what it was really about. Right then, of course, the girls thought it was all about sex too. Bracing themselves for it, like there weren’t any men around who could possibly have anything else in mind.
    Men, obviously, always men.
    That’s who the police would have been looking for from the off and it made sense, statistically if for no other reason. There was always the odd one of these when a woman was involved, or sometimes a woman helping a man, but they could be fairly confident they were after a bloke. The father was usually thefirst one they cast a beady eye over. Course it was. Too many times in the past when dads had blubbed away for the cameras, voices breaking as they stared out and begged for the safe return of their precious darlings, knowing full well they were safely tucked away in the loft or pushing up daisies on the allotment. Had to be sure that wasn’t likely to happen, didn’t they? So, the dad would have to be eliminated before anyone else was looked at.
    It was probably how this one had gone, he reckoned. At least until the second girl, when witnesses had come forward, the ones who’d seen Poppy getting into the car. All change then, of course, once they had a description, a few letters from a registration plate. Just coppering by numbers from that point. Then it would be about the tech stuff: the search for fingerprints and DNA, the trawling through computer files, all of that.
    Sex would come up again then, more than likely. The things they discovered. Skeletons more likely to be found on a hard drive than in a cupboard these days.
    He wasn’t going to deny that it was there in the mix.
    He’d certainly felt
something
, turning to look at those girls, as they’d tried to shift back towards the passenger door. Coming down the steps to the first one, pushing the food towards her, whispering in the dark. The worst thing about what was happening now was having to leave the second girl; being unable to visit. How would she be feeling, stuck there on