Urban Myth by James Raven Read Free Book Online Page A

progress. We also need to canvas homes and commercial properties within a two mile radius of the murder scene.’
    The team then started discussing every aspect of the case from the various theories to the detailed assignments and who would undertake take them. Angel volunteered to go to the canteen for coffees and sandwiches and insisted on paying for them out of her own money.
    As she walked towards the door, a brash young detective named Paul Simmons, who had only been transferred to Southampton from Basingstoke CID a few days before, eyed her shapely bottom in a pair of tight grey trousers and said to the uniformed officer next to him, ‘What a great ass. I’d like to have that bouncing up and down on me.’
    He chose the wrong moment to speak because there was a sudden lull in the conversations around him and his voice carried across the room. Angel heard it and wheeled round on her heels, her face tight with fury. But before she could say anything Temple beat her to it.
    ‘Listen here, you ignorant cretin,’ he fumed across the large desk that separated them. ‘If you ever make a remark like that again I’ll have you booted off the force so fast your scrotum won’t touch the ground. You got that?’
    Simmons was so shocked by Temple’s anger that it was several seconds before he was able to respond with a barely perceptible nod.
    ‘And I think the lady deserves an apology, don’t you?’ Temple added in a tight, measured voice.
    Simmons swallowed a huge lump and turned towards Angel who seemed as surprised as he was by their boss’s outburst.
    When he spoke it was in a tremulous, quavering voice. ‘I … I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.’
    Angel bit on her lower lip and Temple saw that she looked uncomfortable . Had he overreacted? Was she embarrassed that he had leapt in to defend her honour in such a public way?
    She gave him an unreadable look, then shrugged her shoulders and continued on towards the door.
    The tension in the room was palpable during the next hour, especially after Angel returned with a tray full of coffees and sandwiches. But she joined in the discussion as if nothing had happened and, to his credit, so did Simmons. But not once did Angel make eye contact with Temple and he assumed this was because she was pissed off with him.

    He finally left the office at one in the morning and drove home to his small semi-detached house on the outskirts of Southampton. He’d bought the place after his wife Erin died because their former homeheld too many memories for him. The property was only ten years old and had two bedrooms, a large kitchen and a small garden with a concrete patio.
    It was modest but nice. He’d bought a few new pieces of furniture from the Ikea store in Southampton. Cheap stuff, but solid enough, and the strange Nordic names of each product made him feel that he was buying something exclusive and personal. Never mind that the same furniture graced millions of other homes.
    He took off his jacket and went into the living room to pour a whisky and light a cigarette. Then he dropped onto the sofa and switched on a TV news channel in the hope of catching himself being interviewed. He was still waiting for the report to come on when ten minutes later he heard his front door open and then close. He got up to pour another drink – this time a neat brandy with no ice, her favourite late-night tipple.
    ‘Was that macho rant really necessary?’ Angel said when she walked into the room and tossed her handbag on the sofa. ‘I thought poor Simmons was going to have a heart attack.’
    Temple handed her the brandy and said, ‘The prick deserved it. He was out of order.’
    ‘That maybe so, but I could have done without you drawing attention to it in such a spectacular way. I felt like crawling under the nearest desk.’
    ‘I’m sorry. What he said wound me up.’
    ‘I can understand that, but you really don’t have to fight my battles just because we’re seeing each