A Taste for Malice Read Free Page A

to be back. Kinda.’
    She looks at the contents of my desk. ‘Know what you mean. You’re too good a cop to go to waste, Ray. They’ll soon have you back hunting down the psychos.’ We both know that the lack of conviction in her voice is there with good reason. Once you are put out to grass, you tend to stay there.
    ‘So is the notepad part of your disguise, or did you bring it in for a reason?’ I ask.
    ‘Ah, Inspector Clouseau is mighty perceptive,’ she says with a poor French accent.
    I lift my eyebrows.
    ‘Ok. Not the best comparison.’ Grin. ‘But it works for me.’
    I smile and drum my fingers on my desk. No one else in the room beyond would dare to talk to me in such an irreverent manner. And I love it.
    ‘It seems Daryl and I are equally out of favour at the moment. There’s nothing there but a vague suspicion that we helped you out …’ She and Daryl had kept me in the loop about police movements while I was on the run as the main suspect in the Stigmata case.
    ‘And let’s keep it vague.’
    ‘Yes. Absolutely. However, it doesn’t stop them from giving us the shite.’
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘You are a poet.’ She says.
    ‘Don’t I know it.’
    ‘And if you get too bored with your …’ she looks around my desk, ‘…stuff, maybe Daryl and I could provide you with a shovel.’
    ‘For the aforementioned shite.’
    ‘Quite.’ This time her grin has cheese on it.
    ‘We’ll need to do it on the Q.T. and strictly entre nous .’ I grow mock serious.
    ‘A technique we have used so well in the past. Daryl will visit you next. He will self-destruct after he has spoken with you.’ She sits back in her chair and crosses her legs like a spy handler in a B movie.
    ‘From your mouth to God’s ears.’
    We share a smile this time.
    ‘How’s Maggie,’ she asks.
    ‘I owe her a phone call.’
    ‘Mmmm.’
    ‘I know, I know, she deserves more.’
    ‘She’s been a good friend to you, Ray.’ With that, she stands up and leaves the room.
    I can’t disagree with her. Maggie has been a great help as I have dealt with the events of the last few months. She turned up out of the blue while I was chasing Leonard and supported me throughout when she barely knew me. She was more of a pal than I deserved. I worried that she was in it for more than my friendship, but in her own inimitable style she told me it was not my dick she was interested in, she simply saw someone in need of help and couldn’t ignore them. And then as I recovered from my wounds, both physical and mental she did what she could to remind me I was still a human being. Refusing to take any of my foul moods, she dragged me out of the house any day when the sun shone and quite a few when it didn’t.
    My scars itch underneath my shirtsleeves. I rub the length of my forearms, giving each arm some attention. A flash of memory. I see the line of skin separate and blood flow like water released from a dam. I shiver and remind myself that it is all over. I am safe. The killer is behind bars.
    Except, he’s the wrong guy and I’m the only one in this building who knows it.

Chapter 2
    The call he’d been simultaneously dreading and praying for came when he was just about to put Ben to bed.
    ‘Mr Hilton, it’s the hospital here,’ the voice was breathy, filled with the import and drama of the news it was about to pass on, ‘... your wife has just come round. How soon can you get here?’
    His answering pause was so deep the voice queried, ‘Mr Hilton, are you there?’
    ‘Right away,’ he answered. ‘I’ll be up right away.’
    Jim was not sure which sound jolted him from his thoughts first; the strident note of protest from the telephone which was still in his hand, or the four-year-old asking, ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’
    ‘Nothing, wee pal.’ He bent forward and placed a kiss on his son’s forehead. He would never tire of pressing his lips against that space of fresh, warm skin: a reassuring moment of clarity bubbling up from a