Lazy Bones Read Free Page B

nodded. He looked at the dead man on the bed - the position of him, as if he were paying homage. Had it not been for the belt, for the livid red furrow that circled his neck, for the thin lines of blood
    that ran down the backs of his pale thighs, he might have been praying. Thorne guessed that at the end, he probably had been.
    The room was hot. Thorne raised an arm to rub a sore eye and felt the tickle as a drop of sweat slid down his ribs then took a sudden, sharp turn across his bel y.
    Down below, a frustrated driver leaned on his horn...
    Thorne was not even aware that he'd closed his eyes and when he heard a phone ring, he snapped them open, convinced for a few wonderful moments that he'd woken suddenly from a bad dream.
    He turned, a little disorientated, and saw Hol and standing next to the bedside table. The phone was an off-white seventies model, the dial cracked, the grimy handset visibly jumping in its cradle. Thorne was now ful y alert but he was stil somewhat confused. Was this a cal for them? Was it police business? Or was it possible that whoever was down at what passed for a reception desk had not been told what was happening and had put a cal er through from the outside? Having met one or two of the staff, Thorne could wel believe that even knowing exactly what had happened, they might stil be dim enough to put a cal through to the occupant of Room Six. If that was the case, it would certainly be a stroke of luck... Thorne moved towards the ringing phone. The rest of the team stood frozen, watching him.
    The victim's clothes - it had to be presumed they were the victim's - lay strewn about the floor nearby. Trousers - minus their belt - and 17
    underpants were next to the chair. Shirt, crumpled into a bal . One shoe under the bed, up near the headboard. The brown corduroy jacket, slung across the back of a chair next to the bed, had contained nO personal items. No wal et, no bus tickets, no crinkled photographs. Nothing that might help identify the dead man...
    Thorne did not know if the phone had already been dusted for fingerprints, and he had no time to check. He reached out to grab a plastic evidence bag from the fat, babyish SOCO and wrapped it around his hand. He held the hand up, wanting silence. He didn't need to ask.
    He took a breath and picked up the receiver. 'Hel o...?'
    'Oh... hi.' A woman's voice.
    Thome locked eyes with Hol and. 'Who did you want to speak to?' He was holding the phone an inch or so away from his ear. and didn't hear the answer properly. 'Sorry, it's not a very good line, could you shout up?' 'Is that any good?'
    'That's great.' Whorne tried to sound casual. 'Who do you want to speak to?' '
    'Oh... I'm not real y sure, actUal y...'
    Thorne looked at Hol and again and shook his head. Fuck. It wasn't
    going to be that easy. 'Who am I talking to?'
    'Sorry?'
    'Who are you?'
    There was a short pause before she spoke. The voice was suddenly a little tighter. Confident though, and refined. 'Listen, I don't want to sound rude, but it was somebody there who cal ed me. I don't particularly want to give out...'
    'This is Detective Inspector Thorne from the Serious Crime Group ...'
    A pause. Then: 'I thought I was cal ing a hotel...'
    'You have cal ed a hotel. Could you please give me your name?' He looked across at Hol and, puffed out his cheeks. Hol and was poised, notebook in hand, looking utterly confused.
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    'You could be anybody,' the woman said.
    'Listen, if it makes you happier, I can cal you back. Better stil , let me give you a number to cal so you can check. Ask for DCI Russel Brigstocke. And I'l give you my mobile number...'
    'Why do I need your mobile number if you're cal ing me back?' The conversation was starting to get faintly ridiculous. Thorne thought he could detect a note of amusement, perhaps even flirtation, creeping into this woman's voice. Pleasing as this was on an otherwise grim morning, he wasn't real y in the mood.
    'Madam, the phone I'm speaking on, the