Scaredy Cat Read Free

world hated so much. The Intensive Therapy Unit was in a newer wing of the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, but it stil had the smel . Disinfectant, he reckoned. They used something similar in schools but that just took him back to forgotten gym kits and the horror of PE in underpants. This was a different smel .
    Dialysis and death.
    He took the lift down to the main reception area, whose imposing Victorian architecture made a surprising contrast with the modern, open plan style of the hospital's newer parts, There was a faded grandeur about the stone tablets that lined the wal s and the dusty wooden plaques inscribed with the names of the hospital consultants. Pride of place went to the ful -length portrait of Diana, Princess of Wales, a former patron of the hospital. The painting was accomplished, unlike the bust of the Princess that stood on a plinth next to it. Thorne wondered if it had been sculpted by a patient.
    As he neared the exit, the muttered curses and dripping umbrel as coming towards him through the main doors told him that summer was at an end. A week and a half into August and it was over: He stood beneath the hospital's elaborate red-brick portico and squinted through the downpour towards where his car wa.s parked, tight against the railings that ran around Queen Square. People scurried through the rain, heads down, across the gardens or towards Russel Square tube station. How many were doctors or nursing staff?. There were a dozen hospitals or specialist units within a mile of him. He could just see Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital from where he stood.
    14 MARK BILLINGHAM
    He turned up his col ar and prepared to make a dash for
    it.
    At first he thought it was a parking ticket and he pul ed
    it roughly from beneath the wiper blade. As soon as he removed the single sheet of A4 from the polythene wrapper and unfolded it, he saw it was something else. He careful y inserted it back into its protective wrapping, wiped off the rain and peered at the nearly typed message. After the first four words he was no longer aware of the rainwater running down the back of his neck.
    DEAR DETECTIVE INSPECTOR THORNE. WHAT CAN I SAY? PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. AND DON'T YOU JUST ENVY HER THAT PERFECT... DISTANCE? I INVITE YOU
    TO CONSIDER THE CONCEPT OF FREEDOM. TRUE FREEDOM. HAVE YOU EVER REALLY CONSIDERED IT? I'M SOftY ABOUT THE OTHERS. TRULY. I SHALL NOT INSULT

    YOUR INTELLIGENCE WITH PLATITUDES ABOUT ENDS AND MEANS BUT OFFER IN MITIGATION THE THOUGHT THAT A MASSIVE UNDERTAKING OFTEN HAS AN
    APPROPRIATE MARGIN OF ERROR. IT'S ALL ABOUT PRESSUBE, DETECTIVE INSPECTOR THORNE, BUT THEN YOU'D IfNOW ALL ABOUT THAT. SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, TOM, MAYBE I'LL CALL YOU SOMETIME.
    Pressure...
    Thorne looked around, his heart thumping. Whoever left the note must be close - the car hadn't been there long. Al he could see were grim-set, rain-soaked faces, and Hol and dodging the puddles as he loped across the road towards him.
    SLEEPYHEAD 15
    'Sir, the boyfriend's just arrived. You must've passed him on your way out.'
    The look on Thorne's face stopped him dead in his tracks.
    'Alison is not a fuck-up, Hol and.'
    'Of course not, sir. Al I meant was--'
    'Listen. This is what he wants.' He pointed back towards the hospital. 'Do you understand?' His shirt was plastered to his back. Rain and sweat. He could barely understand it himself. He could hardly believe what was struggling to come out of his mouth. Hol and stared at Thorne openmouthed as he spoke the words that would cost him so much. Words which even as they formed on his lips, told him he should never have agreed to become part of this.
    'Alison Wil etts is not his first mistake. She's the first one he's got right.'
    Tim's not handling this very wel . He had that funny choke in his voice when he was talking to Anne. Anne? First-name terms and we've nevermet. She sounds nice, though. I like our chats in the evening. Obviously a bit one-sided but at least somebody knows