The Dying Hours Read Free

Thorne said. ‘So, on you go.’ Binns had been right to suggest that the procedure had been somewhat different two decades earlier. The protocol a little more flexible. The chain of command not followed quite so religiously. There might have been a few less backsides covered, but it was certainly quicker.
    ‘Frankly, I can’t really see the point.’
    ‘Can’t you?’ Thorne said.
    ‘That stuff about the false teeth is near enough laughable and I don’t think anyone’s going to give a toss where the insulin came from.’ Binns cast an eye around the room and shrugged. ‘I pull Homicide in here and they’re only going to say the same thing, aren’t they? You know, we both end up looking like idiots.’
    ‘All the same,’ Thorne said, ‘I’d be happier if you made the call.’
    Binns shook his head. ‘Not going to happen.’
    ‘Right,’ Thorne said. He could feel the blood rising to his face. ‘Because of where
you
are and where
I
am. Prick…’
    Binns reddened too, just a little, but otherwise gave a good impression of being impervious to an insult he’d clearly been on the receiving end of before. ‘You think whatever you like, pal, but I’m not going to waste anybody else’s time just because you’re seeing murders where there aren’t any.’ He walked towards the door, then turned. ‘Maybe you should have taken a bit more time off after what happened. Maybe you should have chucked it in altogether. King of all cock-ups, that one.’
    Thorne could not really argue, so did not bother trying.
    ‘Take this up with the MIT boys if you want,’ Binns said, gesturing back towards the bed. ‘We’ve got a Murder Investigation Team at Lewisham, haven’t we? A nice big one.’
    A team just like the one Thorne used to be part of. ‘Yeah, well, I might just do that.’
    ‘I mean it’s up to you, if you want even more people taking the piss.’
    Thorne was suddenly more aware than usual of the various
pro-active
items attached to his Met vest.
    Cuffs, baton, CS gas…
    ‘I’ll be off then,’ Binns said, straightening his cuffs one final time. ‘Leave you to wind this up.’ The detective turned away and was checking his BlackBerry again as he walked out of the bedroom.
    Thorne took half a minute, let his breathing return to normal, then bellowed for Woodley. He told her to contact Lothian and Borders police and get someone to deliver the death message to the Coopers’ son in Edinburgh. He told her to find out if the dead couple had any other children, and, if so, to make sure the message was delivered to them wherever they were. He told her to stay put until the on-call Coroner’s officer arrived.
    ‘Try not to disturb anything in this room though,’ he said. ‘Not just yet.’
    Woodley raised an eyebrow. ‘Guv.’
    Thorne took one last look round, grabbed his raincoat and cap then hurried downstairs and out to the car. No more than a few minutes with the blues and twos to the Kidbourne and if things were still lively he really felt like wading in. There was every chance he would find himself on the end of a smack or two, but it could not make him feel any worse.

TWO
    It was almost eight o’clock in the morning by the time Thorne got back to the flat in Tulse Hill and, as was usually the case if he didn’t miss seeing her altogether, he walked in to find Helen just about to leave. She was in the kitchen, which opened out into an L-shaped living area: a sofa, armchair, stereo system and TV; the floor littered as usual with toys and children’s books. She finished buttoning her son’s coat and removed an uneaten piece of toast from her mouth. ‘God, you all right?’
    Thorne tossed his raincoat on to a kitchen chair, yanked off the clip-on tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He touched a fingertip to the lump beneath his right eye and winced a little. ‘I’ll live.’
    ‘Did you wind up that bolshy skipper again?’ Helen asked. ‘I said she’d deck you one day.’
    Thorne smiled and walked