The Dying Place Read Free Page A

Shatter one of its knees. Hamstring the maimed leg, then kick the disease out of a van in the middle of the lion enclosure. No cat can resist a limping, bleeding thing. Film it and show it daily at prime time for a month. I’d pay good money to watch this show happen live. It wants to live like an animal? Let the subhuman abortion die like one.
I suppose when a judge says something is ‘wicked’ he presumes the accused will wilt under the ‘tirade’. They may see the ugly side of life, but they simply do not understand it. Well, something that cowardly piece of rubbish would understand is a rope – or better still, piano wire. So what is wrong with visiting upon him the horror that family have gone through, doubtless are going through? Come on PC crowd, how are you going to side with this one?
**** **** and his type are not human. They are far, far beneath human. They are parasites who cause nothing but misery for real humans. People like this should be sterilised so their poisonous DNA is knocked out of the gene pool. What is it about these nasty folk who just roam around being vile? What can they possibly contribute to society other than destruction and misery?
Top-rated online comments from news story of teenage murderer

1
    More sleep. Just a little bit more …
    Detective Inspector David Murphy hit the snooze button on the alarm for the third time, silencing the noise which had cut through his drift into deeper sleep once again. He refused to open his eyes, knowing the early morning light would pierce the curtains and give him an instant headache.
    A voice came from beside him.
    ‘What time is it?’
    He grunted in reply, already knowing he wasn’t going to float away into slumber now. A few late nights and early starts and he was struggling. Age catching up with him. Closing in on forty faster than he’d expected.
    ‘You need to get up. You’ll be late for work.’
    Murphy yawned and turned over to face Sarah, away from the window. Risked opening one eye, the room still brighter than he’d guessed. ‘Do I have to?’
    Sarah sat up, taking his half of the duvet cover with her and exposing his chest to the cold of the early morning.
    ‘Yes,’ she replied, shucking off the cover and pulling on her dressing gown. ‘Now get up and get dressed. There’s a fresh shirt and trousers in the wardrobe.’
    ‘Five more minutes.’
    ‘No, now. Stop acting like a teenager and get your arse in gear. I’ve got work as well, you know.’
    ‘Fine,’ Murphy replied, opening his other eye and squinting against the light. ‘But can you at least stick some coffee on before you start getting ready? I tried using that frigging maker thing yesterday and almost lobbed it through the window.’
    ‘Okay. But you have to read the instructions at some point.’
    Murphy snorted and sloped through to the bathroom. Turned the shower on and lifted the toilet seat, the shower tuning out the noise from downstairs as Sarah fussed in the kitchen.
    He needed a lie-in. Twelve or so hours of unbroken sleep – now that would be nice.
    It wasn’t even work causing his tiredness. Nothing major had come through CID in the previous few months. Everyone at the station was trying to look busy so they weren’t moved to a busier division in Liverpool. All too scared to use the ‘Q---T’ word. It was just slow or calm. Never the ‘Q’ word. That was just an invitation for someone to shit on your doorstep. A few fraud cases, assaults in the city centre and the usual small-fry crap that was the day-to-day of their lives in North Liverpool. Nothing juicy.
    Murphy buttoned up his shirt and opened the curtains to the early May morning. Rain. Not chucking it down, just the drizzle that served as a constant reminder you were in the north of England.
    The peace in work was a good thing, he thought. Just over a year on from the case which had almost cost him his life, he should have been grateful for the tranquillity of boring cases and endless