Nick Oldham - Psycho Alley
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- Название:Psycho Alley
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- Издательство:Severn House
- Жанр:
- Год:2006
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
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Psycho Alley: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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Trent would be forever linked with his memories of Danny Furness, and he cursed him for bringing those memories alive again. Henry had done some foolish things in the past where women were concerned, and while it could be argued that his relationship with Danny had been as ill-judged as any, he had deep feelings for her, and she was one of the women he believed he could have had a future with had her life not been so cruelly and tragically snuffed out.
He thought he had mentally buried her, but Trent had exhumed her, and Henry was having problems getting her off his mind.
‘Come on, get a grip,’ he told himself, opening the policy book with a sigh. ‘Eeh, um.’
He picked up his pen and read through the log, and was just about to start writing when the door opened, his mobile phone rang and a text message landed. Immediate multi-tasking required.
Dave Anger walked in.
Henry answered the phone. It was John Walker, the technical support detective.
‘Henry? You said you’d come and see me,’ he said reproachfully.
‘Oh, sugar,’ Henry said, eyeing Dave Anger, who stood over him, arms folded. ‘I forgot. Something came up, you might say. Sorry, pal.’
‘That’s OK, I know what’s happening. I take it you’re in Blackpool?’
‘Yep.’ He continued to look at Anger and mouthed, ‘One sec,’ to him.
‘I’ll come and see you.’
‘No need for that.’
‘No, I need to see you. I only live in Kirkham, so it’s not too far out of the way. Be about forty minutes.’
The call ended. Henry said, ‘Hello, boss.’
‘I know you’re busy right now,’ Anger said coldly. ‘Tomorrow, ten a.m., I want to see you in my office at Hutton, come hell or high water. There are things to discuss,’ he concluded ominously.
‘Such as?’
Anger considered the question with his bottom lip up over his upper one. ‘Wait and see. Be there.’
He spun on his heels and left.
Henry middle-fingered the door space, shaking his head angrily. He thought he’d got his mind set to scribe up the PB, but Anger had thrown him off kilter, and for what? Screwing his wife? Big effin’ deal , Henry thought. Some people just take everything too seriously. He shook his head and returned to the policy book, then remembered the phone text, which he thumbed to on his mobile phone with a slightly dithery thumb. Again the number of the person sending it was there, a number he did not know. The message read, no chnce ctchng me tosser.
He placed the phone down. Could this be Trent? He screwed up his face and thought about that one. Question was, how could Trent have got his mobile number? Not impossible to obtain, as he often handed it out, but somehow the scenario did not sit right.
He tabbed to the phone’s menu and got into the messages folder, looking at his inbox. He had kept all the messages he’d received over the last few days. He read them one at a time.
Eight in total.
He’d received the first three whilst in Harrogate with the drunken Debbie: Gess who?, UR DEADand have u chkd ur brakes?He’d got a further one, Watch ur bak, just before he’d been assaulted on the mezzanine by the guy in the balaclava. All had come from the same number.
Then he’d received three which read: u n me again, H. ull nvr ctch me, Ull nvr ctch me.She ded and, finally in response to his own text, one that read, old frend. Lastly he’d received one just before Dave Anger appeared in his office. These came from a different mobile number than the first four texts.
Eight texts, two different numbers.
Some threatening, some taunting. With the exception of the last one, they had all been received before Trent had been identified to the world, so it seemed unlikely that Trent would have sent the ones which said, u n me again, H. ull never ctch me, and Ull nvr ctch me. She ded., which struck Henry as odd.
The context of the first four messages were different than the last four, as they seemed to be aimed at Henry as an individual, whilst the latter ones were having a go at him as a detective.
That made him think they had come from different people, but where did that get him?
He called one of the numbers, then the other, but both phones were switched off and the nice lady at Orange invited him to leave a message. He declined.
Henry almost believed that Dave Anger could be the one who’d sent the threatening texts, but he dismissed that. Doing something like that would seriously jeopardize his job. He wasn’t that stupid. Anger was more likely to screw Henry through the system.
That left Jane Roscoe’s embittered husband, but more likely some dreg from GMP.
And the man in black who’d attacked him on the mezzanine — who was he? And the guys who’d laid into him outside the Tram and Tower but hadn’t expected the American Express to smash them down, who the hell were they?
What a tangled fucking web I weave, he thought.
‘Right, policy book,’ he said resolutely, picking up his pen again to do what he had come into his office to do.
This time he managed to get a paragraph done. Not a quality piece of prose, admittedly, but one that hit the mark. He sipped his tea and looked up as another interruption came through the door in the form of Debbie Black. She plonked herself down on the chair opposite Henry. He placed his pen down and forced a smile.
‘Hi.’
Debbie crossed her legs, making Henry wonder if he was about to be treated to a ‘Sharon Stone’, a la Basic Instinct . Trouble was Debbie’s skirt was a bit too mid-length for such a display.
She leaned back, steepled her fingers under her chin and regarded him, a naughty smile playing on her highly kissable mouth.
‘Drink later?’ she ventured. ‘You owe me, dumping me in Harrogate like that.’ She pouted sexily.
‘See how it pans out, eh?’
‘No.’ Her voice was firm. ‘Later for definite.’
‘Look.’ He held out his hands, palms up. ‘I can’t really… I just can’t.’
She squinted angrily at him. A shimmer of panic ran down his spine.
‘Why not?’ she demanded.
Instead of telling her the painful truth, telling her he was not interested, that he valued his home life too much, that he actually loved Kate, he said the first thing that came into his head because it was more likely to pacify her.
‘It’s Rik Dean,’ he blurted. He saw her shoulders stiffen.
‘What about him?’
‘Well, he’s a mate.’
She shook her head, not comprehending.
‘He confided in me,’ he went on, ‘about you and him. You had a bit of a thing going, didn’t you?’
With a folding of her arms, she uttered a snort.
‘Basically, he hasn’t got over you,’ Henry said, ‘and there was no way I could, y’know?’ He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t get involved. He’s a good friend and it would have gutted him.’
Debbie tilted her head, still squinting, but a different sort of squint now. ‘He dumped me.’
‘And he regrets it,’ Henry said, shovelling like mad, the hole getting deeper by the second.
‘He still hasn’t got over me?’ she asked in disbelief.
‘No.’
‘But he dumped me,’ she insisted.
‘Doesn’t mean to say he did the right thing,’ Henry said. It suddenly dawned on him that he was in extremely dangerous territory now and that a line needed to be drawn under it. Quickly. ‘Yeah, look, so that’s the reason, OK,’ he said, attempting to draw that line, although it looked pretty vague and dotted to him at that moment. Inwardly he was cringing.
Fortunately, Debbie stood up, looking thoughtful. She wandered dreamily out of the office as though on a pink, fluffy cloud.
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