Читать онлайн «Cold in Hand»

It was that curious time, neither day nor night, not even properly dusk, the light beginning to shorten and fade, the headlights of a few overcautious drivers raising a quick, pale reflection from the slick surface of the road, the main route back into the city. Past Ezee-Fit Tyre Change amp; Exhaust. Quality Decking. Nottingham Building Supplies. Carpet World. The occasional small parade of shops set back to one side: newsagents, florists, Chinese takeaway, bookies, Bargain Booze.

Lynn Kellogg was driving an unmarked car that jolted slightly when she downshifted from fourth to third, the Force radio whispering sweet nothings through a field of static. She was wearing blue jeans and a pair of scuffed Timberlands, her bulletproof vest still fastened beneath a red and black ski jacket, unzipped.

There were schoolkids all along both sides of the street, spilling over the pavements, pushing, shoving, shirts hanging loose, rucksacks slung over their shoulders, sharing, some of them, the headphones from their MP3s and iPod nanos; a covey of girls, no older than thirteen or fourteen, skirts barely covering their skinny behinds, passing a joint between them. Another day, Lynn might have pulled over, stopped, delivered a lecture. Not today.

February 14th, Valentine's Day, a little after four P. M. and she wanted nothing as much as to get home at a reasonable time, strip off these clothes and soak in a hot bath. She'd bought a present, nothing fancy, a DVD, Thelonious Monk, Live in '66, but it still needed to be wrapped. The card she'd left propped up against the toaster where she thought it might get found.

She had been sitting with her second cup of coffee that morning, half-listening to the early news: Another fifteen-year-old had been shot in Peckham, south London, the third in almost as few days. Payback. Bravado. Respect. Some part of her thinking, at least this time it isn't here. She knew the number of senior detectives currently investigating gun-related incidents in the Nottingham area and environs was such that the Homicide Unit were having to consider bringing in officers from outside.

As the newsreader moved on to the prospect of more job losses in the industrial sector and she reached for the off switch, the phone cut in.

"It's okay," she called through to the other room. "It's probably for me. "

It was. A man holding his wife and children prisoner in Worksop, north of the county, threatening them harm. Almost certainly armed. Lynn swallowed another mouthful of coffee, poured the remainder down the sink, and grabbed her coat from where it was hanging in the hall.