A Man of Sorrows Read Online Free PDF

free to go. We will be in touch.’
    The warning shot went off less than a foot from her head. When the ringing stopped, Paula realized that she was deaf in her left ear. Through the haze of an appalling headache, she watched people fleeing down the street from the advancing gunmen. They were heading south, moving steadily towards Piccadilly. Paula thought that she could hear the police sirens getting closer, but she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down an empty alleyway. At the bottom was a cobbled courtyard, just off Avery Row. At the far end was a slightly wider exit, leading on to what Paula knew was Grosvenor Street. In the courtyard was a black London taxi cab and a navy Vespa 125 cc scooter.
    The white guy pulled open the back of the taxi and poked her inside, jumping in behind her and closing the door. ‘Act normal, bitch,’ he ordered.
    Paula glanced in the rearview mirror to see the black guy hand the plastic bag full of jewellery to a third guy in a crash helmet, who stuck it in the helmet box on the back of the scooter.
    ‘Hey!’ Sticking his gun into the waistband of his trousers, the white guy reached across the seat and gave her a slap around the back of the head. ‘The less you see, the less trouble you’re in.’
    Paula obediently lowered her gaze.
    ‘That’s more like it.’
    Keeping her eyes on the floor, Paula listened to the scooter move carefully out of the courtyard and into heavy traffic. Once she could no longer make out the sound of the scooter’s engine above the general hum of traffic noise, she lifted her eyes. Despite the ringing in her ears, she could clearly hear the police and ambulance sirens now. They seemed to be coming from all directions. The net’s closing in , Paula thought. She suddenly realized that might not be a good thing and felt her stomach do a somersault. Once again, she squeezed her legs together and hoped that her bladder would not give out.
    ‘Just look fucking normal.’ The white guy tried to smile, but all Paula could see was the tension etched across his face.
    ‘Let’s go.’ Jumping behind the wheel, the black guy reached under the seat and pulled out a Chelsea baseball cap. Ramming it down on his head, the brim over his eyes, he started the ignition. There was a loud click as the passenger doors were locked. Switching off the ‘For Hire’ sign, he carefully steered the cab out of the courtyard.

FIVE
    On the third floor the inspector sat at his desk and reread the email from his union, the Police Federation. Reading it for a third time, he shook his head in frustration.
    ‘Wankers!’ he said aloud. Ignoring the disapproving glance of a passing WPC, he hit the print button. After about five seconds, a printer called ‘Vigilance’ on the far side of the floor wheezed into action. With a groan, he pushed himself out of his chair and went to collect the two sheets of A4 that it had started to spew out.
    As he returned to his desk, he saw Roche appearing out of the lift. Folding one copy of the email, he dropped it in the pocket of his jacket, which was hung on the back of his chair. The other he handed to his sergeant as she approached him.
    ‘What’s this?’ Roche asked, taking the piece of paper.
    ‘It’s a memo from the Federation,’ Carlyle said flatly, ‘about voluntary redundancies.’ It had been more than three months since the Commissioner, a political appointee unpopular with many officers, had announced that the Met would have to make sizeable job cuts in the wake of the never-ending financial crisis that was affecting the whole of the public sector. Since then, everyone had been waiting for information about numbers and, more importantly, what that might mean for their own job.
    Roche screwed up her face. ‘This won’t affect us, will it?’
    Carlyle shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
    Roche looked blankly at the paper in her hand. ‘Jesus.’
    Carlyle tried to offer what reassurance he could. ‘I