Blind Needle Read Online Free PDF Page A

There was no TV set, no stereo system, just an old-fashioned radio with a fretted speaker in the shape of
fleur-de-lis
, the out-of-date station wavelengths preserved on a circular dial behind yellowing perspex.
    I kept my feet together, hiding my boots with the knotted laces behind a barricade of square brown paper parcels. The room was warm and stuffy. I felt myself start to slide away. Graham Locke’s red, rather fleshy lips were moving and I made a supreme effort to listen, or at least seem as if I was listening.
    â€˜I’m in the middle of cataloguing.’ He brushed a hand through his wild hair, scratched the back of his neck and looked round vaguely. ‘But then I always am. Like painting the Forth Bridge.’ He smiled in my direction, the flesh crinkling round the dead eye that went on staring regardless, blandly and shamelessly.
    â€˜You’re a collector?’
    â€˜No. Good heavens, no. I buy and sell. Local history,’ he gestured at the pile on the coffee table in front of him.
‘Sketch of Cumberland Manners and Customs 1811, Millom People and Places, The Ruskin Linen Industry of Keswick, Tales of a Tent
. Dialect poetry. Railways. The history of the Herdwick.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜A breed of sheep.’
    â€˜People collect books on sheep?’
    â€˜Oh yes, they collect them on any subject you care to name.’ He picked out a volume at random and held it to his good side so that he could read the faded gold lettering on the spine.
‘British Criminal Cases 1890 to 1910
. I don’t deal much in crime but this should complete someone’s set. I’ll take it along to the Carlisle Book Fair and see if I can find a dealer who specialises.’
    â€˜You do a lot of book fairs?’ I asked politely.
    â€˜Three, four, sometimes five a month. Chester, Harrogate, even down to Birmingham. Edinburgh’s a good place but it’s a bit too far. You can spend all your time on the road for not much return if you’re not careful.’
    â€˜Pity about the car then,’ I said. ‘You’ll be stuck.’ I clenched myjaw to stop myself yawning and a splinter of tooth broke away.
    â€˜I don’t use the Datsun, even if it was reliable. Not enough room. I have a small van.’ All at once he frowned and tilted his head, his good eye showing concern. ‘Excuse me, is that blood on your chin? Your mouth looks bruised.’
    I spat the bit of tooth into my handkerchief. ‘A man in the pub didn’t like my face and thought he’d alter it.’
    â€˜You mean he – hit you?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Was it a rough place?’
    â€˜Rough enough for me.’
    â€˜Come on,’ he said, getting up. ‘Go and have a wash in the bathroom. Tidy yourself up, you’ll feel better.’
    I nodded gratefully and stood up. He shuffled round the cardboard boxes and piles of books and opened the door for me. Diane Locke came in with a tray.
    â€˜Peter’s having a wash and brush-up,’ her father said. She moved aside to let me pass. I remember very clearly her steady gaze fixed on me, and suddenly I felt pitiful and wretched, acutely conscious of my poor clothes and cropped greying hair and graveyard pallor, and my pathetic bundle of belongings next to the carved wooden umbrella stand in the small dark hall. I heard her call out – a warning? – and then heard and felt nothing more, not even the floor, and went down into blessed peace and darkness.
2
    I’m coming Holford
    Coming to get you
    (Murdering bastard!)
    Think you’ve got away
    You haven’t
    Not while I’m alive
    You haven’t
    You didn’t confess your guilt
    To Morduch
    But you confessed it
    To me
    And I won’t rest
    Till I’ve killed you
    (Murdering bastard!)
    She was innocent
    I loved her
    More than life
    And you –
    (Murdering bastard!)
    â€“ took her from me
    Christ it’s cold
    The