Blood Work Read Online Free PDF Page B

garage. White modern units, but
nothing personal, no pictures or furniture. A kettle
on the countertop. A couple of mugs. A whisky
tumbler. Delaney opened some cupboards, scowled
and shut them again. 'Have you got any Nurofen on
you, Sally?'
    She shook her head. 'Sorry, sir.'
    'Co-codamol? Paracetamol? Aspirin? Anadin?
Ibuprofen? Panadol?'
    'Don't use them, sir.'
    Delaney slammed a drawer shut, frustrated, and
again regretted it. 'You'll learn,' he said, wincing.
    'I've got a line of coke.'
    Delaney looked across at her, half hopeful, and
Sally laughed. 'Joking, sir.'
    Delaney nodded. 'Not funny, Constable.' There
was a time when Delaney had used the stuff, and not
that long ago. Only a little dab now and again, mind,
a wet tip of a finger's worth, to keep him sharp. But
the business with Walker and Bonner had made him
more circumspect. He'd never been a user. Whiskey
was his drug of choice, even using the Scottish variety
lately. And cigarettes of course. The day they made
them illegal was the day he resigned for good. He
fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a packet. 'You
got a lighter, Sally?'
    'You shouldn't smoke in the house, sir.'
    'It's my goddamn house.'
    'Exactly. And you want to keep it nice, sir.' She
smiled, taking the edge of her words. 'For your
daughter's sake.'
    Delaney cursed and stuffed the packet back in his
jacket pocket then sketched a hand in the air. 'What
do you think of it?'
    Sally smiled politely. 'Very minimalist.'
    Delaney opened another cupboard and found a jar
of coffee. 'Not got round to sorting it out yet.'
    'How long have you been here?'
    'A week.'
    'Just a suggestion, but maybe some furniture.'
    'You any idea what this cost?'
    Sally shrugged. 'Three-bedroomed house, integral
garage, Belsize Park? Way out of my league.'
    'An arm and a fucking leg that's what it cost me.
You want to investigate serious fraud, look into the
price of property.'
    'You don't have to tell me.'
    Delaney found a couple of mugs and poured some
coffee into them. 'Karl Marx had the right of the
matter, I reckon.' He opened the integrated fridge
and cursed. 'No frigging milk.'
    Sally smiled. 'I'm all right anyway, sir.'
    'Well, you bloody would be. We'll get one on the
way. Just have a seat and look shiny. I won't be a
minute.'
    Delaney opened the door to the lounge. Sally went
through to the lounge as Delaney headed upstairs. It
was a large room with French windows leading on to
a small courtyard garden. Like the kitchen the lounge
was noticeably devoid of furniture, but there were
some packing cases, one of which had a small
television sitting on top of it. The walls were bare.
The house, unlike its owner, was a blank canvas.
    Sally sat on one of the packing cases and felt a
spark of jealousy. A three-bedroomed house spitting
distance from the station. Like she had said it was
far more than her salary could afford, could ever
afford looking at the way house prices had gone,
never mind the recent fall. Ten per cent or twenty
per cent off bleeding expensive was still way out of
her league. She hoped Delaney got round to buying
some furniture and making it a proper home soon,
though. Criminal waste otherwise. Delaney had
only bought the house, she knew, so that his young
daughter, Siobhan, could visit him sometimes. After
the death of his wife, Delaney's life had been such a
train wreck that he didn't even have to think about
it when his sister-in-law, Wendy, offered to look
after his young girl. That was four years ago,
though, his daughter was now seven years old, and
the fact that Delaney had wanted to make a home
for her with him, at least for some of the time, was
a mark of how much he had changed, even in the
little time she had known him. The poor girl had
been through a lot recently, her aunt stabbed in her
own home while Siobhan was held captive upstairs
by his deranged ex-boss Superintendent Walker.
Delaney and Kate Walker had arrived just in time to