Chasing the Dark Read Online Free PDF Page A

it in the bedside cupboard along with her old copy of Kidnapped and a couple of newspaper reports I’d saved about the crash.
    It wasn’t much to show for a life.
    I locked myself in the bathroom. That way, Doreen wouldn’t hear the jerky sobs coming out of my throat. It was a long time before I came out again and opened the holdall. Inside it was a slim silver laptop, pretty new by the look of it. I booted it up, stared at the flashing Enter Password instruction, turned it off again and fished aroundin the holdall. I pulled out a pen, some loose change, a soft black notebook and a glossy pamphlet about some big energy summit. I thumbed through it, looking at the photos of the speakers. It didn’t matter if they were men, women, French, Chinese, Russian, American or British, they all had identical cheesy smiles and looked like they’d been stuffed. I flipped open the notebook. Except for a few scattered dates and a list of mobile numbers, it was just a jumble of squiggles like some kind of shorthand. Ramming my fingers into the pocket of the holdall, I dug out an envelope. I read the name on it. Once. Twice. Three times. Ivo Lincoln. It didn’t mean the cops weren’t jerks. It just made the mix-up a bit less random. I reached in the bedside cupboard for the newspaper cuttings, looking for the bit I’d read about Lincoln’s dad. There it was: Professor Ralph Lincoln of St Saviour’s College, Cambridge.
    I went downstairs and asked to use the phone. Doreen got a bit shirty at first but gave in when I told her who I was calling. Directory enquiries put me through to something called the porters’ lodge. This grumpy bloke said the Professor had taken time off for personal reasons. I said I’d call back. It wasn’t just that Doreen’s ears were flapping. There are some things you just can’t leave in a message.
    Doreen was doing the catering for some retirement do that night. George was very quiet while he heated up the lasagne she’d left us and he didn’t say much till we’d almost finished eating it. Then he said, ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
    I shook my head. He got out his wallet. I shut my eyes.This was it. He was about to kick me out. I was going to end up in care. I felt something being pushed into my hand. I opened my eyes. It was a twenty-pound note. George looked at me all sad and red-faced.
    â€˜You only had to ask, you know.’
    He got up and started clearing the table.
    â€˜George . . .’ I felt so guilty I just wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t.
    He wouldn’t look at me.
    â€˜I’m sorry. It was for . . . a mate. He had an emergency.’ My voice had gone wobbly with fear. ‘Are you going to tell Doreen?’
    He shook his head and headed for the kitchen. ‘We both know what would happen if I did.’

CHAPTER 4
    T he tramp wasn’t waiting in the dining room that night. I found him lying sweating in the cellar with his knife in one hand, my mobile in the other and Oz curled up next to him sound asleep. A single candle flickered in the corner, burning low. The tramp was gasping and flinching, murmuring something over and over that sounded like ‘ tee gneeda paganaya ’.
    I reached out to stroke Oz. The tramp’s eyes sprang open and he made a feeble lunge at me with the knife. ‘ Ya zamochoo tebya!’
    Who knows what he was on about but he wasn’t happy and he wasn’t speaking French or German, I knew that much.
    â€˜It’s OK. It’s me, Joe. Remember? I’ve brought you medicine.’
    He took a minute or two to calm down.
    â€˜Antibiotics and painkillers.’ I said.
    I sat him up and made him swallow a couple of tablets. He didn’t want any of the lasagne I’d brought him and he slumped back, shivering and banging his teeth together while I made a fuss of Oz. I tried to tempt him with some dog