Cold Kill Read Online Free PDF

earned.
    The other lawyers didn’t like him, because he made bold promises that made clients shift loyalties. Low-level crooks usually wanted nothing more than someone to shout on their behalf, and David Hoyle did that. And he didn’t work out of an office. Freshwaters had premises, but it was really just somewhere for Hoyle to park his Mercedes. He ran his files from home, did his own typing, and visited his clients on their own turf.
    His client trotted behind him, a red-faced man in a grey suit, his stomach pushing out the buttons, his shoes shiny underneath the pressed hems of his trousers. He wasn’t the usual court customer. Suddenly, Hoyle turned to smile and shake hands with his client, but from the look of regret Hoyle gave, Jack guessed that things hadn’t gone his way.
    There was the scent of a story, a disgraced professional always gets a column, and so he checked his pocket for his camera; get the picture first, the story later, because the shame sold better if there was a face a neighbour might recognise. It was the part of the job that used to make Jack most uncomfortable, but he’d learned a long time ago that he had to write stories that people wanted to read, and having a troubled conscience didn’t help sell a newspaper.
    Jack watched them walk past and then headed after them as they made their way to the steps and then outside.
    Hoyle had stopped at the bottom to straighten his tie and fix his hair, using the glass panel in a door as a mirror, before lighting a cigarette.
    ‘I’m too good for this place,’ he said to his reflection, and then turned round and blew smoke towards Jack, who had appeared over his shoulder. ‘Mr Journo, you’re looking twitchy.’
    ‘Where’s your client?’ Jack said.
    Hoyle took another long pull on his cigarette. ‘Now, what do you want with that poor man?’ he said, wagging a finger.
    ‘When there isn’t much going on, I have to chase what I can.’
    ‘Didn’t you have bigger ambition than that when you first started out?’ Hoyle said. ‘Dreams of travel, interviewing presidents, uncovering conspiracies?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He grinned, smoke seeping out between his teeth. ‘This?’ he said, and he pointed up the stairs. ‘Was this your plan when you left reporting school, or wherever you people graduate from, trying to shame people for stepping on the wrong side of the line sometimes?’
    ‘It’s not like that,’ Jack said, bristling.
    ‘So what is it like?’
    ‘It’s the freedom of the press,’ Jack said. ‘It’s about letting the wider community know what is going on around them, where the threats lie. Over the years, it paints the town’s history.’
    Hoyle raised his eyebrows. ‘If that makes you feel better.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘You flatter yourself, cover yourself in glory talk,’ Hoyle said. ‘It’s all bullshit, this freedom of the press stuff.’
    ‘And this was your life plan?’ Jack retorted. ‘Did you always dream of giving speeches to a bench of bored greengrocers in a backwater Lancashire town? Why are you here? Did it not work out in the big city?’
    ‘We’re both parasites,’ Hoyle said, his voice low, stepping closer to Jack. ‘Necessary evils, that’s all. A fair justice system is essential to our freedoms. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Journo? Like a free press.’ He scoffed. ‘But that isn’t why I do it. I like the game, and if that means I help guilty people get away with bad things, so be it, because it is all a game, you know that. And if the odds are stacked against me, I’ve got to make sure that they don’t get the punishment they deserve, so they can skip out of court, laughing at the system. You like it that way too, because it means that you can write it up as an outrage. But I like what I do, because I get off on the fight, the challenge. What about you, Mr Journo?’
    Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Do all defence lawyers think like you?’
    Hoyle laughed. ‘Deep down, yes, but