Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

older – and his godfather became busier. But he remembered him as a thoughtful man. Someone who could always be relied on to remember birthdays, to show kindness whenever they were together.
       But then he remembered the last time he’d seen him. Aidan suddenly felt every ridge and fold in the sheets and mattress below him. He turned on to his side to study the poster on the wall of Frank Lloyd Wright’s most famous building, Falling Water. He focused on the image, the concrete terraces seemingly hovering in space over the waterfall, the rectilinear shapes contrasted with the soft woodland, the feeling of perfect balance.
       His breathing slowed. The bed softened beneath him.
       Like never before, there was a sense that architecture gave his life structure and meaning. That he’d nearly lost that career, by continually missing lectures and arguing with tutors – scraping a 2:2 on his BA – worried him. But all too often the confrontations at college were because he fundamentally disagreed with something a tutor had said. Wasn’t that what college was about – challenging as well as learning?
       Now he was doing his professional experience at a firm in Islington. He got on OK there, and had even managed to make friends – or at least that’s what he thought he’d made; he could never be sure what actually constituted friendship – but again he was finding it hard not to disagree with some of the opinions the partners expressed.
       Now he was on semi-permanent sick leave, a situation that was deeply frustrating. But he was sure he’d return. That he’d qualify and set up his own practice. And that, in time, he’d design buildings that would leave people breathless.

Chapter 7
     
    North London
     
    Sam cancelled his clients again the next morning, aware that he was in no fit state to offer empathy or that other mysterious pre-requisite for good counselling, unconditional positive regard. The fact was, he was angry, and he knew it would show.
       He sat at his kitchen table, drinking coffee after coffee as he raged at the events of the previous evening.
       The police had arrived quickly enough, but as he attempted to explain what had happened, he soon realised how flimsy his story sounded, and their interest rapidly waned.
       The trouble was, he’d been reluctant to tell them about Scott, not just because of the confidentiality he’d been so keen to impress on the Government employee, but also just in case one of the attending officers decided to make a little money by telling a newspaper that the dead Minister had been seeing a shrink.
       It meant that everything he did tell them sounded slightly hollow. He explained that one of his clients had recently died and that he’d had a visit from someone concerned about what the dead man might have revealed about his work. Sam told them how he’d refused to talk about it and how, a day later, his house was broken into and the case notes targeted.
       ‘So what you’re saying,’ said the interviewing officer, a man in his early 30s with tightly cropped hair and a goatee beard, ‘is that you believe this man –’ he paused then to consult his notes, ‘ – or someone in league with him, broke into your house to steal your client’s notes.’
       ‘Right.’
       The policeman ran a hand across his head. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this Mr Keddie, but your story is a little light on leads. We could attempt to trace this man, maybe see if we can find a match for any prints in your house. But there’s little to link one event with the other – the men you describe are, as you say, physically quite different – and nothing has been stolen.’
       ‘Because I interrupted the burglary.’
       The policeman grunted in agreement.
       ‘So basically,’ said Sam, ‘if you can’t find the man, or any prints, there’s nothing you can do.’
       The policeman sighed. ‘This is a break-in,’ he said, his voice lifeless.