Easy Meat Read Online Free PDF Page A

meet him, hear him again, clear across the clamor of a crowded bar, asking could he buy her a drink; his fingers tapping at the window the next time her car broke down, face peering in, drizzled out of focus by the rain, the lilt of his voice, that smile …
    And there were other things that had been stirred into consciousness by the experience, things which Lynn was struggling to forget.
    She was at her desk when Resnick entered the CID office, back towards him, a slight hunch of her shoulders as she made notes on her pad while talking on the phone. Kevin Naylor, like Lynn a detective constable in his twenties, was accessing the computer, checking through incidents of arson in connection with a recent fire in which an Asian boy of four had died. Graham Millington, Resnick’s sergeant, sat with an elderly black woman, coaxing her through the circumstances of a robbery she had witnessed in a local bookmaker’s, three thousand pounds stolen and the manager recovering from serious head injuries in the Queen’s Medical Centre. The other desks were empty, officers out and about in the city, asking questions, knocking on doors.
    Inside Resnick’s office, a partitioned corner of the narrow room, the telephone started to ring. By the time he had entered and closed the door behind him, it had stopped. One glance at the jumble of papers on his desk, and he reached into one of the drawers for a half-empty pack of Lavazza caffé espresso and filled the coffee machine his friend Marian Witczak had given him as a present. “For you, Charles, to treat yourself well. I know how much you like good coffee.”
    The last drops, black and strong, had not finished percolating through before Resnick, unable to distract himself any longer, pushed open the office door and called Lynn Kellogg’s name.
    “Coffee?”
    “No, thanks.”
    She kept her hair cut short now, defiantly, brushed forward at the front just like a boy’s; the only slight curl, as if to spite her, curved in front of her ears and the plain gold studs that she wore. She had never won back the fullness or the color of her face. She wore black cotton trousers, a black, round-necked top. No rings.
    “Jack Skelton was asking me how you were.”
    She hadn’t forgotten how to smile, at least with her eyes. “And you told him?”
    “As far as I knew, you were fine.”
    “That’s okay, then.”
    Resnick brought the cup towards his mouth, but didn’t drink. “Except, apparently, you’re not.”
    Lynn looked at him and saw a sad man with sad eyes. When he had been the first to arrive at the caravan where she was being held captive, she had clung to him and thought that she would never let him go. Now that was proving all too true: through therapy and jagged dreams, the memory of him persisted, the bulk of him hard against her, the tears in his eyes.
    “The hospital,” Resnick said.
    “Dr. Carey.”
    “You’ve started seeing her again.”
    Lynn sat forward, hands pressed between her thighs. “So much for confidentiality, then.”
    Resnick set the cup back down. “As far as what’s said, whatever passes between you, of course that’s true.”
    “But if I’ve gone back into therapy …”
    “We have to be concerned.”
    “That I might be cracking up?”
    “Concerned for you.”
    She laughed. “Because I might not be able to do the job?”
    “Yes.” He looked away and Lynn laughed again.
    “What?” Resnick said. “What?”
    “Nothing, it’s just … No, it’s okay, I know you’re only doing your job, too.”
    Resnick shifted again, uncomfortable in his chair. “It’s the nightmares, then? They’ve started up again. Is that the problem?”
    “Yes,” Lynn said. “Yes, that’s right. Same old thing.”
    The lie hung between them, tangible as smoke.
    “You feel okay, though,” Resnick asked. “About the job? Carrying on?”
    “Yes. Really I’m fine.”
    “You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”
    “Of course.” She was on her feet