Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) Read Online Free PDF

thumping, she felt sick to her stomach, but there was no point delaying the inevitable, so, pulling back the throttle, she sped away from the mortuary in the direction of Southampton Central.

15
    Detective Superintendent Jonathan Gardam stood by his office window, looking out at the world. It was not the finest view Southampton had to offer, but it afforded him a discreet vantage point on the station’s car park below.
    Helen Grace had just arrived and was now dismounting her bike. She was a creature of habit, always choosing the same spot, always removing her helmet and leathers in the same precise order. Whether this was driven by logic or superstition, Gardam couldn’t tell. He knew that her passion for motorbikes was a legacy of her childhood – in one unguarded moment she had confessed to stealing mopeds as a teenager – but beyond that he knew little. The inner workings of her mind were as much a mystery to him as they always had been.
    So he watched her from afar. He had a pretty good idea of her routine now – when she went to the gym, when she went running – and he timed his arrival at the station to coincide with hers. He would be stationed at his window by the time she walked away from her bike, running her fingers through her long hair to breathe new life into it after its temporary constraint. She was always so focused on the business in hand that she never looked up, never clocked his face at the window. Heoften wondered how she would react if she did. Would she be alarmed to see him there or would she offer him a smile and carry on? He had pictured the situation many times and in his head it was always the latter.
    She was later than usual today, following an early-morning trip to the mortuary. Gardam had had to delay his first meeting by half an hour, so he could be in place to receive her. It had put his PA in a mood, but it had been worth it – Helen looked particularly beguiling this morning. She was unfailingly attractive – he had always been captivated by her Amazonian figure, pale skin and fuck-you attitude – but as he’d got to know her better, he had seen a deeper beauty. There was a vulnerability there that was hidden from all except those closest to her. This fragile quality was very much in evidence today. Pale, distracted, deep in thought, his best DI looked utterly haunted.
    Gardam pressed his fingers to the glass. As so often these days, he wanted to reach out and comfort her. But she remained beyond his reach. He hoped in time to change that, but for now all he could do was watch.

16
    This was better than she could possibly have imagined. She had heard the stories about the Torture Rooms before of course, but had never had the inclination – or the bottle perhaps – to investigate further. Seeing the club now for the first time, she felt a surge of excitement – you couldn’t have dreamt up a better backdrop for a gruesome murder. The moral majority out there would hoover this up, scared and titillated in equal measure.
    Emilia pulled out her Nikon and got to work, snapping the exotic instruments of torture and restraint. Her time here was limited and she knew she had to work fast. Gaining access had been harder than usual – the manager and most of the bartenders had gone to ground – so she’d had to track down the security company who usually provided the muscle on the doors. The first two guys she’d contacted had told her to sling her hook, but the third one was twice divorced, with a drinker’s thirst, and needed the money.
    ‘You can have twenty minutes, but that’s it. I need this job and I’m not going to get fired on your account.’
    Emilia had agreed, knowing that once she was in there, she could push it to half an hour. Once people have your money in their pocket, they become a bit less grand.
    Having photographed the dance floor area, she headed swiftly down the corridor to the crime scene. But it was taped up and the door firmly secured. So, feigning a