Shoot to Kill Read Online Free PDF

a whole new light. ‘Why doesn’t she just make it up?’
    ‘She does, a lot of the time. But she needs to be able to claim it’s broadly based on real life; otherwise, no more column.’ Olivia picked up a diary from next to the ashtray. Inside was a collection of newspaper cuttings. Flicking through the pages, she found the one she was looking for. ‘
The aim of the column is to offer a scrupulously honest picture of family life. At the same time, inevitably, some incidents are partly fictionalized, some details have to be carefully rearranged and some characters become composites, to conceal the identity of our children
. . .’
    ‘Your mother said that?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Alice nodded. ‘About a month ago, not long after she was outed by another newspaper.’
    ‘Don’t you mind?’
    ‘Nah.’ Olivia closed the diary and tossed it onto the carpet by the side of the bed. ‘Who cares about some shitty newspaper column? Certainly no one at our school. The good thing is that the paper’s website is behind a pay wall, so no one will go and look at it online. Only a total idiot would pay to read the rubbish my mum writes.’
    ‘That’s something, I suppose.’
    ‘I wish she hadn’t done one about my first period, though,’ Olivia groaned. ‘And I’ve told her that Ryan is, like, totally off-limits, but I know that cow will write something about him anyway, just to embarrass me. I think she probably fancies him herself.’
    ‘Urgh!’ Alice stuck her head back inside the sleeping bag.
Fictionalized . . . rearranged . . . composites
. She made a vow that she would be very careful around Olivia’s mum from now on.

SIX
    Tomorrow’s special was to be Shepherd’s Pie with chips and peas. All for the heavily subsidised price of just £2.99. For another £1.50 you could also have Bakewell tart with custard. Standing in front of a large whiteboard in the basement canteen of Charing Cross police station, a tiny, grey-haired dinner lady wrote up the details in large capital letters in bright red marker pen. When she had finished, the woman admired her penmanship, carefully replaced the cap on the marker then disappeared back behind the serving counter, which had been cleared for the night. Feeling more than a little peckish, Commander Carole Simpson scanned the vending machine in the corner. A Bounty Bar stared enticingly back at her. Disappointed with the amount of effort it took to abstain, she turned to John Carlyle, watching with a certain amount of envy as the inspector happily munched on an apple.
    ‘Where did all these people come from?’ she whispered.
    ‘Well,’ he whispered back, ‘if you ask for volunteers to raid a strip club, what did you expect?’ He gestured at the expectant crowd of officers. ‘I could have sold tickets for this gig.’
    ‘We didn’t ask for volunteers,’ Simpson said tetchily. She looked relaxed after a week’s holiday on safari in South Africa but, back on the job, he could already see the stress building up, starting to seep out of the corners of her eyes and her mouth. A mere couple of days back in wet and cheerless London had already taken their toll.
    Standing next to his boss, Carlyle looked almost spectral by comparison. As befitted a man who was unwilling to take anyunnecessary risks with his health, he had not exposed himself to any serious sun for years, if not decades. ‘You might as well have done,’ he mumbled.
    ‘Don’t start, John, for God’s sake!’ she hissed.
    You sound like my wife
, Carlyle thought. Realizing that was not an idea he wanted to pursue any further, he killed it quickly and concentrated on his job. ‘What am I supposed to do with this lot?’ He had counted almost thirty uniforms standing around joking and laughing, waiting for the fun to start. At most, he reckoned he needed eight.
    Ignoring the question, Simpson looked at her watch and muttered, ‘I’m going to be late for dinner.’
    Carlyle wondered what he was going to have for