Suffer the Children Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the sideboard, eventually finds a photograph of Karl Colquhoun. He’s right. This man has been in Staffe’s house. The best part of a year ago, he had gone down to Staffe’s flat in Queens Terrace, South Ken. Not only that, Staffe had made him cups of tea while he repaired the marquetry on a Cobb writing table. Karl Colquhoun did a wonderful job. He was painstaking and uncompromising. A craftsman. You’d think he had something to offer a civilised society.
    Staffe goes back to the bedroom and looks down at Karl Colquhoun. The man this happened to, the way they did it …… he is no ordinary victim. Perhaps no kind of victim at all – in some people’s eyes. He turns his back and walks through the flat, nods at the uniformed officer on the door, who says, ‘Sir, shall I lock the place down?’
    Staffe nods and thinks of the warmer clime that awaits him with the far older and political crime that killed his parents – supposedly a crime of reason. And he wonders whether that makes it better or worse than the brutal slaying of Karl Colquhoun, no angel, perhaps. Regardless, he’ll chase them down. It’s what he does.
    Walking down the stairwell, the sounds of his own footsteps echo against others coming up at him. As he passes them, they look down, and at level two the smell of aerosol paint is thick and new. Even while the police are here, they’re tagging the place. The chemicals catch in his throat and Staffe takes the last few flights two steps at a time and runs out into the courtyard , gulping at the air.
    ‘Someone’s in a hurry.’
    Pennington is leaning against the old Peugeot. He pushes himself off the rusted car and dusts himself down, adjusts the knot of his tie. He looks more like an accountant than a chief inspector. He is wiry, with dark, sheened hair that has more than a hint of Just For Men. As always, he wears a double-breasted suit. He shoots his cuffs. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here, Staffe.’
    ‘I’m off in the morning, sir. First thing.’
    ‘Couldn’t resist a look, eh, Inspector?’ Pennington puts a hand on his Seamaster watch, takes a studied look at the time. ‘We can manage without you.’ He fixes Staffe with a lame smile.
    ‘I just thought, what with Rimmer off on the long sick.’
    ‘Stress. Ha!’ Pennington looks past Staffe and up, towards the Limekiln tower. He talks as if he is being recorded. ‘Don’t you think that if the word didn’t exist, the condition would never arise.’ He mimics a whine. ‘“I’m all stressed out.”’ He looks straight at Staffe, slit eyes. ‘Well, everybody’s stressed, unless they do fuck all. It’s what keeps us going. It’s good for us!’
    ‘Some more than others, perhaps. Sir.’
    ‘You don’t get stressed, though, do you, Staffe? No chance of that! You get yourself on holiday. How long’s it been? Two years? Longer?’
    He nods. ‘You don’t want me to stay, sir?’
    ‘I’d have thought that with the Golding episode you’d see the advantage in keeping a low profile. A bit of sun on your back.’
    ‘And what about Sohan Kelly? Will he be feeling the sun on his back? I hear he’s about to be magicked off to India but there’s trouble with his visa.’
    ‘Kelly’s taken care of. He needn’t concern you.’
    ‘But he does, sir.’
    ‘He got us our conviction.’
    Staffe feels Kelly’s original statement, safe in his pocket. He wants to know exactly what kind of a hold Pennington has over Sohan – to make him change the evidence the way he did. ‘And what did it get him?’
    Pennington gives Staffe a look that could kill. He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. ‘You know that bastard Golding – and all the bastards he runs with – had it coming. And you know that poor sod of a postmaster will be a quivering wreck for all his days. Kelly was your witness, Staffe. Your witness. I’ll get him away from here, don’t you worry. Bloody visas!’
    Staffe can’t say anything; can’t remind Pennington