Suffer the Children Read Online Free PDF

it was his idea to conjure up Sohan Kelly. He looks Pennington in the eye. ‘I’ve never believed that ends justify the means, sir.’
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Staffe’ – Pennington is talking through his teeth now – ‘I’m not going to have another ethical debate. I’m telling you, what’s done is done. And by Christ, justice has been done.’
    ‘Not my kind of justice, sir.’
    ‘There’s no place in Jadus Golding’s world for philosophers. Remember, Golding did it! And what’s more, Wagstaffe, the buck stops with you.’ Pennington jabs a finger at Staffe, pulls himself up short from actually touching the chest.
    ‘Don’t I know it, sir. Don’t I know it.’
    Pennington plays with his cuffs again, calming himself. ‘So. You get yourself off, Staffe. Leave us to take care of this.’ He nods up at the Limekiln tower. ‘It’s a done deal by the looks of things. The wife’s gone missing. Odds on it’s her. Open. Shut.’
    ‘And if it’s not?’
    ‘Then we’ll gather the evidence. The way we always do.’
    ‘You’re short-handed.’
    ‘There’s always the Met if we’re struggling.’
    ‘The Met!’
    Pennington turns sideways, takes a step away. ‘Get yourself off, Staffe. Trust me, we can survive without you.’
    Staffe makes his way into the night. As he walks towards his car, Pennington’s Jag purrs past, red lights fading to nothing and just as he is left all alone, with the Limekiln tower looming like a monster in the dark sky, he hears a bang! And glass falls to ground from the street light above. The street goes dead, dead dark. Staffe stops in his tracks, fears the worst. He clenches his fists in readiness. For what?
    He looks behind him and up at the dark tower, then he hears something. He peers into the dark, sees a moving shape by his car. He knows he can’t take a backward step, so he walks slowly towards his car, watching his steps. Catcalls ring out from inside the Limekiln. Dogs bark. Closer, Staffe is sure he can hear breathing, heavy. As he gets to the car he hears something behind him and he spins round, calls out, ‘Who’s there!’ He flicks on his pocket Maglite and casts a sharp beam out into the night. Nothing. He checks up and down the street. When he turns to his car, the beam illuminates a fresh violation . The letter J is key-carved into the car door. ‘J,’ he says aloud. ‘Jadus bloody Golding,’ he whispers to himself.
    Opposite, two figures in baseball caps and hoods drawn down, look out at him from a boarded shop doorway. They could be anybody. A car speeds by. Anybody could be in it, carrying anything. In the City, there’s too many people, too many vehicles. The headlight swoop seems to show that the hooded youths in the doorway are smiling.
    *******
     
    Back in his suit, Guy Montefiore is inconspicuous. In this part of Fulham the worlds of City and Media rub shoulders with white trash.
    He switches back and forth, avoids the one or two streets that butt up from the big estates. He makes the smallest detour to pick up some tonic water from Oddbins and as he comes back out on to the street, a man in a flight jacket on the opposite side of the road turns quickly away. Guy checks around him. It doesn’t feel as if he’s being watched and he knows, as one who watches, what to look for.
    He doesn’t have to wait long when he gets to Tanya’s street. Tanya Ford uncouples her arm from her friend and they kiss on both cheeks. Tanya skips up the steps to her tiny townhouse and the door opens before she can knock. She is loved, but she didn’t see Guy. She never does.
    Within ten minutes, Guy is delving into his Gieves & Hawkes trouser pocket and sticking his key into a million quids’ worth of late Victorian terraced house. He kicks off his shoes and goes into the study that used to be the family room. He dials Thomasina’s number. As it rings – and usually it rings and rings and rings before she picks up – he tucks the phone into the crook of his