The Chop Shop Read Online Free PDF Page B

People like this are professionals,
and they don't sit around in dark alleys waiting for victims like a serial
killer.”
    She ate some of
the salad from its plastic packaging and then paused. “Think you can catch
him?”
    “Maybe,” Michael
said. He finished another sandwich. “If somebody else doesn't find him first.
Everybody is wanting a piece of the case at the moment; big bonuses to be had,
but it always tails off sooner or later. They disappear, we lose the trail, and
we find an easier case to solve. He's using a radio handset, though. We have
listening posts for that kind of thing. They might have picked something up.”
    They finished
their food. He gathered up the papers and slid them back into the card folder.
    “It was nice
meeting you anyway. I'm sure we'll run into each other again sooner or later
around here,” she said.
    Michael dumped
the remains of his lunch in the bin. He turned around to find a policeman
queuing up behind him with an expression of vague amusement. The corporal had a
squashed nose and broad jaw that reminded him of the thugs who skulked about at
night in gangs clamping people's cars.
    Michael looked
at the name tag. “Oh, you. I didn't recognise you.”
    Corporal Hill
gave him a wry smile. “Some of the lads are saying there were a dozen people
nailed to the wall, with their heads mounted on spikes in that house.
    “Yeah, the usual
rumours. All it takes is one person mouthing off. Nobody had their heads cut
off, unless you count a close range shotgun wound, and it was just one person
nailed to the wall. A kid.”
    “That's a bit
harsh. I suppose I'd chuck myself off the platform too if I came home to see
that.”
    “You have kids?”
    Hill's smile
faded. He nodded. “Two daughters. Biggest regret of my life. This isn't the
world I want them to grow up in. Sooner or later they'll run into trouble, and
I won't always be around to sort it out for them. Don't have kids, Detective.
Not if you're smart.”
     
    The others had
been eating their lunch in the office, but there were only three now. He shut
the door behind him and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness
and green glow of the monitors.
    “Just a heads
up. David and Helen have been redeployed to another case; the underclass are
getting worked up about it. I'm sick of having to placate these mobs all the
time. Every time something happens that they don't like, they turn up at one of
the stations and throw a hissy fit,” Maria said.
    “Pretty much,”
Richard said. “It's just you and me on the case for now. At least until we can
come up with something concrete; the major will wheel out the firepower, then.
You should have seen David. He was pissed.”
    “It's more than
the money for David. He thrives on this kind of thing because it's the closest
he'll ever get to being somebody important. You put a few drinks in him and all
he'll go on about is how he was going to become some hot shot banker before the
war,” Maria said.
    Richard put a
finger to his lips and hushed her. “Do you hear that? It's somebody playing a
very, very small violin. I shed a single tear for his dead end career. Put David
in charge of a bank and you'd get a second financial crash. We all know how the
first one turned out.”
    Michael flipped
his briefcase open and took the spiral-bound travel guide from it. “Do you know
the nearest listening point for the Wimbledon access lift? I'm heading over
there to see if they picked up any radio transmissions after the killing.”
    “Wimbledon?
Yeah, let me think for a second,” Richard said. He picked up a red dry marker
and flipped through the book. “Right here.”
    Maria left her
desk and looked over his shoulder. “It's a little hard to find. I've been down
there once or twice. The post isn't on the main street; you'll have to park and
take a back alley into this little dead end. There used to be a shop up there,
but I can't for the life of me remember its name. Archibald, do you