The Detective's Secret Read Online Free PDF

locomotive and it sank into the earth. ‘Stop doing that with your mouth,’ he ordered.
    Justin twitched his face on purpose to frighten him. ‘I wasn’t.’
    ‘You were. I don’t want to have to get cross with you.’ The engine was stuck; soil clogged the axle and front wheels. ‘There’s nowhere for the passengers to get out.’ Simon’s palms were damp. Who had killed the gardener? The enemy can smell fear.
    ‘I will kill you and bury your body so that no one will ever find you and then your flesh will be eaten and your bones will crumble.’ Simon stuck his bad hand inside Justin’s shorts and pinched him. ‘I’ll say you escaped again. Message understood?’
    Simon tore the pin from the hand grenade and hurled it into the tunnel. He dragged Justin away as a blast tore into the mountain, pelting the enemy with clods of earth.
    ‘You’re mean.’
    Simon pretended he hadn’t heard Justin. He imagined radioing back to base. Enemy camp destroyed . Mission accomplished . He imagined being an entirely different person, someone who could make people do what he wanted. This idea faded before it had taken shape. Flushed with shame, Simon stared at his bad hand as if it were his enemy.
    The boy hurried along the low vaulted passage, past the reception. Outside the cloakroom toilets he bumped into nice Mr Wilson.
    ‘Hey, kiddo!’ The teacher had a funny accent because he wasn’t English. ‘Have you seen your mate, Justin the Dreamer?’
    Simon stopped, clutching at his bad hand.
    Mr Wilson waited.
    ‘He’s in the library.’
    ‘OK, Simon, can you make it your job to get him into dinner on time? We don’t want him being late again.’ Mr Wilson was smiling down at him.
    ‘Yes I will, sir.’
    Simon had lied for Justin. That meant he would like him.
    Careful not to run – it was against the rules – Simon continued to the library.

4
    Saturday, 19 October 2013
    Stella slotted the van behind a dented blue Toyota Yaris. It had been a long week, she could spend the evening on her own, catching up on emails. Jackie’s street, tree-lined and spacious, was quiet considering it was close to a busy main road. Beyond the railings was a cemetery and, not for the first time, Stella considered she wouldn’t like to live opposite dead people.
    Her dad had owned a blue Yaris. This one’s rear panel was a mismatch of replaced panels. Terry’s car had been ten years old, but he had kept it immaculate. She could remember his car, but she couldn’t conjure up his face.
    A bus went by; its back draught rocked the van and light from the windows raked the interior, breaking her thoughts. There was a bleat. It came from the dog strapped into the jump seat behind her on the passenger side. She had installed the seat especially, because if he travelled beside her in the front, he risked being killed by the airbag. In the dim light the little beige poodle, the size of a cat, could be a ghost dog, a blurred shape with dark brown eyes. Stella had forgotten about Stanley. She wasn’t cut out to own a dog. Just as well that she would be giving him back soon.
    ‘We’re here,’ she remarked as she unclipped him. He climbed on to her shoulder and she manoeuvred them both out of the van.
    On the way from her mother’s flat in Barons Court, unsettled by the silent empty rooms, Stella had wished she could go to Terry’s and empty her inbox over a microwaved shepherd’s pie. Nothing personal, Jackie was a friend and Stella liked her husband Graham and their two sons, but she didn’t fancy company. However, the Makepeace family wouldn’t require her to join in; they did the talking, leaving her free to eat, and then Jackie would let her wash up. Jackie was minding Stanley for the night while Stella went to fetch her mum from the airport.
    ‘You like it here,’ she said as the dog jerked the lead taut and snouted towards Jackie’s gate. Stanley was left over from a relationship of the sort her mum called a ‘wrong turning’.