The Dying Hours Read Online Free PDF Page A

answered his phone. Raised voices, a song Thorne recognised. Shouting over the racket, Hendricks told Thorne he was in the Duke of Wellington in Hackney, that he would be heading into the West End later on. ‘It’s a nice pub,’ he said, ‘but the music’s awful. Why does everyone assume all gay men like Lady sodding Gaga?’
    Thorne made no comment. Musically, she was not exactly his cup of tea either, but he wouldn’t kick her out of bed for Waylon Jennings.
    ‘I need a favour,’ he said.
    Hendricks told him to hang on while he found somewhere quieter. The music got louder for a few seconds and Thorne heard Hendricks ask someone to get him another beer. Beer to kick things off, then shots later on at Heaven or G-A-Y, and maybe one or two other substances that Thorne preferred not to know about.
    ‘Right,’ Hendricks said, eventually. ‘Go on…’
    ‘Like I said, a favour.’
    ‘Come on, hurry up. I’m freezing my tits off out here.’
    ‘PMs on an elderly couple,’ Thorne said. ‘Lewisham hospital, I’m guessing. Probably done earlier today, maybe tomorrow if things are backed up. It would be great if you could get a quick look at the reports for me, let me know the headlines.’
    ‘These are homicides, are they?’
    ‘Can you or can’t you?’
    ‘Not being funny, mate, but couldn’t you do this yourself?’ Hendricks asked. ‘I mean they haven’t taken your warrant card away just yet, have they?’
    ‘Only a matter of time,’ Thorne said. He could easily have requested a copy of the PM reports on John and Margaret Cooper, but he knew that coming from an inspector outside CID, especially the one who had already signed the deaths off as suicide, such a request might well be a… talking point. As far as Thorne was concerned, the fewer people talking about him, about this, the better. ‘Look, I’m
asking
you.’
    Hendricks let out a theatrical sigh. Said, ‘Yeah, all right. I’ll see what I can do.’
    Thorne gave him the names. Told him to have a good night.
    ‘That’s one you owe me,’ Hendricks said. ‘Another one.’
    There was a knock on the door and Christine Treasure marched in without waiting to be invited. Thorne watched as she dropped into the chair opposite him, tossed her cap on the desk and began casually rummaging around for reading material. She looked up and nodded, as though giving Thorne her blessing to finish his call.
    Thorne nodded back, mouthed a sarcastic ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Listen, thanks, mate,’ Thorne said. His voice was a little lower than it had been before the sergeant had waltzed in. ‘Give me a shout when you’ve had a chance to look through the… you know.’ He glanced up, saw that Treasure appeared to be paying no attention to what he was saying. ‘The paperwork.’
    When Thorne had finished the call, he got up and walked across to the grubby mini-fridge in the corner. He pulled out a carton of milk and sniffed it, then checked the kettle for water. ‘You want one?’
    Treasure shook her head. ‘You all right?’
    Kettle in hand, Thorne turned and looked at her. Treasure was the ‘bolshy’ sergeant whom Helen had mentioned that morning. Thorne knew the famously filthy temper was usually only unleashed upon those who deserved it and suspected that, beneath all the bluster, she was actually rather more delicate than she wanted to let on. She disguised this ‘sensitive’ side brilliantly, with language that would make Malcolm Tucker blush, genuine enthusiasm when it came to breaking wind, and being what Hendricks would have called a ‘full-on’ lesbian; never reticent when it came to letting anyone – fellow officers included – know who she would like to sleep with and exactly what she would do with them if she had the chance. While secretly being more than a little frightened of her, Thorne liked Treasure’s attitude. At twenty-seven she was a far better copper than many he knew with nearly thirty years on the job and, despite the fact that