The Hand of God Read Online Free PDF Page A

Helen smiled, taking a sip of her tea.
    ‘Good. I’ll leave it to John to sort out a date.’ With considerable reluctance, she slipped into the hall. ‘Behave yourselves while I’m out.’
    For a minute or so, they sat in silence, listening to his mother getting herself ready for her trip to the shops. After the front door finally closed behind her, Carlyle counted to twenty to make sure that she had finally gone. Rising from the table, he dropped his mug into the sink and turned to face Helen.
    ‘Sorry about that.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Pushing back her chair, she got up and stepped towards him. ‘It’s the same for everyone. My parents are worse.’
    ‘I suppose.’ Having never met Helen’s parents, he was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt.
    Putting her arms round his neck, she kissed him tenderly on the lips. ‘Your mother just wants the best for you.’
    ‘God knows what my mother wants.’ Pulling Helen close, he breathed in her scent as he kissed the top of her head.
    ‘Hey!’ She made a half-hearted attempt to squirm from his embrace.
    ‘C’mon,’ he grinned, gesturing in the general direction of his bedroom. ‘Let’s go and listen to some Pet Shop Boys and I can show you the rest of my injuries.’

5
    Inspector Walter Callender scratched his head and looked blankly at his colleague. Sergeant Joseph Young absorbed the stare, giving nothing in return. An amiable fellow, if as dumb as a box of rocks, Young was well suited to the limited vagaries of day-to-day life as a provincial copper, which meant that he wouldn’t be much use at this particular crime scene.
    ‘Well, boss?’ he asked finally.
    ‘Well,’ Callender sighed. ‘You’d better let Mrs Callender know that there’s no chance of me being home in time for dinner this evening.’
    ‘Yes, boss.’ If Young felt slighted at being given such a menial task, he didn’t let it show.
    ‘Get back to the station and help coordinate our initial lines of inquiry. Let me know who’s on shift for the next twenty-four hours and we can decide if we need more resources, which we will.’ Callender fully expected CID to relieve him of the case before the day was out – this kind of carry-on being meat and drink to the energetic boys at the Criminal Investigation Department – but this would give Young something to do in the meantime.
    ‘Yes, boss.’ Resisting the temptation to salute, Young recovered his helmet from the top of Marjorie Scanlon’s Aga and turned on his heel, almost tripping over a tabby cat loitering by the door as he headed out. With a hiss of disapproval, the cat skulked over to an empty bowl on the floor by the oven. Shaking his head, Callender looked at the animal.
    ‘Hold on a second, Tiddles.’ Reaching down, he retrieved the bowl, the cat watching him patiently as he filled it with water from the tap at the sink before carefully returning it to the tiles. He watched as the cat took a succession of sips before sitting up and looking up at him expectantly.
    ‘I suppose you want something to eat, too?’ Callender stepped over to the fridge and opened the door, pulling out an opened can of John West tuna and dumping the contents into a bowl on the draining board by the sink. ‘Here you go.’ Placing the fish next to the water, he watched the cat happily dig in. A telephone started ringing in the living room next door. Callender counted thirteen rings before it stopped.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    Looking up, Callender saw the familiar figure of county pathologist Frank Scudder standing in the doorway. A portly fellow, he was red in the face, clearly struggling with the heat of the day.
    ‘Just feeding the cat.’
    Dropping his bag on the tiled floor, Scudder pushed his thick-rimmed NHS-style specs up a nose that was marginally too big for his face and gestured towards the body hanging from the light fitting in the centre of the room. ‘Haven’t you got more important things to do?’
    ‘I was