The Informant Read Online Free PDF

accept that what people saw first were his looks. And he hated it. He had his Iranian mother to thank. Large liquid brown eyes, ridiculously long
lashes. Even two days’ stubble on his chin served to accentuate the cheekbones, the completely symmetrical features, the square jaw.
    At school he’d been miserable. While the girls giggled and fawned over him, other lads were always wary. He’d tried to be sporty and tough, but on the rugby pitch he was the one
targeted for a kicking. Was it racism because he was half Persian? Or did he unwittingly set off some kind of homoerotic vibe that scared other men? Even though he dressed down and walked around
with a perpetual scowl, gay guys and women flocked to him. But other men generally kept their distance. And it was these men he wanted to impress. He knew that the only way to succeed in this world
was to make sure other blokes took you seriously.
    Being taken seriously was the reason Bradley had joined the police. He had lofty ambitions: to work undercover in counterterrorism. He could pass for Arab, he was taking lessons to improve his
Persian. The last thing he wanted was to get side-tracked into this sort of nonsense.
    Turnbull gave the young officer a speculative look; he was maintaining a very proper facade, but underneath there was something niggling him and that bothered Turnbull. He took out his
BlackBerry, turned it over in his hand like a talisman, then placed it carefully on the desk and leant forward.
    ‘I’ll be honest with you Bradley. I simply don’t have the budget to mount a major surveillance operation on Joey Phelps for months on end. So we have to use our wits and
ingenuity. We have to busk it.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Nowadays a lot of policing involves that. You want to get ahead, you need to know that. Do you want to get ahead?’
    ‘Absolutely sir. I’ve already passed my sergeant’s exams.’
    Turnbull glanced at the screen of his laptop.
    ‘I can see that. On paper you look great. But, y’know, what I’m asking here . . .’ Turnbull sighed, let his gaze drift as he pondered. ‘No what I’m looking
for is someone who thinks outside the box. There aren’t any courses or exams for this. This is policing at the sharp end. Not many officers are up for it. You can say no . . .’
    Turnbull let that statement hang in the air. He picked up his phone, clicked it on to check his messages.
    To Bradley this change in attitude seemed abrupt. Was Turnbull signalling that the meeting was over? Bradley didn’t know what to do. It suddenly felt as if he’d blown it and the
opportunity was slipping away. He straightened up in his chair. Turnbull was tapping out a text with both thumbs. Bradley leant forward. ‘I can think outside the box sir.’
    Turnbull looked up, he gave the young officer a disinterested smile.
    Bradley saw his chances fading and he panicked. ‘Okay, I understand why you want to give Joey Phelps a wide berth. But, yeah, I can work on the sister. She’s just out of jail,
she’s going to want to get out there, start living it up a bit. That’s my way in I guess.’
    Turnbull remained absorbed in his text. He sighed, tapped out a few more characters and pressed send. Then he let his gaze come back to Bradley. The young officer was looking decidedly anxious.
Turnbull smiled to himself. A psychology degree was all very well, still the lad didn’t realize he was being played. Turnbull frowned.
    ‘You’re confusing me Bradley. My impression was you had reservations. Are you saying you want to do this?’
    ‘Absolutely. I can get close to Karen Phelps and I’ll soon—’
    Turnbull raised an admonitory finger, which stopped Bradley in his tracks.
    ‘Bear in mind undercover work requires . . . delicacy. Now I don’t believe in hamstringing my officers . . .’
    Bradley looked surprised but he was on it straight away. Turnbull didn’t have to say any more. ‘Sorry sir. Just thinking out loud. I know there are