The Murder Wall Read Online Free PDF

pull the other one.’
    ‘I’m serious, guv.’
    All eyes were on Gormley.
    ‘I’ll call her back!’ he said.

6
    J o Soulsby left her house via the back door, opened the boot of her BMW and threw in the black plastic bag. She got in the car, checking her appearance once more in the vanity
mirror and didn’t like what she saw. She reached into the glove compartment, took out a pair of Gucci sunglasses and put them on.
    So what if the sun wasn’t shining?
    Starting the car, she got the fright of her life when a Dixie Chicks track at full volume began bouncing around the interior. She turned off the CD player, in no mood for ‘Voice Inside My
Head’ . There were too many voices there already telling her to get a grip, drive straight to the nearest police station, just tell someone.
    Anyone!
    Jo sat for a while considering her options. As far as she was concerned there were umpteen good reasons to delay the inevitable, not least of which was her professional involvement with
Northumbria Police. Her colleagues there were experts in dealing with the most serious offences and Kate Daniels would be offended, if not furious, not to be the first point of call. But Jo
hadn’t been able to raise her. Maybe she should call someone else. No. Waiting a bit longer made sense. It would give her time to calm down and get her head together. She drove away,
unaware that the phone inside her house was ringing off the hook.
    Traffic was light for a weekday. She drove out of her road, along a tree-lined avenue, thinking of all the things she had to do today – and all the reasons why she didn’t want to do
them. At the T-junction she turned left heading for a parade of shops on Acorn Road, past a few swanky clothes shops, a couple of bakeries, a mini-market she used regularly.
    Parking was usually a nightmare on the busy street. But Jo was in luck: there was one space available. It was tight but she reversed into it expertly, got out of the car and opened the boot.
Taking out the black plastic bag, she ignored an early-bird Big Issue seller setting up outside the newsagent. It was a good choice for a pitch . Any moment now locals would be
arriving in their droves for their papers. He stood to make a packet.
    Crossing the road, she approached a dry cleaner’s shop. A light was on inside, but a sign on the door said CLOSED. Peering anxiously through the glass, she knocked, trying to attract the
attention of the female assistant inside. The girl pointed to a clock on the wall behind the counter, the dial of which read eight fifty-six. Her expression yelled: Fuck-off-we’re-closed. Jo
checked her own watch – it was gone nine – and rapped even harder.

7
    G ormley put the phone down and shook his head. ‘She’s still not picking up,’ he said.
    ‘Try her mobile, her office . . .’ Daniels looked worried. ‘Just get hold of her before the press do.’
    ‘Poor Jo . . .’ Carmichael was genuinely concerned. ‘That’s going to make things a little tricky round here, isn’t it?’
    Her comment was met with an uncomfortable silence.
    Daniels glanced at Bright. It was hardly a secret that he had no rapport with Jo Soulsby despite her excellent reputation as a criminal profiler. His attitude to psychological profiling was
disparaging at best. As far as he was concerned, it was a load of bollocks, an incomplete science – an absolute waste of time. He tolerated her input only because the Home Office insisted
that he should. But she was a fellow professional who deserved their respect and – for now at least – he had the good sense to keep his personal feelings to himself.
    Daniels appreciated that and turned her attention back to the squad.
    ‘Let’s concentrate on what we know. Alan Stephens was shot at close range and there was no forced entry at his home. He’d been out to a charity dinner at the Weston Hotel, so
maybe he took someone home with him. We’re still looking for a weapon, so when you are out and