The Nothing Job Read Online Free PDF

it circulated. It could be linked to the incident in Friargate, so it needs stopping and the rider arresting. Approach with caution … he is armed with a knife … How about calling out the helicopter?’
    â€˜Already done.’
    â€˜Plus, if it has been stolen from Merseyside, there’s every chance it could be going back there, so get a checkpoint set up on the A59 at Tarleton, please.’
    â€˜Will do.’
    The checkpoint would ensure that any vehicle travelling on the five-nine towards Liverpool would be seen. There were other routes, obviously, but there was no way they could all be covered.
    Re-wedging the radio between his thighs as the Panda lifted off the last speed ramp, Henry sped down the incline that was Fylde Road under the stone-built railway arch which held up the west-coast line, then under the next railway bridge and left on to Strand Road. He was still working on the assumption that the bike was returning to Merseyside, but he knew he didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of catching it in a ropy Fiat Panda. He began to calm down a little, putting his theft of this vehicle down to his anger at having been bettered in a scrap.
    Frustrated, he banged the wheel, cursed and jammed the brakes on at the next set of lights, once again feeling something shift in the back. He wondered if he should bother going right out of the city, or should he return the Panda to where he’d found it and leave the chasing to others. He had a crime scene to get back to and manage as well as the discovery of a pair of shoes, which was probably connected to it, to investigate.
    At the lights, which stayed on red forever, his adrenaline evaporated and his body started hurting from the hammering he’d just had. He glanced around the inside of the car for the first time. In terms of spec it was spare and very lacking; in terms of being a complete mess, it was excessive. The passenger footwell was littered with fast-food cartons, newspapers and plastic bottles. The back seat was strewn with discarded female clothing.
    Henry had a thought.
    He was still at the lights. He pulled through them, parked at the side of the road and applied the handbrake, and got out. He called the registration number in for a PNC check, again noticing that the letters denoted that the vehicle’s origin was Liverpool. He frowned.
    â€˜No trace, no current keeper,’ the comms operator came back to him.
    Henry acknowledged that. He glanced up at the sky and saw the police helicopter curve across the River Ribble and head out towards Liverpool. ‘Good luck,’ he said to himself. ‘Let’s hope he’s not the one that got away.’
    He walked around to the back of the Panda and twisted the handle on the hatchback, pulling it open.
    And there, folded into the cramped space between the back seat and the hatchback, was the naked body of another young woman. Her face was scrunched up at an acute angle, looking at him through wide-open, but dead eyes.

THREE
    H enry Christie sat on the kerb, his heels in the gutter, his bare knees drawn up, short pants exposing his gangly tanned legs. Securely positioned in the ‘v’ formed at his groin he had wedged the bottom half of an empty tobacco tin, the lid removed and placed on the kerb next to him. In his right hand he held a four-day-old chick, warm, fluffy, yellow, very much alive, recently stolen from its mother. It was held firmly but gently in his small palm and Henry looked at it, smiled and wondered innocently if it would fit in the tobacco tin. The tin was just about the right size, as was the bird, and he guessed that if he pushed it in and pressed down with his thumbs, as though it was modelling clay, it would fit very nicely, thank you very much. The chicken’s legs flapped and it made a strained sort of noise. Henry smiled, certain the chick would fit well, then he’d be able to put the lid on and take it round to show to his