The Safe House Read Online Free PDF

Her skin was pale, smooth, clean. She dressed for speed. A flecked turtleneck, jeans, trainers. Her hands, laid palm down and steady on the table in front of her, were surprisingly dainty and white. She waited with no sign of impatience.
    ‘We’ll start with Melissa, then?’
    Angeloglou turned. It was Baird.
    ‘Where’s Carrier?’
    ‘He’s out. There’s a report of a bomb sent to a turkey farm.’
    ‘Christ.’
    ‘Inside a Christmas card.’
    ‘Christ. Bit late, isn’t it?’
    ‘He’ll be over later.’
    A constable appeared carrying a tray with three cups of tea. Angeloglou took it. The two detectives nodded at each other and went in.
    ‘Thank you for coming to see us. Cup of tea?’
    ‘I don’t drink tea.’
    ‘Cigarette?’
    ‘I don’t smoke.’
    ‘Do you have the file, Chris? What are Miss Hollingdale’s qualifications for being here?’
    ‘She’s a coordinator for the Vivisection and Export Alliance. VEAL.’
    ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Hollingdale evenly.
    Angeloglou looked down at his file.
    ‘How long have you been out now? Two months, is it? No, three. Malicious damage, assaulting a policeman, affray.’
    Hollingdale allowed herself a resigned smile.
    ‘I sat down in front of a lorry at Dovercourt. Now what is all this about?’
    ‘What is your current occupation?’
    ‘I’m having difficulty finding an occupation. I appear to be on various blacklists.’
    ‘Why do you think that is?’
    She said nothing.
    ‘Three days ago a businessman called Leo Mackenzie and his wife were murdered in their home in the Castletown suburb of Stamford. Their daughter is critically ill in hospital.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Do you ever read a magazine called Rabbit Punch ?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It’s an underground magazine produced by a terrorist animal-rights group. The most recent issue published the name and address of Mr Mackenzie. Six weeks later he, his wife and his daughter had their throats cut. What do you have to say about that?’
    Hollingdale shrugged.
    ‘What do you feel about activism of this kind?’ Baird asked.
    ‘Have you brought me in here for a discussion about animal rights?’ Hollingdale asked with a sarcastic smile. ‘I’m against any creature having its throat cut. Is that what you want me to say?’
    ‘Would you condemn such acts?’
    ‘I’m not interested in making gestures.’
    ‘Where were you on the night between the seventeenth and the eighteenth of January?’
    Hollingdale was silent for a long time.
    ‘I suppose I was in bed, like everybody else.’
    ‘Not everybody. Do you have any witnesses?’
    ‘I can probably find one or two people.’
    ‘I bet you can. By the way, Miss Hollingdale,’ added Baird. ‘How are your children?’
    She started, as if in pain, and her expression hardened.
    ‘Nobody will tell me. Will you ?’
    ‘Mark Featherstone, or should we call you by your adopted name of Loki?’
    Loki was dressed in extravagantly varied fabrics, sewed together into a shapeless tunic over baggy white cotton trousers. His red hair was knotted into dreadlocks which hung down over his back at stiff angles, like giant pipe cleaners. He smelled of patchouli oil and cigarettes.
    ‘Does that rhyme with “hockey” or with “chokey”? I suppose “chokey” would be more appropriate.’ Angeloglou consulted his file. ‘Breaking and entering. Burglary. Assault. I thought you were against violence?’
    Loki said nothing.
    ‘You’re a clever man, Loki. Chemical engineering. A Ph.D. Useful training for manufacturing explosives, I suppose.’
    ‘Were they blown up, then, this couple?’ said Loki.
    ‘No, though my colleagues will no doubt be asking you about the parcel received at Marshall’s Poultry.’
    ‘Did it go off?’
    ‘Fortunately not.’
    ‘Well, then,’ said Loki contemptuously.
    ‘Mr and Mrs Mackenzie’s throats were cut. How do you feel about that?’
    Loki laughed.
    ‘I guess he’ll think twice before torturing animals