The Score Read Online Free PDF Page A

the passage was ajar. Cat pushed her hand against it and it swung open.
    In one corner, a mound of paperwork was balanced on the edge of a desk, an avalanche in waiting. Above it a wastepaper basket had been attached halfway up the wall. She knew immediately it was Thomas’s office; he liked to keep his aim sharp.
    Beside it hung half a dozen framed photographs of police rugby teams that Thomas had joined over the years. These were only team photos in the very loosest sense; each shot featured a group of sweaty revellers gathered round a bar, hands grasping pint glasses. Some of them looked so unfit it was surprising that they had made it out onto the pitch unaided. Thomas was at the centre of each. Compared to his teammates he looked like a serious prospect for national selection.
    Behind the desk, a window offered a view of the yard. The young joker in his shirtsleeves was drawing on a cigarette so hard his concave cheeks seemed to meet somewhere between his teeth. Inside the office, a half-gone Embassy smouldered illegally in a brewery ashtray. Cat made her way over to a low metal chair that seemed designed to look uncomfortable. The door creaked open and she turned, seeing Thomas’s barrel-chest enter the room before the rest of him. He looked the same, a little more salt around the temples, a few more crows had walked around the eyes, but he was ageing well.
    ‘Thomas.’
    He didn’t reply, just moved around to the far side of the desk, to establish control of the room. He plonked his mug down on the desk and picked up a pen. He assumed his usual pose, chair swivelled to the side, pen vibrating in the air as he flicked it between his index and second finger.
    ‘Come in, sit down.’ She was already sitting, but his sarcasm was gentle. By his standards.
    ‘Looking well, Jack.’
    ‘Country air, Price.’ The pronunciation of her surname was not gentle. ‘Cathays Park told me to let them know if you dropped in.’
    His smile told her he wouldn’t be doing that just yet. Not until he’d found out what he wanted to know. She said nothing. He moved his desk diary from the right of the desk to the left. ‘So, what brings a girl like you down here to Nowheresville?’
    If it was a line from a film it wasn’t one she knew. He paused for a laugh that didn’t come.
    ‘It’s those calls I told you about.’
    ‘And?’
    Cat looked at Thomas, wondering what to tell him. Whatever she said, she knew he’d remember it. Thomas had the demeanour of a laid-back rugby lad, but beneath lurked a shrewd and logical brain. She paused, took too long for his taste. He chivvied her along.
    ‘They came from a friend. Martin Tilkian – if that rings any bells.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Moved here a few years ago. Daughter, no wife. Daughter’s name is Esyllt.’
    ‘How old? The daughter, I mean.’
    ‘Teenage.’
    ‘Specifically?’
    Cat raised her head with interest at the precision of Thomas’s question. She took her mind back to the Wikipedia stub. ‘Sixteen,’ she calculated. ‘Why?’
    Thomas ducked the question. ‘Tilkian. Tell me what you know about him,’ he said.
    An order, not a request. Cat felt herself prickle with refusal but her operational brain was also telling her that Thomas was only behaving like this because he had something for her. She felt trapped and gazed beyond Thomas, weighing up her options. Through the window, she could see one of the PCs hunch his shoulders in the rain. He pulled a packet of cheapies from his pocket, looked hard at it, as if deciding whether to light another cigarette from the dying stub.
    If she wanted Thomas onside, she’d have to give him something. ‘The calls I was getting are from an old schoolfriend – Martin Tilkian. Haven’t seen him for the best part of seventeen years. Then, out of nowhere, he starts leaving messages.’
    ‘How did you figure it was him?’
    ‘He left a message. A proper one. But I didn’t get it until later.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And nothing. I went