Vendetta Read Online Free PDF Page B

haste. Each time Mac hauled himself up another foot, he would pause while the pipe decided whether it had had enough yet and was going to come down. As the window sill of the open sash came within reach, he hesitated, as if in an attempt to dupe the pipe that the stress being imposed on its joints was finally over. As a final warning, a thick metal pin above him came away, bounced on his head and then fell with a clink onto the back yard below.
    Deep breath.
    He launched himself up, desperately grabbing at the sill. His fingers caught the mossy stone but he could feel himself slipping away. With a flailing leg he pushed his foot against the pipe, which finally came away from the wall and hung at an angle. But not before Mac had managed to get enough leverage to get an arm over the ledge and, gasping with pain and effort, his leg followed. Like a crab, he pulled himself in sideways and tumbled to the floor.
    His grazed fingers and knee stung. Muscles battered and wrung, but he had no time to lose. He stumbled up and across the room, which had files, papers and books piled high, and opened the door onto the second floor’s landing. Opened a second door and went into another room. An office of some kind. A large mahogany desk at one end with swivel chairs on either side of it. There was no sign of life, but Mac knew his quarry was around somewhere. He checked his watch.
    A couple of minutes to nine.
    Time was moving on way too quickly. Fourteen hours and two minutes to eleven tonight. The man who owned this office had to help him; it was his only shot at finding out what was on Elena’s phone.
    Abruptly Mac froze. Something cold was touching the side of his neck. Mac heard the distinctive sound of a gun’s hammer being pulled back. That’s when he realised what was touching the twitching vein in his neck – the twin rims of the muzzle of a shotgun.
    A voice growled behind him, ‘You’re very sloppy for an undercover cop.’

ten
    ‘The dead always speak,’ the forensic investigator said to Detective Inspector Rio Wray, who stood in the bathroom doorway.
    Rio was now kitted out in a white forensic suit and matching foot and headgear. Her nose twitched at the metallic residue of blood in the air.
    ‘Looks like you’ve been out on the razzle,’ the forensic expert continued, her gaze settling, with surprise, on Rio’s lipstick. Rio wasn’t a make-up girl – well, not at work, anyway; she only ever put on a bit of colour when she was stepping out somewhere special.
    ‘A mate’s hen night that went rocking into the morning. Got the call to come here on my way home. So what’s the damage here, Charlie?’
    ‘What you see is what you get, I’m afraid,’ came the answer.
    Rio stepped forward to join Charlie, who was already crouched down by the bath. The vic was female. Rio’s mouth tightened as she took in the already decaying mush that had once been the woman’s face. Blood, bone and brain splattered thick and high onto the wall. What a bloody mess.
    ‘The injuries are typical of being shot in the back of the head,’ Charlie continued. ‘Probably a close-range shot just below the start of the crown at the back of the head. All it takes is the speed and impact of one bullet coming out of the other side to pull the face to shreds.’
    ‘So the killer knew what he was doing?’ Rio threw back, keeping her gaze on the massive injuries.
    ‘That’s your department. Mine is just to assess the forensics.’
    Rio peered closer. Although much of the woman’s hair was the colour of matted, drying blood, she could see it was dark, deep brown or dyed black. Without a face, it might take a while to verify who the victim was.
    ‘If she was shot in the back of the head, wouldn’t the body be lying forward or slumped to the side?’ Rio asked.
    ‘That’s what you would expect . . .’
    ‘Maybe the killer pushed her back?’ Rio interrupted. ‘Why would he do that?’ Then she spoke directly to the corpse. ‘We