Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

plan.
    Entering Hastings Buildings at a quarter to four, Richie heard the sound of voices coming from his office. He raced up the stairs to find Mick Parsons sitting on Sandy’s desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
    “I thought I told you….,” Richie began.
    “I know old fruit but I had the urge to see the delectable Miss Smith before I went home to write up copy on a boring visit to the W.I. by a member of the Gardener’s Question Time panel.” He stubbed his cigarette out in Sandy’s paper-clip tray. “By the way what are you working on at the moment? Sandy said you were out on a case.”
    Richie glared at her.
    “I didn’t say a word.”
    “Ah, so there is something.” Mick aimed a self-satisfied grin in Richie’s direction.
    “I’ll give you the nod once there’s anything positive to report, I promise. Now clear off and take your fag ends with you. Open the window, Miss Smith. There’s a bad smell in here.”
    Mick Parsons grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”
    As the reporter’s footsteps clattered down the stairs, Sandy said, “Well?”
    “Let’s just say, I think we are about to experience the most fascinating case this agency has ever had on its books, Miss Smith.”
    “Wow!”
    “Wow indeed and if you’d like to bring in your notebook , we’ll make a start right away .

Chapter 7
     
    Dawn broke leaching a pale pewter light through his bedroom curtains. Richie silenced his alarm with an annoyed slap and groaning, showered, and dressed, in his sleep-deprived state. The sky had grown dark; rain-bearing clouds hung over the town threatening a downpour.
    He lived in a block of flats overlooking the river and was on nodding acquaintance with his neighbours, who seemed to change by the hour, the flats being generally bought for quick sale investment purposes. But Richie wasn’t going anywhere. The isolation suited him; he’d had enough of kindly neighbours to last him a lifetime. After the accident, they couldn’t do enough for him. Mrs Merchant and Miss Tillett living in the houses next-door made it their business to call on him with casseroles, cakes, and kind words, until he’d felt suffocated under a mountain of solicitude.
    The janitor, who was cleaning the foyer, grunted a good morning when Richie appeared dressed for jogging in a black lightweight tracksuit then carried on swabbing the floor with a mop.
    The morning air was crisp and, as he headed for his car, he could feel the first spots of rain on his cheek. Inserting his key in the ignition, Richie noticed that the light shower was turning heavier by the minute. Good, he thought, there was nothing like heavy rain to keep the early risers indoors. Traffic was sporadic and the drive took him twenty minutes. He parked on the corner of Bramble Lane outside a bungalow that looked as if it had seen better days. He assessed that by the condition of the place an elderly person lived there, as the curtains hung limply at the windows and grubby grey nets grew in abundance.
    Tugging his hood over his head, Richie jogged in the direction of number thirty-four. The bin bag stood outside on the pavement. Skirting it, he ran the length of the road to where it petered out into a track , which wound through the woods and then retraced his steps whilst watching to see if anyone was up and about at number thirty-four. He was wet through, so shaking the worst of it from his hood, he jogged back along the pavement picking up the black bag with a fluidity of movement that surprised him. Increasing his pace, he reached his car, slid the plastic bag into the boot and drove back to Hastings Buildings. The office filing room was the place to search through rubbish, not in his flat; you just never knew what you’d find or in what condition, he thought dragging the bag up the stairs.
    After making a cup of strong black coffee and taking a biscuit from Sandy’s secret store, he changed out of his wet clothes and hung them in the filing room. Then pulling on