Willing Flesh Read Online Free PDF

here.’
    ‘Where’s Darry?’ says Roddy, trying hard to sound casual.
    ‘He’s providing for me.’
    ‘He’s using you, is what you mean.’
    ‘I use him.’
    ‘You really don’t know anything.’ Roddy turns his back, doesn’t give her so much as a glance, says, ‘You do the right thing, Bella.’
    ‘Have a heart, Roddy. Have a fucking heart.’
    He closes the door and the electricity clunks down. The place goes instantly dark. The bars on the electric fire fade from red to pink to a low, diminishing amber. Like a fast-setting sun. The elements click as they cool and Arabella says, ‘God help me.’
     
    Five

    Staffe double-parks the Peugeot, puts the POLICE AWARE card on the dash and strides up to his flat, in a fine row of Georgian town houses in South Ken. The lightest dusting of snow has fallen during the night. Above, the dark sky seems set to yield more.
    As soon as he puts the key to the door, he knows Pulford is in, but doesn’t expect anything like the scene that is laid out before him.
    He tries to school himself not to react, but he can feel his pulse accelerate away from him. His breath is short. His fingers have wound into fists.
    ‘What in God’s name …’
    ‘Staffe! You said …’ Pulford stands up, knocks a pile of poker chips to the floor and one of his friends clumsily tries to catch them. There is a thick pall of spirits in the air and bad rock thuds from a boom box. They have been smoking and pizza boxes scatter the living-room floor. ‘… You said you were away for the whole weekend.’
    ‘You said you were knocking this on the head.’ Staffe steps towards his sergeant – only twenty-six, but with his stubble and unkempt hair and gravelly voice, seeming far older. He knows he must look as if he is going to lose it because Pulford’s mates drain their glasses. One of them picks up the deck of cards and another scoops the Jack Daniels.
    ‘See you, Dave.’
    ‘Thanks for the game, mate.’
    ‘Mate?’ shouts Staffe. ‘You’re no mates. You know he’s got a fucking problem. If you were mates you’d stay away, not come fleecing him!’ Staffe turns to Pulford, levels him with a stare, holds it, says slowly, ‘You prick.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Staffe.’
    ‘I take you in, and this is what you do?’
    ‘I was winning. I …’
    Pulford is wide-eyed and bleary and Staffe sees the cluelessness that most of his colleagues choose to focus on in the young graduate recruit. He quickly loses the heart to tear a strip off him. ‘Did Chancellor call you?’
    ‘I’ve been working that trafficking case.’ Pulford takes a step back, shaking his head. ‘On surveillance for three nights straight.’
    When Staffe offered Pulford a place to stay, somewhere safe to fight his gambling demons, there had been ground rules. ‘Get yourself cleaned up, and a bellyful of coffee. You’re on duty as of now.’
    ‘What’s happened?’
    He looks his sergeant up and down, wants to feel sorry for him. Rimmer and the rest of the team should have been in touch with Pulford. The fact that they haven’t speaks volumes. Staffe stabs a finger into the chest of the young DS. ‘You are going to get some therapy.’
    Pulford looks down, shamefaced. ‘What’s happened?’
    Staffe looks out through the fog at the iced houses with their black railings and shuttered windows. ‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’
    ‘Because you said, sir, that you were away with Sylvie and if you even tried to talk about work, I had your permission to shoot you.’
    *
    Josie Chancellor puts a tray of bagged evidence on her DI’s desk. ‘Janine’s just told me about the foetus.’
    ‘It was eight weeks.’ He rests his chin on the flat of his palm. ‘Markary? How do we play this?’
    ‘How old does it have to be – before you can run DNA on it – the baby I mean,’ says Josie.
    ‘It’s old enough. Have you got that data from the victim’s mobile phone?’
    ‘Aaah,’ says Josie. ‘DI Rimmer is applying for a