Read Online A Reason to Kill by Michael Kerr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Kerr
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putting the mugs of coffee on the table and pulling a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “And let’s hope to Christ you don’t have to use it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said, picking up his mug and taking a sip of the steaming black liquid. “What about the rogue cop? Anything?”
“No. There’s no one involved who stands out. We had a close look at one of Vic Pender’s DC’s, Mike Vernon. He moved into a five hundred grand mock Tudor gaff at Chingford recently, but it was left to him. His mother checked out and he was the sole beneficiary.”
“What have you done about the other cop you’ve got on the inside? He’s on borrowed time if we’ve got a leak, which I know we have.”
“He’s safe. Or as safe as anyone under deep cover can be. He’s from outside the Met, and only his handler knows his real ID, and is in contact with him.”
“You?”
“Yeah. After Joey Demaris went missing, I decided that anyone on the inside needed total anonymity.”
There was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Dick Curtis,” Tom said, getting up and going to answer it.
Dick was an artist on a retainer, who could work-up a near perfect likeness from a description. He spent the best part of an hour drinking copious amounts of coffee as he attempted to capture on paper the fleeting glance of the killer from Matt’s memory.
Matt nodded, studying the finished pencil portrait of a thin-faced young man with black, menacing eyes and sharp features. “That’s good, Dick. His chin was maybe a touch firmer, though.”
Dick quickly erased and redrew.
“That’s who I saw,” Matt said, grinning, amazed at the artist’s ability.
“Pity he was wearing a baseball cap,” Dick said.
Tom had been on the phone. He closed it. “We’ll soon get to see how good it is,” he said, giving the sketch a hard look. “I just checked in with the cop at the clinic. The Page woman came out of it. She’s got her memory back, but they had to sedate her when she was told that her husband didn’t make it . When she’s able, we should get a lot more to work with.”
All Penny wanted when she came to, was her baby. He was brought in by her parents and she cradled him and cried for a long time. The relief and grief to know that Michael was unharmed, but that her husband had not survived the ordeal, threw up a mix of bittersweet emotions that no one who had not been there could appreciate. She was in a bad place.
The medical staff could not answer her questions. They didn’t know why she and her husband had been shot.
When Tom arrived, Penny was a willing witness; wanted to talk to him. There was no reluctance, just a need on her part to try and understand. She was both victim and witness, who apart from Matt, was all Tom had to run with.
“Why?” Penny asked, after waiting until her mum and dad had taken Michael out of the room.
Tom pulled one of the chairs up next to the bed and sat down before answering. “You’d seen him, Mrs. Page. May I call you Penny? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tom Bartlett...Tom.”
Her shoulders hiked a little, as if to say that she didn’t give a damn what he called her. She just wanted an explanation. Tom knew that whatever he said would be woefully inadequate.
Penny looked down to where her hands were clasped on top of the blanket, but not still. Nerves seemed to have given them a life of their own; her fingers began to clench and unclench independent of any conscious control.
Tom waited, not forcing the issue.
“He said he wouldn’t harm us if we did exactly as we were told and promised not to say anything,” Penny said, looking up with disbelief in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks as she spoke in a still, small voice.
“I’m sorry, Penny. He was lying to you. After he left your house, he shot six other people, and only one survived.”
“What brought him to our house? Why were we involved?”
Tom saw anger forming in the expression
“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said, picking up his mug and taking a sip of the steaming black liquid. “What about the rogue cop? Anything?”
“No. There’s no one involved who stands out. We had a close look at one of Vic Pender’s DC’s, Mike Vernon. He moved into a five hundred grand mock Tudor gaff at Chingford recently, but it was left to him. His mother checked out and he was the sole beneficiary.”
“What have you done about the other cop you’ve got on the inside? He’s on borrowed time if we’ve got a leak, which I know we have.”
“He’s safe. Or as safe as anyone under deep cover can be. He’s from outside the Met, and only his handler knows his real ID, and is in contact with him.”
“You?”
“Yeah. After Joey Demaris went missing, I decided that anyone on the inside needed total anonymity.”
There was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Dick Curtis,” Tom said, getting up and going to answer it.
Dick was an artist on a retainer, who could work-up a near perfect likeness from a description. He spent the best part of an hour drinking copious amounts of coffee as he attempted to capture on paper the fleeting glance of the killer from Matt’s memory.
Matt nodded, studying the finished pencil portrait of a thin-faced young man with black, menacing eyes and sharp features. “That’s good, Dick. His chin was maybe a touch firmer, though.”
Dick quickly erased and redrew.
“That’s who I saw,” Matt said, grinning, amazed at the artist’s ability.
“Pity he was wearing a baseball cap,” Dick said.
Tom had been on the phone. He closed it. “We’ll soon get to see how good it is,” he said, giving the sketch a hard look. “I just checked in with the cop at the clinic. The Page woman came out of it. She’s got her memory back, but they had to sedate her when she was told that her husband didn’t make it . When she’s able, we should get a lot more to work with.”
All Penny wanted when she came to, was her baby. He was brought in by her parents and she cradled him and cried for a long time. The relief and grief to know that Michael was unharmed, but that her husband had not survived the ordeal, threw up a mix of bittersweet emotions that no one who had not been there could appreciate. She was in a bad place.
The medical staff could not answer her questions. They didn’t know why she and her husband had been shot.
When Tom arrived, Penny was a willing witness; wanted to talk to him. There was no reluctance, just a need on her part to try and understand. She was both victim and witness, who apart from Matt, was all Tom had to run with.
“Why?” Penny asked, after waiting until her mum and dad had taken Michael out of the room.
Tom pulled one of the chairs up next to the bed and sat down before answering. “You’d seen him, Mrs. Page. May I call you Penny? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tom Bartlett...Tom.”
Her shoulders hiked a little, as if to say that she didn’t give a damn what he called her. She just wanted an explanation. Tom knew that whatever he said would be woefully inadequate.
Penny looked down to where her hands were clasped on top of the blanket, but not still. Nerves seemed to have given them a life of their own; her fingers began to clench and unclench independent of any conscious control.
Tom waited, not forcing the issue.
“He said he wouldn’t harm us if we did exactly as we were told and promised not to say anything,” Penny said, looking up with disbelief in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks as she spoke in a still, small voice.
“I’m sorry, Penny. He was lying to you. After he left your house, he shot six other people, and only one survived.”
“What brought him to our house? Why were we involved?”
Tom saw anger forming in the expression
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