Bad Tidings Read Online Free

said, ‘Two murders, unfortunately dubbed the “Twixtmas Killings” by our esteemed local press.’
    Henry nodded. He sipped his coffee. It was bitter, tasted like it had been on the hotplate for a week. He guessed it was FB’s emergency supply for when he couldn’t click his fingers to get one of his minions to make a fresh one. Henry could not disguise his grimace of distaste. ‘Yup,’ he said.
    FB’s eyes narrowed. With his hands still on top of the files, he slid them across to the detective superintendent.
    Henry squirmed. ‘Last time I inherited something from Joe Speakman, I ended up being shot at, kidnapped, beaten up. My lovely car was written off by a freakin’ Russian gangster and my partner was seriously assaulted – and she’s only just got through that shit.’ An image of Alison’s pulped face came into Henry’s mind.
    But FB reverted to type, giving an uncaring pout and shrug. ‘Who’d have known? Still, there’s nothing to say that either of these murders is connected with those other shenanigans, is there?’ He tapped the files.
    Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t lean forward. To have done so, in terms of body language, would have signalled his acceptance of what was being said, and he was fighting it.
    He had worked long, hard, punishing hours for the last six months and knew it was probably taking its toll on his fledgling relationship with Alison. He really needed a week off with her or he could see the whole thing going south . . . and he had something special planned for Christmas that would put everything – his relationship, his life – back on track.
    But two murders?
    Fuck you, FB
, he thought.
You slimy toad.
He knew it was a crap deal getting handed two unsolved, very cold murders . . . but hell! Two murders. How could he possibly resist?
    Fuck you, FB, he thought again. However, he continued his little game, even though his mind was already rehearsing his speech to Alison. His
I’m only doing what my boss ordered, I didn’t have a choice
speech. Even in his brain, it sounded piss weak.
    â€˜What about Don Royce?’ he stalled. Royce was one of the other two FMIT detective superintendents.
    â€˜Too busy – and he’s on call for everything else this week.’
    â€˜Reg Carney?’ He was the other one.
    â€˜Caribbean cruise – already jetting across the water.’
    â€˜There’s plenty of DCIs who could tackle them,’ Henry suggested.
    FB shook his head. His double chins wobbled.
    The word ‘Bollocks’ sat on Henry’s tongue, but remained unsaid. He squirmed again.
    â€˜You’re the man,’ FB said. ‘You’ve already had involvement with Joe Speakman. You obviously know how Joe’s mind worked, how he thought.’
    â€˜Thin,’ Henry said. ‘Try harder. I have a week’s holiday booked and a hot-arsed landlady waiting for me.’
    FB continued unmoved. ‘You’ve pretty much wrapped up the Speakman thing . . . you need something else to keep you occupied, to ease you up to retirement.’
    â€˜How about I have the week off, then look at them?’ He nodded at the files.
    â€˜You know you can’t.’
    Henry raised his eyes and looked directly at FB. ‘I’m having them, whatever, aren’t I?’
    â€˜Course you are.’
    â€˜Shit.’
    Henry knew exactly what was in the files. He’d read them several times just in case there had been some connection to the mess that Joe Speakman had got himself embroiled in. Henry concluded that the two murders were not linked in any way to Speakman’s personal debacle – but there was every chance that they were themselves connected. Whichever senior investigating officer inherited them would have to put in a lot of time and effort over the next week because of that connection and because the week was significant in