Bone Machine Read Online Free Page B

so.
    Reluctantly she threw back the covers. Cold air crept over her body like a dawning reality. She got out of bed. Her pyjamas
     had been provided for her by the woman, Peta. They weren’t a perfect fit, but, compared with what she had been used to, they
     felt wonderful. She crossed to the window, looked out. Saw trees, fields, hills. Heard birdsong. The sky wasn’t a perfect
     blue, there were clouds hovering, but to Katya it seemed like fairy-tale sunlight. She couldn’t help herself from smiling
     again.
    She looked around her bedroom. The furniture was good quality but basic: a double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers with a TV
     on it, bedside table. Stripped floorboards and rugs. Neutral-coloured walls and ceiling. No personal pictures or photos. It
     smelled recently painted and, although pleasant enough, had the ambience of a hotel room; like someone hadn’t been there long
     enough to make their mark or were just passing through.
    They had been kind to her so far, but she was still wary. She told herself not to be; the letter confirmed that she should
     trust them.
    The letter. On the bedside table. She picked it up, read through it again. She would have read it once more, but the pressure
     on her bladder was increasing. She put it back down, crossed the room, quietly twisted the knob, stepped out on to the landing.
     There were another three doors. Shetried the nearest, crept it quietly open. The light-skinned black boy from the previous night was in there fast asleep, sprawled
     over the bed, duvet wrestled around him. She closed it again, tried the next door. Locked. The third door was the bathroom.
     She quickly stepped inside.
    Donovan woke under a duvet on the sofa, opened his eyes.
    No dreams. At least none that followed him into waking. Good.
    He shook his head, tried to clear the tiredness from it. Worked out why he wasn’t in his bed. Heard the bathroom door close
     upstairs. Remembered.
    Katya. His guest.
    Yawning and stretching, he swung his legs to the floor, rubbed his face and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. He knew
     he would have to wait to get into the bathroom now.
    Once done, he returned to the sofa, mug in hand, threw the duvet over him once more and pointed the remote at the TV.
    Detective Chief Inspector Bob Fenton was giving a press conference. Face stern and set. Waiting to impart something of importance.
     Blinking slightly, flashbulbs popping, cutting the electric air. Donovan had heard of the man but never met him. At Fenton’s
     side sat DI Diane Nattrass. Donovan knew her. Had been part of a previous investigation of hers.
    It was what everyone had expected. The news story the whole region, perhaps the country, had been following. Fenton explained
     that a body had been found the previous night in Westgate Road cemetery. Fenton confirmed it was that of the missing student
     Ashley Malcolm. He sat back, allowed the news to sink in.
    Flashbulbs popped again. The sounds of a restless, agitatedaudience filled the silence. Champing at the bit, eager to ask their questions. Donovan could almost feel the adrenalin in
     the room. It wasn’t that long ago when he would have been there himself.
    Fenton, his suit pressed and careerist-smart, his shirt a crisp white, his tie unmarked and his senatorial-style hair shot
     through with authoritarian grey, handed over to Diane Nattrass. She, in contrast, looked as if she had been out the previous
     night and hadn’t made it home yet. Her hair flattened, her make-up hastily reapplied, her clothes crumpled and creased. She
     looked weary beyond tiredness. Her eyes, when they caught the camera, were black-rimmed, as if she was staring out from a
     deep, dark cave, reporting on what she had found in there. Donovan could sympathize.
    Nattrass confirmed details, made appeals. Gave as much information as she could without hampering the investigation. She came
     across, Donovan thought, despite or probably because of the tiredness, as not just