Brothers' Tears Read Online Free Page A

for you, Peach. You know that I don’t like to tread on people’s toes.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. Your use of the first thirty-six hours after the crime has been quite subtle, sir. Low-key. Whoever did this must be baffled by your tactics.’
    â€˜I’ve put you in the picture. I think you should be on your way now, Peach.’
    â€˜I agree, sir. We don’t want the scents to get cold, do we?’
    Chief Superintendent Tucker stood looking out over Brunton from the window of his penthouse office after his DCI had left. He’d had this problem for years now: he’d like to put that insolent man Peach in his place, but he needed the results the man provided to bolster his position as Head of the Brunton CID section. He sighed, sat down behind his desk and shut his eyes. Two more years and he’d be rid of all this and retired on a fat pension – provided they didn’t find him out before then.
    Two floors below him, Peach brightened. He’d spotted his old friend Jack Chadwick writing his report in the CID section.
    The two had been colleagues once as detective sergeants, before Chadwick had been shot and wounded in a bungled bank robbery. His wounds had brought him much sympathy and an aborted career. He’d continued as a uniformed sergeant for several years, carving out a reputation for himself as a scene of crime officer. He was a civilian now, but still doing the same job, still the best man to conduct a thorough investigation of a crime scene that Peach had ever known.
    His face brightened a little when he saw Percy. ‘Thank God you’re back. I never thought you’d hear me say that. Don’t let it go to your head.’
    â€˜You had Tommy Bloody Tucker to contend with.’
    â€˜The man’s a wanker. I used to think you exaggerated. He’s every bit as bad as you said.’
    â€˜It’s best not to let him get under your feet.’
    â€˜I didn’t. I told him to piss off – well, as good as. I’m a civilian now. I don’t have to put up with wankers like T B Tucker.’
    â€˜So what did you find for us?’
    â€˜Precious little. We’ve bagged all sorts of interesting little items, but the car park at Claughton Towers is a public place. Most of them were probably there before this happened. We’ve got five different fag-ends, but it’s the first outdoor spot people come to when they slip out for a smoke. I doubt whether any of them belongs to your killer. Two of them have got lipstick on.’
    Peach noted without comment the assumption that their killer would be a man. It was no more than a statistical assumption. Over ninety per cent of killings where a firearm was involved were by men. But until they knew otherwise, he wouldn’t rule a woman out. The use of a pistol meant that no physical strength had been required. This big man O’Connor could feasibly have been shot by a woman, or even a child, though it seemed there’d been very few of those around.
    Percy looked at the polythene bags on the other side of the little alcove. There was what looked like a hair grip, a couple of fragments of soil which might just have come from the sole of someone’s shoe but probably hadn’t, a ballpen which could be fingerprinted if it had anything to do with this crime. No used condoms, which were often collected from more remote spots, thank God. ‘What do you know of the victim?’
    Chadwick smiled grimly. ‘Less than you, I’m sure. Successful businessman. Popular figure, as you’d expect an ex-international sportsman to be. Also a dodgy bugger, according to the police grapevine.’
    Peach grinned. ‘You keep in touch, then. We’ve been watching him. So has the Drug Squad.’
    â€˜You won’t need to watch the poor sod any more. Someone had it in for him.’
    â€˜Or someone paid to have him killed.’
    â€˜Contract killer?’ Jack Chadwick pursed his