False Tongues Read Online Free

guessed. ‘Fourteen? Fifteen?’
    Neville clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Something like that. And he’s no street kid,’ he added. ‘Look at those clothes.’
    The photographer was moving round the body, snapping photos then stopping to scribble in his notebook. ‘I’ll be done in a few, Guv,’ he said. ‘Get him from all angles, then do a video just to be on the safe side. Then he’s all yours.’
    â€˜What’s a lad like that doing out here this time of night?’ Cowley said. ‘My mum would have killed me if I’d tried that.’
    â€˜We don’t know how long he’s been here,’ Neville reminded him. ‘Dog walker found him, as usual.’
    Cowley turned round and surveyed the area. ‘No houses anywhere near,’ he observed. ‘Not even a pub. Not likely anyone heard anything going on, unless they were up to no good themselves. We’ll be bloody lucky to find any witnesses. ’Cept for them, of course,’ he added, nodding in the direction of the church.
    â€˜Who?’ Neville swivelled his head hopefully, then made out the dim outlines of several large tombs in the churchyard.
    The sergeant laboured the joke. ‘But I don’t suppose you’ll have an easy time getting anything out of them, Guv. Not even with your legendary detective skills.’
    â€˜Har bloody har,’ Neville snapped. ‘Thanks for that, Sid.’ Thanks for stating the obvious.
    Easy wasn’t the word. This was not going to be an easy case in any sense; he could feel it in his bones.
    ***
    King’s Cross had once been a rather unappealing station at the best of times, Harry Potter notwithstanding. Now it had been tarted up beyond recognition. Callie had to stop, read the signs, and get her bearings. Harry and his chums would never have located Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
    She had time to catch her train, Callie told herself, taking a deep breath. If she didn’t dawdle and concentrated on finding the platform, she ought to make it before they closed the barriers.
    Even with wheels, her case was cumbersome and heavy. Why had she packed so many clothes? A wheel caught as she rounded a tight corner; Callie paused and tugged it free.
    The train was in sight. The barriers were still open.
    And then she saw him: Adam, striding along on his long legs, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, heading for the platform.
    Callie stopped in her tracks; her suitcase banged into her leg. ‘Oh, no,’ she breathed, but not at the pain in her calf. He would see her—he was bound to see her. He would suggest sitting together and she wouldn’t be able to say no. She would have to travel all the way to Cambridge with him, making awkward small-talk. They’d share a taxi from the station to the college; they would arrive together.
    No. She couldn’t face it. Callie ducked behind a pillar and stayed very still. She didn’t move as Adam reached the platform, as he boarded the train. As they closed the gates of the barrier behind him and a few other scurrying latecomers, as the train pulled out of King’s Cross station.
    â€˜Oh, God,’ she said in the direction of the vanishing last car. But Callie had no regrets about her decision. There would be another train, she told herself stoutly. She would still make it to Cambridge, sooner or later. On her own.
    Callie pivoted her suitcase round and headed back into the concourse, toward the nearest cafe. A cup of tea—that’s what she needed. She would sit down and have a nice cup of tea. That would help her to face the rest of the journey.
    ***
    Neville winced as Sid Cowley, with a defiant half-look in his direction, pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
    They’d moved to a bench in the churchyard to sit for a moment and discuss what they’d found in the boy’s pockets while the SOCOs continued their search of the immediate area.
    Let Sid have