Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

'Presenting item #46518. Mister Salinger, is this your key?'
    Blake looked down at it. His heart began to race. For years he had kept that key on the Doctor Who key ring, which was still attached. He could feel his face redden. 'It is, yes. But that has been at my father's house the whole–'
    The young detective held out his palm. 'A simple yes or no will suffice. Now, can you tell me why traces of Val Salinger's blood were found on the key?'
    'No. I can't. I mean I–'
    'Moving on to item #46519,' Wilkes continued, removing the evidence bag and replacing it with another. This one contained a small metal object with black smudges around its surface. 'Can you tell me what this is, Mister Salinger?'
    Blake leaned in, peered at it. 'Looks like a bullet.'
    Inspector Howard stepped forward again. ' Your bullet.' It wasn't a question.
    'What? No.'
    'Then why is your thumbprint on it?'
    Everything was getting blurry. His stomach felt like it was spinning, and he was getting light-headed. 'My thumbprint?'
    'Yes. From when you pushed it into the magazine?'
    'What magazine? I didn't use a gun.'
    The black detective - Howard - thumped a fist into the table. Everything on it jumped, rattled, or rolled onto its side. 'Then what did you use to murder Val Salinger?'
    Shit. Idiot.
    'Nothing! I–' As his voice cracked, he could feel the tears brewing behind his eyes.
    'You're lying.' Even Wilkes was pressuring him now. 'Your print is on this bullet, which was extracted from your father's chest. Are you denying the evidence?'
    'Yes!' Blake shot up, kicked the chair back behind him. 'Until you told me, I didn't even know he was dead!' The tears came flooding, drowning his words as he said them.
    Howard leaped towards him. He had been waiting for "the excuse", as he had put it earlier. With immeasurable force, he dived at Blake and held him back towards the wall, holding a strong forearm against his adam's apple.
    Restricted, threatened, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. His father was dead and he was going to be locked up. Worst of all, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
    'We got you,' Howard said, a self-approving smile appearing on his lips.
    Blake could just about see Wilkes stood by the table, not a word of protest spoken.
    There was a sudden knock on the door. Blake had never been so grateful to hear anything in all his life. He needed time to think, to figure out how he can give his statement with absolute clarity and get out of the crosshairs. But more than anything, he wanted to take a few minutes to breathe, to steady himself.
    Detective Inspector Howard looked at the door, clearly pissed off, and then let go of Blake and stepped back. He adjusted his shirt and straightened his tie. When everyone had silenced, as if nothing had happened, he opened the door. 'What?' he said, though Blake didn't know who he was saying it to.
    Time seemed to slow down for Blake, watching it happen. A man entered the room, flashing his badge in a manner that demanded respect. It took seconds for it to register with Blake that this was the man who had been sat outside. Only he looked different; a new suit jacket over his t-shirt… and a set of glasses? It was only because he had studied him that Blake knew who he was. Why he was there was a different subject altogether.
    The silver-haired man didn't say a word. The door creaked to a close behind him, and as soon as it clicked, he threw a punch at Howard, sending him rolling over the table.
    Blake's eyes widened in shock. Did that really just happen?
    Wilkes reacted immediately, lunging at him–a partner's instinct, milliseconds too late.
    Smooth and swift, the man slid the belt off his waist and ducked. Less than a second later, he hooked Wilkes's arm into the loop of the belt, pulled it taut, and used the lock to drive the detective's face into the table.
    Blake stood in horror, two unconscious policemen at his feet. His mouth hung open, and he realised his hands were held up in