Now You See Me Read Online Free

the coffees over to the corner table where Sharon Beale was already sitting. ‘Senior Constable,’ she said. ‘Your cappuccino, double cream, ma’am.’
    Sharon looked up from her notebook and smiled slightly. ‘Constables don’t get ma’am. Shithead’s more like it. Ma’am’s for female sergeants and above in English detective novels, and there aren’t many of those here.’
    Noel was interested. She had an uneasy relationship with the police generally, but she secretly admitted their lives fascinated her. Doing what she did was a way of being a cop manque, she often thought. ‘But you have lots of seniority. There must be junior constables who should give you a sign of respect.’
    Sharon laughed. ‘They shuffle their feet and avoid calling me anything. Sometimes I think my name’s “Um, excuse me ...’” She added three hefty shakes of sugar to her cappuccino and stirred, then took a sip. ‘Good. Fabulous coffee.’ She looked blandly at Noel, not asking what she wanted, waiting to be told.
    Noel thought of trying to outstare her, then smiled. She wasn’t sure who’d win at this technique they were both experts in. She tried to keep herself distant from real friendships with the police she knew, realising that in the end they were a closed society, that such friendships would always be in proportion to her usefulness to them, and theirs to her. But she liked Sharon more each time they met, liked her small intelligent face and her energetic good humour against all the odds.
    ‘How do you cope with it?’ she asked, on an impulse, making her voice only half serious, knowing she would sound naive, but genuinely wanting to find out. ‘Working with damaged kids, battered women ... trying to treat their abusers like human beings ... ? Why aren’t you cynical and burnt out like all the cops in fiction? ’ Lik e al l th e othe r cop s I kno w , she thought.
    There was a faint tightening of the muscles around Sharon’s mouth, a slight but definite signal that Noel’s question was too personal, out of line, but her voice was pleasant when she replied. ‘You’re taught to detach yourself. We’re given special counselling before we take it on. Not everyone manages to get past the training. Anyway,’ she said, her voice brisk now, telling an outsider how things were, ‘cops are always dealing with the stuff no-one else could bear. It’s part of the job. I t i s the job.’
    ‘I suppose so.’ Noel was doubtful. She had grown up in a culture antagonistic to the police, always ready to criticise them for weakness — bullying and corruption. She didn’t like her assumptions challenged, not when the challenge came close to her own internalised fantasy of being a sort o f goo d cop herself.
    ‘Anyway ...’ Sharon said, looking at her watch. ‘I’ve actually just gone off an extra night shift. I want to get home and crash.’
    ‘Yeah, sorry. Well, it’s this Belinda Carey thing. I’m talking to the coroner this afternoon, Albert Spinks. The one who was interviewed in th e Heral d . I wanted to know if you’ve heard anything. If there’s anything you’re allowed to tell me, I mean.’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sharon’s surprise seemed genuine. ‘The stepfather’s been arrested. The stupid bitch of a mother got drunk with him one night a couple of months ago and took him back home. He was there for a few days, then Belinda went missing. They found her body in a vacant lot near the flat he’d been living in when the mother kicked him out. Strands of her hair, fibres from her clothing, the chain from her locket — all found in the boot of his car. The rope used to strangle her was cut off a coil in his garage. It’s one of the strongest cases I’ve ever heard of. He’s history.’ She leaned forward, suddenly pugnacious. ‘I haven’t seen today’s paper. What’s the coroner say?’
    ‘Well ... It’s not so much what he says, it’s what he insinuates. Here, read