The Death Pictures Read Online Free

memorial to a fatal crash,’ he intoned in his best sombre voice, kneeling by the bouquets. Nigel nodded, focused the camera.
    Emma arrived at quarter past six and gave Dan a hug. He wasn’t surprised to see she didn’t look in the least flustered by the prospect of broadcasting live to half a million people. They were ready with three minutes to spare. Close, but he’d known tighter.
    The director barked a cue into his earpiece, Dan showed the camera the flowers, crouched down to quote one of the tributes, explained what had happened to Jason and Nigel panned the shot to find Emma.
    She talked movingly about losing her son, the pain it still caused every day, her anger at the senselessness of his death and appealed for people to take more care on the roads. Her words were as powerful as ever, couldn’t have been better scripted or delivered by Hollywood professionals, Dan thought. After the broadcast he thanked her, then reached into the back of the car and gave her one of the bunches of flowers he’d bought at the petrol station.
    He waited until Emma had driven away, then carefully placed another of the bouquets at the end of the line of tributes. It just didn’t do for anyone to suspect that such a hardened hack as him had a soft centre.
    Nigel gave him a look, then peered into the back of the car. ‘There’s one bunch left. So who’s that for?’
    Dan adopted an enigmatic smile. If he did decide to go and see Kerry tonight, the flowers should soothe his passage into her sheets beautifully.
    Dan took Nigel for a quick beer at the Moorland Inn after the broadcast. It was his way of saying thanks for rushing around and making sure the story got on air.
    Lizzie called. Not to thank him Dan noted, but to burble about a story for tomorrow.
    He sipped contentedly at his pint and held the phone away from his ear, but still managed to catch most of the words.
    ‘It’s an extraordinary story, one of the best we’ve ever had. It’ll send the ratings soaring. I want top coverage and lots of it. I want reports and live broadcasts. I want emotion. I want poignancy. I want… are you listening to me?’
    ‘Yes, yes of course. Every single word.’
    ‘Right, well, you know the story of that dying artist McCluskey and the Death Pictures riddle? It’s that. I want you to mug up on it. I want you to be our expert. I want you all over it. I want you to know it inside out. Are you back home yet?’
    ‘No, I, err… I’m… checking out another story first.’
    ‘Right, well, one of the researchers will drop off a briefing at your flat. You’d better read it until you know every detail. Tomorrow’s a big, big day. I want top coverage.’
    They finished their pints and Nigel drove them back to Plymouth. Just as Dan climbed out of the car, his mobile rang again. He sighed wearily and was going to ignore it, but Adam’s name flashed up on the display.
    ‘Hi mate, how you doing?’ he said.
    ‘Bad. I’ve got a really nasty case and I need your help.’
    ‘Fire away Adam. I owe you after all the help you gave me on the Bray story.’
    ‘We’ve got a rape, Dan, and it’s a weird one, very weird. A guy forced his way into a woman’s home and attacked her. It was savage, one of the worst I’ve seen. She’s a right mess.’
    Memories of the case they’d worked on together filled Dan’s mind. The shotgun killing of Edward Bray, the notorious businessman, how he’d been allowed to shadow the police investigation, the uncovering of the conspiracy of Bray’s enemies that had led to the murder. How he, a journalist, had seen the vital detail that solved the case. How they’d become unlikely friends and the Chief Inspector had confided in him about the rape of his sister, Sarah, its shattering of a promising life.
    It was that which had pushed Adam to become a detective, a sort of legitimised vigilantism, he’d said. No wonder he sounded dangerous.
    ‘You hear this all the time, Dan and it’s become a classic police