The Serpent Pool Read Online Free Page A

argued that a cold case cop had more latitude to involve herself directly in proper detective work than anyone of similar rank in the whole Cumbria Constabulary. Especially in an age when management was all about form-filling, targets, and league tables. The higher you climbed up the greasy pole, the further you were from what made you love the job in the first place.
    ‘Where and when?’
    ‘That snack bar on Beast Banks? Seven-thirty on Thursday?’
    ‘You can bring me up to date with the Saffell case.’
    A fractional pause.
    ‘Actually, I’ll come clean. I do have a teeny ulterior motive.’
    ‘This isn’t just about boosting your cholesterol levels?’
    ‘We’re getting nowhere fast. Thought I might pick your brains.’
    ‘Told you last time we spoke. I only met Saffell the once.’
    ‘Even so.’ Fern coughed. ‘Anyway, the business stuff will only take five minutes. Then we can catch up properly.’
    Hannah hung up and wandered back into the kitchen. She smelt burning as Marc lifted two crumpets out of the toaster.
    ‘What did Fern want?’
    When police work intruded on their private time, he treated it as a personal affront. Similar principles didn’t apply with books and his customers.
    ‘To fix up a meeting, that’s all.’
    He tossed a crumpet for each of them onto a plate and took a clean knife out of the dishwasher. ‘When are you seeing her?’
    ‘Thursday, once I’ve settled in my new sidekick.’
    He cut his crumpet in half with a neat stroke of the blade. He had a surgeon’s dexterity, she thought. His hands were slim; she’d always liked them, and what he did with them, when he was in the right frame of mind.
    ‘You’ll miss Nick Lowther.’
    Even Inspector Lestrade would have detected the note of satisfaction. Hannah gritted her teeth. Nick had been her detective sergeant on the Cold Case Review Team and they’d worked together for years. Marc had long been wary of their friendship, and his unvoiced, but unmistakeable,suspicion that they were more than friends had infuriated her. She’d never given him cause to doubt her fidelity.
    None of that mattered now. Six months ago, Nick had met someone, and a fortnight before Christmas they had emigrated to Canada together. Marc was right. Nick’s departure had left a gap in Hannah’s life and she wasn’t sure how to fill it.
    ‘Uh-huh.’ She took the margarine out of the fridge and spread it over the crumpet.
    ‘Your new sergeant, what’s he like?’
    ‘Time will tell,’ she muttered. Unfair to make her mind up too soon, but one thing was for sure. Greg Wharf was no Nick Lowther.
    ‘It will work out fine.’
    It should have been a kind remark, but he’d seldom been kind about Nick in the past and she couldn’t resist the urge to retaliate.
    ‘Will Cassie be at the party?’
    He chewed hard for half a minute before speaking.
    ‘Cassie?’
    ‘You know.’ Of course he knew, he’d mentioned her a dozen times since she’d started work at the shop last autumn. Hannah had called in once, during the run-up to Christmas, to soothe the itch of curiosity. The girl was in her mid-twenties, fair and slim. During their short exchange of seasonal pleasantries, she gave the impression she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But her figure was gorgeous and her eyes big and blue. She’d given Marc a jokey Christmas card, signed in an extravagant hand and adorned with half a dozen kisses. At least he’d made no secret of it, displaying it on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Hannah hopedhe wouldn’t be tempted to make a fool of himself. ‘Cassie Weston. Your own personal sidekick.’
    ‘Stuart Wagg asked me to pass on an invitation to her, as it happens. I didn’t even realise they’d met. She must have sold him some books. But she said she couldn’t make it. Came up with some excuse about spending the evening with her boyfriend in Grasmere.’
    ‘An excuse? Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?’
    ‘I’d be amazed if she didn’t. Very