Cold Revenge (2015) Read Online Free

Dame Elizabeth, sir?’ It was as close to contrition as she was likely to get.
    ‘Dame Elizabeth, as you may or may not know, is the professor of philosophy at Queen’s College here in London,’ said Corrigan.
    ‘No, I didn’t know that, sir.’
    ‘Well, now you do. She is.’
    ‘Why this interest in philosophy, sir?’ asked Hanlon. ‘It’s very Zen of you.’
    Corrigan stifled a smile. Hanlon was one of the few people who dared to tease him. His work persona was one of angry efficiency.
    He took the tablet he had on the table next to him and the screen brightened as he searched for something. A photo of a man filled the screen and Corrigan swivelled it round so Hanlon could see.
    He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, with longish, floppy hair, a linen jacket and a scarf that was probably from some Oxford or Cambridge college. It was thrown casually around his neck. She disliked him immediately. He was confident and good-looking, but to Hanlon’s eye there was a hint of weakness in the face, the self-deprecating grin a little too forced, with that air that some people have of trying slightly too hard. It was the kind of face that begged people to like him, the kind of person who would smile too much. It was a puzzling mix, arrogance tinged with desperation.
    She looked quizzically at Corrigan.
    ‘That,’ he said, ‘is Dr Gideon Orlando Fuller, who also lectures in philosophy on a five-year contract at Queen’s College. Hired by Dame Elizabeth herself. He is a suspect, the main suspect, in the death of this girl, Hannah Moore, who was strangled – either by accident or design – during some sort of S&M-style sex, a week ago. This photo is from her Facebook page.’
    Hannah Moore pouted at them provocatively from the screen. It was an attempt to appear sexually alluring, but her face and body were not the stuff of male fantasy. Hanlon looked at her dispassionately.
    She was obviously overweight and her heavily made-up eyes were small and piggy in the generous expanse of her face. She had dyed her hair blonde, but not her dark eyebrows, and at the front the roots showed their true colour. Yet in those eyes, framed by inexpertly applied make-up, was a real look of intelligence. Hanlon shook her head with irritation.
    The girl must have known that she looked both slightly pathetic and ridiculous. That FHM / Loaded look was not for her, but she’d been desperate enough to try. Why could she not just have settled for quiet dignity; she was a student, not a Page-3 girl.
    She looked again at Corrigan. ‘And?’
    ‘Hannah Moore was in one of Fuller’s evening classes. Dame Elizabeth, who has a lot of clout in the government and civil service, has demanded and received assurances that our investigation will be discreet and low-key.’
    ‘Is that right?’ said Hanlon contemptuously. Much as she admired Dame Elizabeth, she didn’t see why the Met should be forced to dance to a civil servant’s tune, no matter how distinguished.
    ‘Why on earth should we care what Dame Elizabeth thinks?’ she asked.
    Corrigan looked at her sharply. ‘Dame Elizabeth taught the PM at university and also the leader of the Opposition. Oh, and the mayor too. Philosophy was very much in vogue then, it would seem.’ He paused, allowing time to absorb the fact that the request for discretion had come from on high. ‘She’s also a non-exec director of a major newspaper and she is adviser to the civil service pay-review body. Let me repeat myself, Detective Inspector, our investigation will be discreet and low-key.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ she said mutinously.
    ‘Not boring you, am I, DI Hanlon,’ said Corrigan sarcastically. ‘You don’t seem to be concentrating.’ He raised his eyebrows and leaned his head forward across the table close to Hanlon’s to emphasize the point. He suddenly looked very menacing. Decades ago, when Corrigan had walked the beat, and later in the flying squad, policing had been a lot more physical. He’d