Kill For Love Read Online Free Page B

was forecasting rain, so there was no need to water them, and
after idly tugging out some random chickweed that was growing around the
miniature tea roses, she went back inside to dress.
    She was, she knew, an attractive woman. She
couldn't not know it, or be unaware that her looks had contributed to her
success in television. She looked good on screen and because she talked well,
too, she was favoured by those she wished to interview. With an efficient bob
of dark brown hair, a fresh air complexion, a small, neat nose and the sort of
educated, classless English accent which suited broadcasting, she also carried
a measure of gravitas, an air aided by her five feet nine inches. Straight
backed, she wore clothes well, and on this day she selected a tailored linen jacket,
blue button down shirt and newly washed jeans.
    Her telephone rang again as she was finishing
dressing. She'd ignored a couple of routine earlier calls, listening to the
messages and deciding to return them later, but this was a new voice.
"Miss Merrimac?" a woman asked. "This is the Hammersmith and Fulham
Youth Offending Service." There was a hesitation as though the caller was
wondering if anyone was there.
    Kate picked up the telephone. "Yes?"
    "Miss Merrimac? I'm sorry to bother you. My
name is Helen Walker. Your name has been given to us by a young man called Jeroboam
da Silva who was arrested by the police this morning." There was a pause.
"You know Jeroboam, I believe."
    Kate frowned. "Yes. I know Jeroboam."
                                                                              
    He was waiting for her on the last of a row of
chairs outside a door bearing the probation officer's name, his head poking
from behind an old copy of Q magazine.
    “Not one word, Jeroboam," she said
immediately.
    The boy looked down quickly.
    Across the room one of a posse of shaven headed
braggadocios recognised her, and, grinning from under his baseball cap,
excitedly told his pals. Immediately another in the gang muttered something,
probably dirty, and the rest cackled.
    The probation officer's door opened. "Miss
Merrimac?" Helen Walker, a plump black woman with a Yorkshire
accent, wore the worn smile of the infinitely understanding. "Thank you
for coming in."
    Kate looked at Jeroboam. "Don't move!"
she breathed and entered the office.
    "It wasn't anything very serious."
Helen Walker was considering the top page of a thick file lying open on her
desk. "I don't know whether the police will press charges. It depends on
the shop."
    "What do they say he took?" Kate asked.
    That she appeared to be suggesting that there
might be any doubt about the allegation brought the suggestion of a smile to
the probation officer. "They say he took three CDs. They also have
CCTV evidence, statements from two shop assistants and another from a customer.
It would appear Jeroboam didn't try very hard to conceal what he was
doing."
    No, thought Kate, he wouldn't. She looked around
the walls. They were plastered with admonitions not to take drugs, to beware of
AIDS, to take precautions against unwanted pregnancy and to keep out of bad
company, in between advertisements for healthy outdoor sporting activities,
jolly smiling youth clubs, volunteer work with the aged and cookery classes.
She couldn’t imagine where Jeroboam would fit into any of them.
    Helen Walker was watching her. "Jeroboam
says you'll vouch for his good character." She looked again at her file.
"I'm new here, but I see you've been in before to see my
predecessor."
    "Once or twice,” Kate smiled ruefully.
“What's the worst that could happen to him?”
    "Well, if he carries on like this… it'll be
detention. Could he cope with that?"
    Kate’s eyebrows knitted. "I don't think so.
He isn't..." she hesitated. "He isn't very confident."
    "I've read the reports, Miss Merrimac."
    "Yes."
    Helen Walker closed the file. "He's very
proud about knowing you. I