Saffina Desforg
New Member
Hi guys,
These two chapters are from my debut novel. Would love to know what you think..
Chapters 10 & 11 - Sugar & Spice
Matt was on his second latte when Pitman arrived.
“How’s Claire?”
“Bearing up.” He knew better than to press the DI before he was ready, but curiosity got the better of him. “Uncle Tom?”
Pitman looked around furtively before responding. “You remember the last press conference? The statement we issued following the post-mortem?”
“I was there. So what?”
“It wasn’t the full story.”
Matt shrugged. “And?”
“Tony Kellerman’s on to it."
“No surprise there.”
“He’s got a copy of the autopsy report.”
Matt caught his breath. “Why bother?”
“We think there was a leak at the Met end. They say not, but Kellerman clearly knew something the other day. Something he said to Weisman as we were leaving.”
“Which was?”
Pitman ignored the question. He’d explain in his own time.
“We have reason to believe Kellerman will go public with what he knows, tonight or tomorrow. In your opinion, Matt, if he had a major new angle on this story, would he play to the television tonight or hold for the headlines in the morning?”
“Jesus, Dave. What is this about?”
“As I said on the telephone, this is strictly off the record. Weisman would have my pension if he knew I was talking to you.”
“But if Kellerman already has it...”
“Exactly. I just don’t want Claire hearing it from someone else first.”
“For Christ’s sake!”
Pitman took the hint. “Let me be blunt, Matt. Rebecca presented forensics with a lot of problems. Even the cause of death is not one hundred per cent, though clearly strangulation was attempted.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “The pathologist found something.”
Matt went cold. He held his breath as Pitman considered his words.
“The sick bastard left a calling card, wrapped in a freezer bag.”
Matt’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his coffee mug.
“I’m sorry. We wanted to keep it quiet, but now Kellerman’s got hold of it.”
Matt nodded, his mind numb.
“It’s just a cheap card, from a print machine like you’d find in any big shopping centre. A logo of an ice-cream cornet. A ninety-nine. And the words With Compliments, Uncle Tom.”
11
Matt forced the words through gritted teeth. “He’ll kill again.”
“Almost certain to. Our big fear is that if this hits the headlines it could provoke the next assault sooner rather than later.”
“**** Kellerman. Can’t you get the editors to hold back?”
“Not something this big. There’s no legal argument against it. Besides, he’d just plaster it over the net regardless.”
Matt nodded his understanding.
“One small glimmer of hope, Matt. We’re bringing in six suspects in the morning.”
“Six? Isn’t that...?”
“Exactly. Wouldn’t get too excited. Besides, we’ve had them all in over the past few weeks and drew a blank. But the Super’s got to be seen to be doing something.”
“Anyone I’ve heard of?”
“All locals with backgrounds with little kids, obviously. Some convictions, some just allegations... Mostly just lookers. Two serious contenders, the others are just for public consumption, to make us look busy.”
“And the two serious contenders. They are?
“One’s got a background in road construction. A tenuous link with the painted nails. A conviction for indecent images years ago. Nothing since. I don’t rate him.”
“And the other?”
“That’s a strange one. Convicted paedophile. On the Register. I interviewed him last week, before Rebecca’s body was found. Just routine. Made no impression on me. I’ve been through his details with a fine-toothed comb since. Sick as they come, no question, but nothing to suggest he’s capable of this. I was quite satisfied to put the file away. But...”
“Dave?”
“The Met got an anonymous call, female, on an untraced pay-as-you-go mobile, claiming to live nearby. She says she saw a red Peugeot near the canal shortly after the girl disappeared, and that the driver threw something big into the water. Needless to say our man drives a red Peugeot.”
“Jesus.”
“There’s more. He once had his own ice-cream van.”
“What’s his name?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Matt.”
“If he’s pulled in I’ll know by morning anyway.”
“True enough.” Pitman considered briefly. “Off the record, Thomas Bristow. A Newington man. But that’s off the record, Matt. I mean it.”
“Don’t worry. I just want to be able to tell Claire. But you’re obviously not convinced?”
“Not by a long shot. First name Thomas, drives a red Peugeot and used to be an ice-cream man. Almost too coincidental, if you ask me.”
Matt raised a doubtful eyebrow. “The real killer setting him up?”
“Nothing so sinister, Matt. People like Bristow have plenty of enemies. This is just someone’s sick idea of fun. We’ll pull him in come morning, have forensics take his car apart and he’ll be back at home in a week filing a claim for harassment. I’ve already crossed swords with his brief once. Don’t fancy doing it again. But obviously we’ve got to act on information received.”
“So what’s the schedule?”
“Weisman has set the pick-up for ten tomorrow morning if you want to have a photographer nearby. Just don’t bring my name into it. There’ll be a formal press statement mid-day, which will at least be a damage limitation exercise if Kellerman goes ahead. And who knows, maybe I’ve misjudged it. Perhaps Weisman does know his arse from his elbow and Bristow will prove to be our Uncle Tom.”
These two chapters are from my debut novel. Would love to know what you think..
Chapters 10 & 11 - Sugar & Spice
Matt was on his second latte when Pitman arrived.
“How’s Claire?”
“Bearing up.” He knew better than to press the DI before he was ready, but curiosity got the better of him. “Uncle Tom?”
Pitman looked around furtively before responding. “You remember the last press conference? The statement we issued following the post-mortem?”
“I was there. So what?”
“It wasn’t the full story.”
Matt shrugged. “And?”
“Tony Kellerman’s on to it."
“No surprise there.”
“He’s got a copy of the autopsy report.”
Matt caught his breath. “Why bother?”
“We think there was a leak at the Met end. They say not, but Kellerman clearly knew something the other day. Something he said to Weisman as we were leaving.”
“Which was?”
Pitman ignored the question. He’d explain in his own time.
“We have reason to believe Kellerman will go public with what he knows, tonight or tomorrow. In your opinion, Matt, if he had a major new angle on this story, would he play to the television tonight or hold for the headlines in the morning?”
“Jesus, Dave. What is this about?”
“As I said on the telephone, this is strictly off the record. Weisman would have my pension if he knew I was talking to you.”
“But if Kellerman already has it...”
“Exactly. I just don’t want Claire hearing it from someone else first.”
“For Christ’s sake!”
Pitman took the hint. “Let me be blunt, Matt. Rebecca presented forensics with a lot of problems. Even the cause of death is not one hundred per cent, though clearly strangulation was attempted.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “The pathologist found something.”
Matt went cold. He held his breath as Pitman considered his words.
“The sick bastard left a calling card, wrapped in a freezer bag.”
Matt’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his coffee mug.
“I’m sorry. We wanted to keep it quiet, but now Kellerman’s got hold of it.”
Matt nodded, his mind numb.
“It’s just a cheap card, from a print machine like you’d find in any big shopping centre. A logo of an ice-cream cornet. A ninety-nine. And the words With Compliments, Uncle Tom.”
11
Matt forced the words through gritted teeth. “He’ll kill again.”
“Almost certain to. Our big fear is that if this hits the headlines it could provoke the next assault sooner rather than later.”
“**** Kellerman. Can’t you get the editors to hold back?”
“Not something this big. There’s no legal argument against it. Besides, he’d just plaster it over the net regardless.”
Matt nodded his understanding.
“One small glimmer of hope, Matt. We’re bringing in six suspects in the morning.”
“Six? Isn’t that...?”
“Exactly. Wouldn’t get too excited. Besides, we’ve had them all in over the past few weeks and drew a blank. But the Super’s got to be seen to be doing something.”
“Anyone I’ve heard of?”
“All locals with backgrounds with little kids, obviously. Some convictions, some just allegations... Mostly just lookers. Two serious contenders, the others are just for public consumption, to make us look busy.”
“And the two serious contenders. They are?
“One’s got a background in road construction. A tenuous link with the painted nails. A conviction for indecent images years ago. Nothing since. I don’t rate him.”
“And the other?”
“That’s a strange one. Convicted paedophile. On the Register. I interviewed him last week, before Rebecca’s body was found. Just routine. Made no impression on me. I’ve been through his details with a fine-toothed comb since. Sick as they come, no question, but nothing to suggest he’s capable of this. I was quite satisfied to put the file away. But...”
“Dave?”
“The Met got an anonymous call, female, on an untraced pay-as-you-go mobile, claiming to live nearby. She says she saw a red Peugeot near the canal shortly after the girl disappeared, and that the driver threw something big into the water. Needless to say our man drives a red Peugeot.”
“Jesus.”
“There’s more. He once had his own ice-cream van.”
“What’s his name?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Matt.”
“If he’s pulled in I’ll know by morning anyway.”
“True enough.” Pitman considered briefly. “Off the record, Thomas Bristow. A Newington man. But that’s off the record, Matt. I mean it.”
“Don’t worry. I just want to be able to tell Claire. But you’re obviously not convinced?”
“Not by a long shot. First name Thomas, drives a red Peugeot and used to be an ice-cream man. Almost too coincidental, if you ask me.”
Matt raised a doubtful eyebrow. “The real killer setting him up?”
“Nothing so sinister, Matt. People like Bristow have plenty of enemies. This is just someone’s sick idea of fun. We’ll pull him in come morning, have forensics take his car apart and he’ll be back at home in a week filing a claim for harassment. I’ve already crossed swords with his brief once. Don’t fancy doing it again. But obviously we’ve got to act on information received.”
“So what’s the schedule?”
“Weisman has set the pick-up for ten tomorrow morning if you want to have a photographer nearby. Just don’t bring my name into it. There’ll be a formal press statement mid-day, which will at least be a damage limitation exercise if Kellerman goes ahead. And who knows, maybe I’ve misjudged it. Perhaps Weisman does know his arse from his elbow and Bristow will prove to be our Uncle Tom.”