Free From The Dead by Mark Billingham

nasal Derry twang.

    ‘Somewhere else you’d like to be?’ Thorne asked. He took off his jacket, laid it across the back of a chair. Anna did the same.

    ‘Got a class.’

    Thorne nodded. It looked like he, rather than Gary Brand, had been closer to the mark when it came to guessing at Monahan’s prison hobbies. That said, it might have been a class in cage fighting. Like most prisons, aside from a bewildering assortment of treatment programmes, Wakefield had an enormous range of activities and educational opportunities on offer. Thorne happened to know for example that those working in the engineering workshop spent their time making security gates, grilles and fencing. Even
he
had to admit that sounded like taking the piss. ‘I thought you might have a hot date.’

    ‘You were funny as cancer ten years ago,’ Monahan said. ‘You’ve not got any funnier.’

    ‘Nice to see you again, too.’

    Monahan looked at Anna for the first time. ‘Who’s this?’

    ‘Detective Carpenter,’ Thorne said. Not a lie. Not exactly. He saw Monahan’s eyes wander across Anna’s body, lingering where they shouldn’t. ‘Let’s crack on, shall we? Seeing as you’re so busy.’

    Monahan shrugged, leaned back.

    ‘You know your former employer’s out and about, don’t you?’ Thorne let it hang for a few seconds. ‘I’m talking about Donna Langford, obviously.’

    Another shrug. Monahan might have known, or known and not cared.

    ‘Sorry, when I said “employer”, did you think I meant Alan Langford?’

    The hesitation was brief, but it was enough. ‘Why would I think that?’

    ‘Well, you did some work for him too, once upon a time. Before Donna hired you, I mean.’

    ‘So?’

    ‘So, I’m just trying to avoid any confusion.’

    ‘You’re the one who’s confused, pal. How can
he
be out and about anywhere?’

    ‘Of course. He’s dead meat, isn’t he?’ Thorne shook his head in mock-annoyance at his own mock-idiocy. ‘Seriously
overdone
meat, now I think about it, but certainly dead. Stupid mistake on my part. Don’t know what I was thinking.’ He looked hard at Monahan, watched the eyes move back to Anna.

    Less about lust this time. More an attempt to change the way the conversation was heading.

    ‘Isn’t it kind of annoying?’ Thorne asked. ‘Donna on the out while you’re still stuck in here, doing your GCSEs or whatever.’

    ‘Not thought about it,’ Monahan said.

    ‘I don’t think I believe you.’

    ‘Believe what you like.’

    ‘Not that you’ve done yourself a lot of favours, mind you. All that extra time getting whacked on to your sentence. Assaulting prison guards, trashing your cell . . .’

    ‘Why should you care?’

    ‘I couldn’t give a toss, but it’s not clever, is it?’

    ‘I get wound up.’

    ‘You must love that Seg Unit.’

    Monahan’s head dropped a little, one hand pulling at the fingers of the other. ‘Can’t do anything about it.’

    ‘What have you got, another seven or eight years, minimum?’

    A nod. His chin inching closer to his chest.

    Thorne was about to speak again when Anna cut in. ‘Sounds like it could get a whole lot longer if you’re not careful,’ she said. If she was aware of the hard look Thorne gave her, she chose to ignore it. ‘You need to sort yourself out.’

    Monahan raised his head, sniffed. After a few seconds he looked away from Anna, sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Cocksure again and waiting for them to get to whatever it was they had come such a long way to talk to him about.

    ‘There are ways to
reduce
your sentence,’ Thorne said. ‘Radical idea, I know.’

    Monahan smiled thinly, with just a hint of prison teeth. ‘Getting to it now, are we? What you actually want.’

    ‘What? We can’t just pop in to see how you are?’

    ‘Like I said, funny as cancer.’

    ‘It’s really no big thing,’ Thorne said. ‘Just a little help with a murder we’re trying to solve. Not even that,