Free The Tunnel Rats by Stephen Leather

his car in the BTP courtyard and walked up to the CID office, showing his warrant card to the security guard at the entrance. The guard was reading a first edition of the News of the World, his feet on the desk. He nodded a greeting at Wright and then went back to his paper.
    Wright went up to the first floor, but the CID office was deserted and the whiteboard had gone, so he took the stairs down to the incident room in the basement. He took off his coat and dropped it on the back of a chair, then went over to the whiteboard and stared at the photograph of the mutilated corpse for several minutes, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. Wright picked up a black marker pen and drew an ace of spades next to the photograph on the whiteboard, carefully shading it in. He stood back and admired his handiwork. The playing card was the key to solving the murder, he was sure of that.
    He tapped the pen on the palm of his hand as he nodded slowly. He smiled tightly, then stepped forward and began writing on the board in large capital letters. WHO? he wrote. WHEN?
    HOW? WHY? He circled the last word. Then he circled it again. And again.
    Superintendent Newton pushed open the door to the incident room. It was seven o'clock in the morning and he didn't expect to see anyone in before him, but to his surprise Nick Wright was sprawled in a chair, his head slumped down on his chest. He was wearing a pale green cotton shirt rolled up to the elbows and khaki Chinos, and scuffed, dirty Nike training shoes. Newton frowned and his pale lips tightened into a straight line. It was most definitely not the standard of clothing he expected to see his plainclothes operatives wearing. Newton walked over to Wright and stood looking down at him. Wright continued to snore quietly. A thin dribble of saliva had run down his chin and plopped on to his shirt. Newton clasped his briefcase to his chest and coughed. Wright shifted his legs. On Wright's desk was an opened can of Coke and a plastic-wrapped sandwich. The superintendent realised that Wright must have spent the night in the office. He coughed again, louder this time. When Wright still didn't react, Newton gently kicked his leg.
    Wright opened his eyes sleepily. 'Huh?' he said, trying to focus. 'What?'
    'What are you playing at, Nick?' asked Newton.
    Wright sprang to his feet. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and grinned shamefacedly. 'Sir? Sorry. I was, er . . .' He swallowed and realised there was saliva on his chin. His hand flew up ^o cover his embarrassment and he wiped away the mess.
    'Have you been here all night?' Newton asked.
    Wright wiped his hand on his trousers. 'I must have fallen asleep,' he said. He picked up his can of Coke and drank, swilling the cola around his mouth before swallowing. 'Sorry,' he said. 'My mouth felt like something died in it.'
    'When I said that you should move out of Tommy's place, I didn't mean to suggest that you should take up residence here,' said Newton dryly.
    'Oh no, I wasn't--' began Wright, but he stopped short as he realised that the superintendent was joking. 'I'll go home and change,' he said.
    Newton looked at Wright through narrowed eyes. 'Are you okay, Nick?' he asked.
    'Yeah, really. I fell asleep, that's all.'
    Newton nodded at the whiteboard covered with Wright's doodles. 'The tunnel case?'
    Wright put down his can of Coke. 'I was going through the PNC, checking missing persons.'
    Newton waved for Wright to sit down. Wright dropped down into his chair and Newton perched on the edge of his desk, his briefcase still in his arms. 'How far have you got?' he asked.
    'Based on what little we've got, the PNC computer's generated some two hundred-odd possibilities,' said Wright.
    'That seems a lot,' said Newton.
    'That's the number of men aged between forty-two and fifty-eight who've been reported missing and who haven't been accounted for yet,' said Wright.
    'Nationwide?' asked Newton.
    'Except Northern Ireland,' said Wright, picking up a