Free The Torment of Others by Val McDermid

Jordan’s the best guvnor I ever worked for.’
‘I thought so once too. But now…?’ Paula swigged the rest of her drink. ‘Let’s see if you’re saying that in six months’ time. So what do you make of the newbies?’
‘Early days.’ Merrick shrugged. ‘That Stacey knows her way round the machines, that’s for sure.’
‘I keep catching myself wondering if she is a machine,’ Paula giggled. ‘She’s not one of the girls, that’s for sure. I keep trying to get her talking, but she’s definitely not one for idle chit-chat.’
Merrick grinned. ‘Yeah, somehow I can’t see her gossiping about men and make-up in the toilets. But she’s quick enough to weigh in when somebody needs a bit of help with the computers.’
‘What about Sam? What’s your take on him?’ Paula asked.
‘Seems all right. He doesn’t have much to say for himself.’
‘I’m not sure about him. There’s something a bit creepy there,’ Paula confided. ‘One of my mates used to work with him over at Downton, and she said he was slimy. Never said much, but never missed a chance to put one over on everybody else. And always incredibly well informed about what everybody else was up to. Apparently, he likes to look good to the bosses, does our Sam.’
‘Well, we all like to make a good impression,’ Merrick said.
‘Yeah, but not necessarily at the expense of our colleagues. Oh, and she said he was never at ease with her or the other women on the squad. She thought he was a bit of a secret sexist.’
Merrick laughed. ‘Paula, these days we’re only allowed to be sexist in secret or else you and the sisters come down on us like a ton of bricks.’
She punched him affectionately on the arm. ‘You know what I mean.’ She contemplated her empty bottle. ‘You ready for another?’
‘I should be getting home,’ Merrick said reluctantly.
Paula got to her feet, grinning. ‘That’ll be another brown ale, then?’
He knows these streets like the inside of his pocket. He’s walked them, worked them since he was a kid. He knows the faces, he knows the places where certain people can be found at particular times of the day and night. He never thought anything of it before, it was just the way the world turned. But the Voice has made him understand that knowledge is power, that what he knows makes him king of the streets .
He shambles along in his usual fashion, trying his very best to look like he would on any other night. He does a bit of business, just to cover himself, just to make it look like any other night. The Voice said he should do that. So that when the questions come, people will place him in the usual haunts, doing the usual things .
But soon it’s time. He knows where to find her. It’s where she always is between punters. He clears his throat and walks up to her. He tells her what he wants. She looks amused, as if she can’t quite believe it’s him asking for it. ‘No discounts for mates, mind,’ she says. He blushes and squirms. It makes him uncomfortable that she calls him a mate. Because what he’s about to do to her is nothing like the things that mates do to each other, no way. But she doesn’t see what’s in his mind. She sees what she expects to see: a punter who feels awkward because he’s a fish out of water .
He tells her he wants to go back to her room. He knew about the room even before the Voice. He knows much more about what goes on round here than anybody gives him credit for. He follows her round the corner into the ginnel where her room is, giving a quick glance over his shoulder. Nobody is paying any attention. Even if they wanted to, it’s too dark round here; the dealers smash the streetlights so often the council’s given up replacing them. And even if they had eyes like a cat, they’d assume it was him working, not getting her to work for him .
Up the stairs she goes, her arse tight in her short skirt. It’s amazing, but he feels himself getting hard at the sight of it. He’s seen these