Free Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) by Max Hardy Page A

at its source.’ Saul snarled.
    ‘That’s just fucking life John, get used to it.  It won’t bring any of them back.  Not Sarah, not Michael, not Jessica.  It won’t get us any closer to finding out why.  And most importantly it won’t stop Jacob’s pain, every time he has a fit.  But Adam managed to stop him having fits and managed to stop the pain.’  Rebecca screamed, still scrabbling ineffectually at his arms.
    Two hundred metres, ninety miles an hour: Adam still not even blinking as he stared at Saul.
    Saul slammed a foot down on the brakes, the wheels locking instantly, a plume of ravaged rubber billowing out into the air behind the car as it swerved from side to side.  Saul battled with the wheel, wavering left to right, his whole body pushed back into the driver’s seat, rigid.  His glare was still filled with fury, his eyes not leaving the unmoving figure of Adam quickly approaching.
    Fifty metres away and the car is still doing forty miles an hour.
    ‘He’s not moving John.  Drive around him!’  Rebecca shouted, her own body tense and forced back into the passenger seat. 
    ‘I’m stopping, but I’m not swerving.  If he doesn’t move, then that’s his choice.  It’s down to chance then, just the way he likes it.’  Saul simmered as he reached down and forcibly pulled the handbrake on, anticipating the slight skid and steering into it, keeping the vehicle straight, heading directly at Adam.
    Twenty metres, twenty miles an hour.
    Adam raised his arms from the side of his body and crossed them over his chest calmly, his head tilting slightly as he smiled toward Saul, a sardonic lilt to the curve of the lips.
    Saul glared back, his hands held firm on the steering wheel, holding the line straight, feeling the speed ebb from the vehicle, watching the distance between himself and Adam decrease, enraged by the humour in the whites of his eyes.
    Zero metres, zero miles an hour.

 
    Chapter 9
    The flickering strip light of the ‘Police’ sign hanging above the entrance to the Edinburgh station cast dancing shadows off the officers leaving the building under the rising full moon.  Strange looked up to the moon, contemplative, after he bade goodnight to his colleagues, waiting patiently for Cruickshank to finish talking to the Duty Sergeant.
    ‘Anything Bob, anything at all, just call!’  Cruickshank shouted, one last order as she too left the building, and joined Strange on the step, following his eyes to the brilliant ball of whiteness hanging low in the evening sky, observing his thoughtful gaze.  ‘These lingering silences as you stare longingly into the distance are really disconcerting.  Is it an investigative technique they teach you down in Northumberland?  Saul was the same.  If you have something on your mind, just spit it out!’ 
    ‘It’s called reflection Gaynor.  Something any half decent detective should always do to ensure they have thought through every possibility and considered every single angle.’ Strange answered, smiling ruefully at her. 
    ‘Stick to facts, and you invariably get to the same place in my experience.’ she countered brusquely.  ‘Do you need a lift to your hotel?’
    ‘I haven’t had a chance to book one yet, I’ll just have a reflective stroll into town and grab the first one I come across.’  Strange responded, his words deliberately provocative.
    ‘Any half decent detective would have thought of the practicalities and ensured he had a bed for the night before a long shift: unless he was being presumptuous of course.’  Cruickshank answered, a teasing tone entering her voice.
    ‘How could any man even begin to be presumptuous with a fierce and forthright lady such as yourself?  However, I do have an unopened bottle of Morgan’s in my bag.  If you could spare a bed for the night, we could discuss the case over a wee dram or two?’ Strange countered, playfully.
    ‘Only if you fuck me afterwards.’ Cruickshank stated bluntly