Death's Cold Hand by J.E. Mayhew (kiss me liar novel english txt) 📗

back out and come in sensibly. Barely a word was said but they knew the drill. They’d all lined up outside the classroom and come in quietly. There was some argument between Pavel and Dominick about who sat where but Mr Lowry’s brow furrowed slightly, and the two boys settled their differences quickly enough.

Harley had really enjoyed the first part of the lesson, Mr Lowry had told them the story of Arch-Duke Franz Ferdinand getting blown up and made a joke about a pop group who had the same name but nobody had heard of them so it didn’t work. He’d made this kind of chain puzzle that linked the events to the start of the First World War.

“It’s a bit like gangs, isn’t it, sir?” Harley said.

Mr Lowry folded his arms and leaned on the desk, looking quizzically at him. “How do you mean, Harley?”

“Well, like, if my lads said they’d watch out for Dominick’s chair and then Pavel took it, so we waded in…”

“I’d give you a fat lip, you skinny whelp!” Pavel always came up with these weird insults.

“He’s just using you as an example, Pavel…”

“I’ll make an example of him, sir.”

“And if you do, I’ll have to refer you to the Remove Room, won’t I?”

“That’s escalation, sir,” Harley said, breaking the tension.

“Brilliant, Harley. It is. One comment led to a threat which led to an intervention. Not quite how the First World war got started but a good demonstration of how things get out of hand. It could have got nasty but you’re both civilised gentlemen, right?”

Harley grinned and Pavel pulled a face that made everyone laugh. For the first time since Harley had seen the old man knocked down, he felt okay. Until Dominic spoke up. “Is that one of your lads out there, Harley?”

Mr Lowry’s room looked out onto the front of the school and there was Price, hanging around the perimeter fence.

“Is that Bobby Price?” Mr Lowry said, squinting through the dirty window.

“Yes, sir,” someone said. “He’s waiting for Harley.”

“No he isn’t. Shut up,” Harley snapped, slumping down in his chair.

“Someone told me he’s after Harley,” a girl at the back said in a quiet voice.

Harley turned round in his chair. “He’s after your ma, you stupid cow.”

“Okay, Harley, steady now,” Mr Lowry said. “Let’s not spoil things. I’ll ring the office and see if a member of staff is free to go and have a word with Bobby. A lad his age shouldn’t be hanging around the school gates.”

Mr Lowry disappeared through the door that led into the faculty office and the phone. Dominic leaned back in his chair and whispered to the girl who had shouted out before. “Bobby killed that guy; you know, the soldier on the war memorial on Port Sunlight. He’s a psycho…”

“Who told you that?” Harley said, scowling at Dominic.

“Everyone knows. Is it true?”

Harley groaned. Bloody Alfie Lewis had been blabbering about it. “No. It isn’t. Bobby’s probably heard that you’ve been spreading rumours about him and has come to do you in.”

“Do you in more like,” Pavel said. “I heard you grassed him up.”

“Cheeky bastard!” Harley yelled and launched himself across the classroom, grabbing Pavel by the throat.

Mr Lowry appeared at the door. “Woah! What’s going on here?”

But Harley couldn’t hear him. All he could see was Pavel’s jeering face. “He’s gonna fuck you up, Harley boy! You dirty grass!”

Harley brought his fist down on Pavel’s face and heard a satisfying crunch as blood spurted from the boy’s nose. Then he felt himself being dragged back. It was worth the pain in his knuckles just to see the smug grin wiped off Pavel’s face for once. Somewhere Mr Lowry’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, telling him that he needed to get to the Remove Room, but Harley wasn’t going to stay there, waiting until the end of the day for Bobby to get him. Without looking back, Harley ran for the door.

Chapter 13

Finding Nicola Norton wasn’t difficult. A simple Google search brought DS Vikki Chinn to the psychologist’s website. It was an impressive advertisement for her services; sleek and professional. Nicola’s pretty, smiling face dominated the home page, her long, golden hair spilling over the shoulders of a well-tailored suit. It seemed to Vikki that Nicola Norton put a lot of store in her looks as her image was all over the website, sometimes listening earnestly, sometimes laughing with a client, there were even some pictures of her doing yoga poses.

One photo showed her in khaki fatigues, looking very young, the caption below it briefly outlined her time in the Royal Army Medical Corps, although there were no dates given. She claimed to have worked for a number of forces charities, specialising in PTSD and had been an expert witness in several court cases as well as ‘advising Merseyside Police Service as a psychological profiler.’

“Ooh, she’s pretty,” said a voice at Vikki’s shoulder. It was Madge the receptionist, holding a plate of biscuits. “She obviously looks after herself.”

“Can I help you, Madge?” Vikki said, minimising the screen.

“Is Andrew about? I’ve got some biscuits for him,” Madge said, scanning the room. Her dangly earrings clanked as she turned her head. Madge was one of two civilian employees who worked on the main reception. Both looked the same, with their dyed blonde hair and love of dangly earrings and they dressed identically. It didn’t help that the other one was called Marge. Both also had a mission to feed Andrew biscuits until he exploded. Whenever a meeting ended and there were a few biscuits left on a plate, Madge or Marge would make sure they were squirreled away and sent up to Kinnear.

“He’s out, Madge,” Vikki said. “I’ll put them on his desk for you if you want. You know he’s on a diet, right?”

Madge’s wrinkly face creased into a look of disbelief. “A young man like that? On a diet. I don’t think so love. Here, make sure he gets them. There’s a