Cages by David Mark (reading fiction TXT) 📗

of the angels or the demons. In the elegant Renaissance courtyard, surrounded by Classical statues and figures from antiquity, within sight of the place where a killer was created and taken apart, he wonders, briefly, upon notions of heaven, and the certainty of hell. Decides, on balance, it’s all still to play for.

‘Shall we?’ asks Daniells, gesturing at the path that leads up to the big front doors. ‘She’ll be going spare.’

The ‘she’ in question is the head of CID. She’s outmuscled the cowering suits from the National Crime Agency. Her team’s in charge now, and they’re going through the big house one room at a time. It will take an age, but Neilsen is looking forward to it. There will be a sense of peace in following instructions. In being dogged and dutiful and thorough. He’ll relax. He’ll lose himself in the task. He might even stop thinking about what Bob Roberts had said to him as he was leaving.

You should tell her, too, he’d said. She cared as much as we did. Would do anything to get justice for Bronwen. For us. She’s quit the charity now, like, but I’ve got her number. Annabeth. She’s a lovely girl. Best of all of us. Swore to God she’d get her back, whatever it took.

Neilsen puts the thought to the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to look at it closely. Doesn’t want to think about the deal he’s made with himself.

They set off towards the house. It seems to Ben that the sun shines brighter with every step.