Animal Instinct Read Online Free Page A

us?” commented Nuttall. “Anyway, I'll bring you up to speed as things progress.” He turned his beer can upside down. “It must be the heat. I fancy another beer if there's any left. How about you?”
    “Why not,” said Massey. They re-joined the party to the sound of Robbie Williams and ‘Angel’. Massey appeared deep in thought, still mulling over John Nuttall's report. Helen shot him a glance, which forced him to suppress any more reflection on the developing murder inquiry. This was not the moment to antagonise his wife further.
    *****
    The dying embers of the barbecue were still smouldering as Massey cleared away the last of the food debris and carried the remaining plates through to the kitchen. The sun had set, the air temperature had cooled considerably and all the guests had departed except Chris Turner who was helping his sister with tidying the kitchen.
    “Anyone fancy a coffee?” he cried out as his colleague headed for the lounge.
    Massey closed the patio doors, collected some empty beer cans from the floor and joined his wife and brother-in-law in the warmth of the kitchen. “Good idea,” he replied. “How about a Cognac to help it down?”
    “Do you two never give up?” asked Helen.
    “I'll pour three out in the lounge,” said Massey. “Bring the coffee through and let's call it a day.”
    A few minutes later, they were relaxing together with their drinks, enjoying a peaceful end to an exhausting day. Helen curled up on the settee. The two detectives sprawled in the matching easy chairs.
    “If you had raped a young girl, why would you take the trouble to wrap her in bin-liners and carry her to the municipal landfill site…?” asked Massey, as though he was merely thinking aloud. “.…unless it would incriminate the culprit for the body not to be distanced from the scene of crime.”
    “You've been distracted by this case all weekend,” remarked Helen.
    “What did the ‘Nutter’ have to say?” asked Turner, referring to John Nuttall.
    “There's still more to come from forensics. He reckoned that she more than likely died from suffocation. He also said that she was pregnant.”
    “Poor child,” said Helen. “About how old was she?”
    “Late teens, no older,” replied her brother. He turned to Massey. “You said that she was raped. Is that a fact?”
    “It's a possibility. There was evidence of sexual activity before she died.”
    “Maybe she was involved with one of those sex games which went tragically wrong,” suggested Helen.
    “Oh yes!” said Turner. “And what sex games are those, then?”
    His sister blushed. “You know what I mean. You read about them in the newspapers…people with fetishes and strange sexual predilections.”
    “Hardly the norm here in Cheshire,” retorted her brother. “Here, it's more wham, bam, thank you ma'am.”
    They laughed together, engaged in more small talk and gradually wound down towards a good night's sleep. Turner decided to stay over in the spare room.
    *****
    The role of pub landlord was somewhat diverse at the best of times. The licence holder of the Barleycorn required additional strings for his over-worked bow. Its location in the town had cast it into the melting pot of overspill overkill. Three quarters of the surrounding area had welcomed several years flow of migrants from Merseyside who had, over time, integrated with the local indigenous population. The remaining stages of urban development had been mindlessly allotted to a comparative handful of Mancunians. As there was always rivalry between the two North West conurbations, it was scathingly rumoured that the original town planners were fond of cock fighting.
    The choice of suitable publican as genial host for a potential ‘O.K. Corral’ had to be a cross between John Wayne, Henry Kissinger and Mother Theresa. From humble beginnings in County Sligo, young Sean O'malley had matured into that intoxicating mix of grit, diplomacy and compassion, a combination, which