Stray Souls by Kate Griffin

Author:Kate Griffin [Griffin, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Action & Adventure, Occult & Supernatural
ISBN: 9780316187268
Google: bG-GtgAACAAJ
Amazon: B00FY59GK6
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2012-10-29T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 57

If at First You Don’t Succeed…

A moment to consider the fate of Constable Hurst.

A fairly affable policeman by the standards of the area, he was one of the few local bobbies who believed, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, that good policing really did begin with the community. He gave directions to lost visitors, helped old ladies struggling with their shopping, was always firm but polite to the young vandals loitering outside Burger King and, whenever pursing a criminal in the execution of nefarious deeds, always attempted to maintain a calm composure and polite language when nicking the arsehole.

It was therefore unfortunate that he, that day, happened to be the first policeman to arrive at the scene of what had been Edna’s Tanning and Beauty Salon in Tooting, in time to find the pavements thronging with a mixture of horrified and gleefully fascinated onlookers, traffic piled up, cars swerved and, to cap it all off, a bus rammed through the front windows of the now shattered temple. Quite how the bus had achieved this was a mystery, since no one remembered seeing a driver either behind the wheel or leaving the vehicle after the event. But this was surely a question that CID would answer, whereas a junior officer like himself was merely there to keep things under control.

“Is anyone in there?” he demanded of the assembled crowd. “Is anyone left inside the building?”

The crowd responded with shrugs and grunts. Then the owner of the jewellery shop across the street stepped forward with a cry of, “I think I saw a man go inside and…” But he hesitated. His mouth had wanted to say, “and some builders.” However, as he thought it over and tried to pin down the memory of four figures clad in fluorescent jackets, he drew a blank. It wasn’t that he lacked some kind of recollection, but rather as if his thoughts slid over the memory like spilt liquid over marble. His eyes had seen, but his brain had failed to perceive.

“… I think I saw some people come out,” he concluded.

“All of them?”

“I don’t know.”

Constable Hurst puffed in frustration, gestured at the crowd to stay back and, with a cry of “I’m going in!”, plunged through the torn-up window. He hopped over twisted metal and a shattered sink, and edged along the side of the bus, rapping against the still-hot metal and calling out, “Anyone here? Anyone alive?” He felt a mixture of foolishness and immense professional pride as he went, before the sheered edge of a wheel of the bus caught his trouser leg and tore a great ragged slice out of his best uniform from the ankle to the knee. He swore, reaching down to inspect the damage, and as he did felt something move by his ear. His head snapped up, breath drawn in sharply, torn trousers forgotten and for a moment thought he’d seen…

… but no.

The idea was absurd.

What would a builder, bum hanging out of his

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