The first corpse was found hooded, bound, and naked, kneeling ona bare mattress in a seedy hotel room. This was no ordinary murder but rather the work of a killer driven by something special, somethingspectacular. The fact that the dead man was a convicted rapist recently released from prison only increases the bizarre nature of the gruesome crime ... and the police's reluctance to apprehend the perpetrator. It's the body count that troubles Detective Inspector Tom Thorne, as brutal slaying follows brutal slaying, each victim more deserving than the last. Though he has no sympathy for the dead, Thorne knows he must put an end to a cruelly calculating vigilante's bloody justice before time runs out -- and a horrifically efficient serial killer targets a life worth fighting for.
Lazybones
By Billingham, MarkAvon Books
ISBN: 006056086XChapter One
The look was slightly spoiled by the training shoes.
The man with the mullet haircut and the sweaty top lip was wearing asmart blue suit, doubtless acquired for the occasion, but he'd let himselfdown with the bright white Nike Airs. They squeaked on the gymnasiumfloor as his feet shifted nervously underneath the table.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really, really, sorry."
An elderly couple sat at the table opposite him. The man's back wasramrod straight, his milky blue eyes never leaving those of the man in thesuit. The old woman next to the old man clutched at his hand. Her eyes,unlike those of her husband, looked anywhere but at those of the youngman who, the last time he'd been this close to them, had been tying themup in their own home.
The trembling was starting around the center of Darren Ellis's meticulouslyshaved chin. His voice wobbled a little. "If there was anything Icould do to make it up to you, I would," he said.
"There isn't," the old man said.
"I can't take back what I did, but I do know how wrong it was. I knowwhat I put you through."
The old woman began to cry.
"How can you?" her husband said.
Darren Ellis began to cry.
In the last row of seats, his back against the gym wall-bars, sat a solidlookingman in a black leather jacket, forty or so, with dark eyes and hairthat was grayer on one side than the other. He looked uncomfortable and alittle confused. He turned to the man sitting next to him.
"This. Is. Bullshit," Thorne said.
DCI Russell Brigstocke glared at him. There was a shush from a redhairedgrunt type a couple of rows in front. One of Ellis's supporters, bythe look of him.
"Bullshit," Thorne repeated.
The gymnasium at the Peel Centre would normally be full of eagerrecruits at this unearthly time on a Monday morning. It was, however, thelargest space available for this "Restorative Justice Conference," so theraw young constables were doing their press-ups and star jumps elsewhere.The floor of the gym had been covered with a green tarpaulin andfifty or so seats had been laid out. They were filled with supporters of bothoffender and victims, together with invited officers who, it was thought,would appreciate the opportunity to be brought up to speed with this latestinitiative.
Becke House, where Thorne and Brigstocke were based, was part ofthe same complex. Half an hour earlier, on the five-minute walk across tothe gym, Thorne had moaned without drawing breath.
"If it's an invitation, how come I'm not allowed to turn it down?"
"Shut up," Brigstocke said. They were late and he was walking quickly,trying not to spill hot coffee from a polystyrene cup that was all but melting.Thorne lagged a step or two behind.
"Shit, I've forgotten the bit of paper, maybe they won't let me in."Brigstocke scowled, unamused.
"What if I'm not smart enough? There might be a dress code ... "
"I'm not listening, Tom ... "
Thorne shook his head, flicked out his foot at a stone like a sulkyschoolboy. "I'm just trying to get it straight. This piece of pond life ties anold couple up with electrical tape, gives the old man a kick or two for goodmeasure, breaking ... how many ribs?"
"Three ... "
"Three. Thanks. He pisses on their carpet, fucks off with their life savings,and now we're rushing across to see how sorry he is?""It's just a trial. They've been using RJCs in Australia and the results have been pretty bloody good. Reoffending rates have gone rightdown ... "
"So, basically, they sit everybody down presentence, and if they allagree that the guilty party is really feeling guilty, he gets to do a bit lesstime. That it?"
Brigstocke took a last, scalding slurp and dumped the half-full cup in abin. "It's not quite that simple."
A week and a bit into a steaming June, but the day was still too new tohave warmed up yet. Thorne shoved his hands deeper into the pockets ofhis leather jacket.
"No, but whoever thought it up is."
In the gym, the audience watched as Darren Ellis moved balled-upfists from in front of his face to reveal moist, red eyes. Thorne lookedaround at those watching. Some looked sad and shook their heads. One ortwo were taking notes. In the front row, members of Ellis's legal teampassed pieces of paper between them.
"If I said that I felt like a victim, would you laugh?" Darren asked.
The old man looked calmly at him for fifteen seconds or more beforeanswering flatly. "I'd want to knock your teeth out.""Things aren't always that clear-cut," Darren said.The old man leaned across the table. The skin was tight around hismouth. "I'll tell you what's clear-cut." His eyes flicked toward his wife ashe spoke. "She hasn't slept since the night you came into our house. Shewets the bed most of the time." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She's gotso bloody thin ... "
Something between a gulp and a gasp echoed around the gymnasiumas Darren dropped his head into his hands and gave full vent to his emotions.A lawyer got to his feet. A senior detective stood up and startedwalking toward the table. It was time to take a break.
Thorne leaned across and whispered loudly to Brigstocke. "He's verygood. What drama school did he go to?" This time, several of the faces thatturned to look daggers at him belonged to senior officers ...
Continues...Excerpted from Lazybonesby Billingham, Mark Excerpted by permission.
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