MARK BILLINGHAM EPUB

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Mark Billingham Epub

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Muttered, 'Sod you, then,' when she turned away. He had hoped that, having seen him talking to himself, she might presume that he was making a hands-free call, but she clearly had him marked down as a ranting nutter.

Shouting at the radio was probably just another sign of growing older, Thorne thought. One of the many.

Up there on the list with losing a little hearing in his right ear and thinking that there was nothing worth watching on television any more. Wondering why teenagers thought it was cool to wear their trousers around their knees.

The song finished and the DJ cheerfully informed him which station he was tuned into. Up there with listening to Radio 2! Changes of opinion or temperament were inevitable of course, Thorne knew that, and on some days he might even admit that they were not necessarily a bad thing.

When change happened gradually, its slow accretion of shifts and triggers could go almost unnoticed, but Thorne was rarely comfortable with anything that was more sudden. However necessary it might be. Too many things in his life had changed recently, or were in the process of changing, and he was still finding it hard to cope with any of them. To adjust.

He pulled somewhat less than smoothly away from the lights, cursing as his foot slipped off the still unfamiliar accelerator pedal. The bloody car, for a start.

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He had finally traded in his beloved BMW CSi for a two-year-old 5 Series that was rather more reliable and for which he could at least obtain replacement parts when he needed them. The car had been the first and as yet only thing to go, but more major changes were imminent. His flat in Kentish Town had been on the market for a month, though he still had some repairs to do and downloaders seemed thin on the ground.

And, despite several weeks of quiet words and clandestine sniffing around, a suitable transfer to another squad had yet to become available.

Download: Thorne at Christmas by Mark Billingham (Tom Thorne #9.5 included)

Then there had been Louise ,,, All these less than comfortable shifts in Thorne's life, important as they might seem, were secondary to that. The car, the flat, the job. The flurry of changes had come about, had been decided upon, as a direct result of what had happened with Louise.

He and Louise Porter had finally parted company a couple of months before, after a relationship that had lasted just over two years. For half that time it had been better than either of them had expected; way better than most relationships between police officers, certainly.

Their Little Secret by Mark Billingham EPUB

But as a team they had not been strong enough to cope with the loss of a baby. Neither had been able to give the other the particular form of comfort they needed and, while the relationship had limped on for a while, they had suffered separately and paid heavily for it.

Louise had been understandably resentful that Thorne seemed more easily able to deal with the grief of strangers, while Thorne himself had struggled with guilt at not having been quite as devastated by the miscarriage as he thought he should have been. By the time that guilt had burned itself out and Thorne was able to admit just how much he had wanted to be a father, it was too late for both of them. They had become lovers by numbers, and in the end it had simply fizzled away.

It was Louise who finally plucked up the courage to say what needed saying, but Thorne had known for a while that the break had to come, before such feelings as were left between them darkened and became destructive.

They had both kept their own flats, which made the practicalities straightforward enough. Louise had taken away a bin-liner stuffed with clothes and cosmetics from Thorne's place in Kentish Town, while Thorne had left Louise's flat for the last time with a carrier bag, a few tins of beer and a box of CDs.

It had ended with a hug, but it might just as well have been a handshake. Loading his boxes and bags into the back of his car, Thorne had decided that it might be a good idea to change a whole lot of other things.

To start again ,,, He turned towards Finchley and almost immediately hit a tailback. No more than five miles now, but still half an hour or so away from Hendon, and Becke House.

The headquarters of the Area West Murder Squad. Thorne shook his head, but had listened anyway. Hendricks' opinion was the one he most valued professionally and the same thing usually applied when it came to his private life, because the pathologist was the nearest thing he had to a best friend. It's not necessary. It would be like me doing a post-mortem on some poor bugger who'd been shot twelve times in the head, then saying the fact he had hardened arteries and a slight heart condition might have had something to do with his death.

Just because you've split up with someone doesn't mean you have to change everything. I mean, car ,,, yes! The bloody thing was a death-trap and I'm not saying there's anything wrong with moving to a new flat either. We'll find you somewhere much nicer than that dump you're in now and I'll take you shopping for some decent furniture, but do you really need to be looking for a new job as well?

From The Dead Tom Thorne 9 Mark Billingham

Even though he still believed he was doing the right thing in looking for a new challenge, the thought of leaving Area West Homicide made him feel slightly sick.

The nature of the job and the politics of arse-covering meant that it was often hard to build up real trust between members of a team. Thorne had come to value the relationships he had with a number of those he worked with every day. Men and women he liked and respected. She had had more than her fair share of this a year or so before. Now, she had a child ,,, 'Your shop, but it ain't your country. Was he trying to protect her, or protect himself?

Either way, he was breathing heavily and when she turned she could see that he was eyeing up the door, wondering if he should make a dash for it. Trying to decide whether or not to make a move. Same as she was. He was grinning and opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped when he saw Mr Akhtar reach quickly below the counter and come up with a baseball bat.

One of the boys at the fridge whistled, mock-impressed, and said, 'Oh, look out. Helen took a step towards the end of the counter, but felt herself held back by the man next to her and could only watch as Mr Akhtar came charging from behind it, yelling and swinging the bat wildly.

Get out. They screamed threats and promised that they would be back and one of them shouted something about the place stinking of curry anyway.

When the last one was out on the pavement - still swearing threats and making obscene gestures - Mr Akhtar slammed the door. He fumbled in his pocket for keys and locked it, then stood with his head against the glass, breathing heavily.

Mark Billingham

Helen took a step towards him, asked if he was all right. Outside, one of the boys kicked at the window, then hawked up a gobbet of thick spittle on to the glass. It had just begun to dribble down past the ads for gardeners, guitar teachers and massage, when he was pulled away by his friends.

You know I'm a police officer, so ,,, ' Still with his back to the shop, Mr Akhtar nodded and began fumbling in his pocket a second time. Helen swallowed hard, tried to control the shaking in her leg and in her voice when she spoke. The curse sounded awkward in his mouth though, like something spoken by an actor who has over-rehearsed. Like a white lie.

He said the offending word again and Thorne slapped his hand against the steering wheel.

There's no bloody X in it ,,, ' Sitting in a long line of rush-hour traffic, crawling north towards lights on Haverstock Hill, Thorne glanced right and saw a woman staring across at him from behind the wheel of a sporty-looking Mercedes. He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Muttered, 'Sod you, then,' when she turned away. He had hoped that, having seen him talking to himself, she might presume that he was making a hands-free call, but she clearly had him marked down as a ranting nutter. Shouting at the radio was probably just another sign of growing older, Thorne thought. One of the many. Up there on the list with losing a little hearing in his right ear and thinking that there was nothing worth watching on television any more.

Wondering why teenagers thought it was cool to wear their trousers around their knees. The song finished and the DJ cheerfully informed him which station he was tuned into.

Up there with listening to Radio 2! Changes of opinion or temperament were inevitable of course, Thorne knew that, and on some days he might even admit that they were not necessarily a bad thing. When change happened gradually, its slow accretion of shifts and triggers could go almost unnoticed, but Thorne was rarely comfortable with anything that was more sudden.

However necessary it might be. Too many things in his life had changed recently, or were in the process of changing, and he was still finding it hard to cope with any of them. Start on. Show related SlideShares at end. WordPress Shortcode. Published in: Full Name Comment goes here.

Are you sure you want to Yes No. Be the first to like this. No Downloads. Views Total views. Actions Shares. Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide. A Tom Thorne Novel 1. Book details Title: Synopsis The Killing Habit: Read in your browser The Killing Habit: Read it on your site device, PC, phones or tablets Bestseller author of The Killing Habit:For half that time it had been better than either of them had expected; way better than most relationships between police officers, certainly.

It was a sentence.

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She tells him about Alison Willetts and he goes, "That's interesting because And this was a weird one: It was bravado, no more than that, she was almost certain. She looked round.

For bringing Thorne to the screen so brilliantly. Me and the girls are linking arms to belt out 'I Will Survive' and scare the shit out of every white-sock-wearing Camberwell Casanova in the club He held out Helen's change, but his eyes were on the three boys, and his voice was a little smaller than it had been a few seconds earlier.

She would try and eke it out; a chunk or two around eleven with a coffee, another after lunch and the rest as a treat at the end of the day.

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