Читать книгу The Silence - Joss Stirling - Страница 25

‘I’ve been reading your file, Jonah, and it says that you’ve had anger management issues for years, ever since you were young, in fact. The first serious incident came when you were nine. Is that right?’

The way the inspector said it made it sound so tidy. Anger management. Turn left in the brain past accounts and record keeping. Jonah shrugged. ‘Can I smoke?’

‘Not allowed anymore,’ said the female detective. ‘Public building.’

‘Yeah, and we can’t have the boys and girls in blue dying of lung cancer thanks to all these chain-smoking criminals.’ He twiddled his thumbs instead on his lap, so hopefully they wouldn’t see his nervous gesture.

‘So you view yourself as a criminal?’ The inspector swooped in on his use of the English language.

‘Reformed. But not yet kicked the habit of Mr Benson and Mr Hedges. Sorry, I can’t remember your names.’

‘DI Khan and DS Foley,’ said Ms Foley.

‘Like in foley artist? The guys who do the backing sound for films?’

‘Sorry, not following.’

‘Sergeant, we’re getting off the point.’ The inspector looked at his watch. They’d been at this for hours and they were all a little punch drunk with tiredness. Khan looked scruffier than ever. Maybe he did undercover work? No, too senior. He was just a mess. Let’s just end this, thought Jonah.

‘Of course, sir,’ said the sergeant.

Jonah waited until she looked back at him. ‘Next time you go to a film, stay for the credits. You’ll see foley artists somewhere in the sound section. Cool job.’ He sounded calm enough but inside he was crawling with unease. Strung-out. Desperate. Serious tobacco withdrawal.

‘Jonah,’ said the inspector sternly, ‘you were telling us about your anger management issues.’

‘Were we?’ He gazed up at a cracked ceiling tile. Christ, he wanted to punch something. He could feel it building … building … He had to get out.

‘Issues arising, it says here, from an abusive upbringing.’

‘No!’ Jonah slammed his forehead on the edge of the table. Blood streamed from a cut. ‘Don’t …’

‘Jonah!’

‘Talk …’

‘Stop – you’ll hurt …’

‘About …’

‘Call for a medic.’

‘That.’ With the last hit he slumped on the table, head buried in his arms. He wanted out.