Blood Falls by Tom Bale Page A

his head. Then Glenn started up; Leon silenced him with a raised hand, and cut into the toilet just off the hall. Turned out the need to vomit had only been postponed.
    After throwing up, he rinsed his mouth with cold water. Splashedhis face. Pam brought the box of Maxalt and a glass. He popped a 10mg tablet from its blister pack, told it to work fast or else.
    That was one pain confronted. Now for the other.
    ‘Fuck were you playing at?’
    ‘I thought you’d want to know.’
    ‘Yeah, but how could I answer with Giles practically parked in my lap? Engage your fucking brain in future.’
    ‘Sorry, Leon.’ With a morose sigh, Glenn followed Leon across the wide hall, the sound of their footsteps on the stone floor jarring Leon’s brain. He glanced in one of the living rooms and spotted Kestle, pimply and ginger, glued to his Nintendo DS.
    ‘Why aren’t you in Truro?’
    Kestle, panicked, said: ‘That’s Marc’s route today. I just got off my shift.’
    ‘Yeah? Well, rustle up some drinks, would you? I’ll have my usual, and get Pam to do me a cheese sandwich and some crisps. Lots of crisps.’
    ‘Didn’t they have a spread laid on at the council?’ Glenn asked.
    ‘Only some finger food. Vol-au-vents and shit like that.’ Leon snorted. ‘Still, paid for by our taxes, so I’d have been pissed off if it had been caviar and steak.’
    ‘I bet they keep that back for themselves,’ Glenn said darkly.
    ‘Yeah. Whatever.’ Leon didn’t rise to it; he knew Glenn was sucking up to him. ‘Makes no difference, seeing as how I just dumped most of it down the bog.’
    Although there was a small private study upstairs, Leon’s main office was on the ground floor: a vast room that contained a desk, a couple of sofas and a conference table spacious enough for a dozen people.
    Derek Cadwell was sitting on one of the sofas like a lumbering white zombie, a cup and saucer balanced primly on his knee. Clive Fenton was behind the desk, a stack of paperwork under one elbow, two laptops up and running in front of him. Fenton was another bigman, not as tall or freaky as Cadwell but massively overweight. Hair like a baby duckling’s, teased and brushed to look thicker than it was.
    Fenton was Leon’s right-hand man – although Glenn, in his own head, probably thought he occupied that position. But Fenton had real brains, as well as solid experience in the world of law and accountancy. Proper legitimate skills and a great head for figures, albeit not as good as Leon himself. Nobody could touch Leon on arithmetic.
    Both men greeted him warmly. Both spotted that something was wrong.
    ‘Migraine coming on,’ he said.
    ‘Maybe you should have a lie down,’ Glenn suggested.
    Leon took a chair at the conference table. ‘In a minute. First I want to hear exactly what we’ve got going on.’ He saw Glenn opening his mouth, so he said, ‘You first, Derek.’
    As it turned out, neither of them had much new information. Leon wasn’t happy to hear that.
    Kestle came in with tea and coffee, plus cranberry juice for Leon, who didn’t care for hot drinks. He took a careful sip, his stomach lurching and queasy and yet craving food, as often seemed to happen with the migraines.
    ‘I wanna know more about this Joe Carter,’ he said, stabbing a finger at Glenn. ‘You think Diana’s holding back on you?’
    Glenn shrugged, his cheeks bright red. ‘I bloody hope not—’
    ‘Me neither. So find out. I don’t expect you to slap her around, but you can get more than this. Tell her to search his room, or you do it. I want to know what’s in his wallet, what’s on his phone. Gotta be something there.’
    Glenn nodded, but without much enthusiasm. Pam delivered his sandwich and a selection of crisps: salt-and-vinegar, cheese-and-onion, as well as Quavers, his favourite. Leon grabbed a bag, tore it open and inhaled the contents.
    ‘So what about this damn girl?’ Cadwell said. ‘I can’t go on like this, soaking up the heat on