From the Dead by Mark Billingham

slope of an uneven floor. Dried, it looked almost black against the dark orange linoleum. ‘Where’s Officer Cook?’ he asked.
    Murray moved to the door. ‘He was sent home and given a day’s trauma leave,’ she said. ‘Standard practice after a Code Black incident.’
    Thorne turned and walked back on to the landing.
    Holland caught his eye and nodded towards the CCTV camera mounted high on the opposite wall. ‘Should give us a bird’s-eye view,’ he said.
    Thorne looked at Boyle. ‘I presume you’ve checked the footage to see if anyone else went in there before Jez Grover?’
    Boyle shrugged, satisfied that he knew something Thorne did not.
    â€˜The camera was not in operation,’ Murray said. ‘That wasn’t established until the early hours of this morning.’
    â€˜Meaning it was broken or had been switched off?’
    â€˜No idea.’
    â€˜That’s handy,’ Holland said.
    Thorne nodded, thinking. ‘Murder weapon?’
    Boyle shook his head. ‘Turned the place upside down,’ he said. ‘Gave Grover a full body search an’ all, just to be on the safe side, but no sign of it. Sharpened toothbrush, something like that, be easy enough to hide it where the sun don’t shine.’
    Holland winced. ‘I don’t suppose there were any other prisoners walking about covered in blood?’
    â€˜Not that we could find.’
    â€˜We’d best have a word with Mr Grover then,’ Thorne said.
    Murray said she would arrange to have Jeremy Grover taken down to the Visits Area. ‘All visits have been cancelled,’ she said. ‘So you can pick a room out over there.’
    Thorne said that would be fine and he and Holland followed Murray down the landing. Those inside many of the cells they passed made it very clear what they thought of her. If she was upset by the vileness of the language or the suggestions, she did not show it.
    As they walked down the stairs, Boyle caught up with Thorne. ‘We’ve already had a pop at Grover,’ he said. ‘But if you think you can do any better . . .’
    â€˜Looks like I’d best get my slippers on,’ Thorne said.
    â€˜Cheeky bastard.’
    Thorne kept walking and did not stop smiling, but he made sure Boyle got a good look at his eyes and said, ‘Why don’t you piss off home and walk your whippet?’
    Â 
    It was the same room in which Thorne and Anna Carpenter had interviewed the man who had since become a murder victim. When Jeremy Grover was escorted in by a prison officer, he looked no more happy to be there than Paul Monahan had been.
    â€˜For Christ’s sake, I’ve been through this already.’
    Was no more happy . . .
    Grover was taller and skinnier than the average armed robber, but his eyes were dead enough. There were flecks of ginger in the neatly trimmed goatee and a little grey in the curly brown hair. He was the same age as Thorne or thereabouts, but he looked lithe and wiry in regulation jeans and striped shirt. Thorne marked him down straight away as the sort who worked out not because he wanted to display himself, but because he enjoyed being fit. The sort who felt the need to stay keen and ready.
    He looked past Thorne and Holland, who were seated at the table, towards Andy Boyle, who was leaning against the wall behind them. ‘Any chance of getting my trainers back?’
    Boyle said nothing, looking as though he could not bear to expend any more energy than was necessary to chew his gum.
    â€˜That’s a “no” then, is it?’
    Grover’s bloodstained clothes had been taken and sent to the Forensic Science Service laboratory for testing. Nobody was expecting anything other than confirmation that the blood and scraps of stomach tissue belonged to Paul Monahan. Grover could not deny that he had been covered in it.
    â€˜Those look all right,’ Holland said. He nodded towards