From the Dead by Mark Billingham Page A

the shiny white training shoes with which Grover had been issued. Grover glanced down at them then looked back at Holland as though he were something stuck to the bottom of one.
    â€˜So, you got your Boy Scout first-aid badge, did you?’ Thorne asked.
    â€˜Come again?’
    â€˜Or maybe you just saw it on Casualty . Either way, very heroic – trying to save your friend’s life.’
    â€˜You don’t think about it, you know? You just do whatever you can.’
    â€˜You didn’t think about alerting a prison officer? I mean, they’re probably trained for it, right?’
    â€˜Like I said—’
    â€˜Oh, I forgot,’ Thorne said. ‘One came along pretty quickly anyway, didn’t he?’
    â€˜Bit of luck,’ Holland said.
    â€˜So, here’s our problem,’ Thorne said. ‘And I’m sure it’s the same problem Detective Inspector Boyle has.’ He turned. ‘Right, Detective Inspector Boyle?’
    Boyle nodded.
    â€˜Thing is, the man who attacked your mate Paul, who killed him, as it turns out, seems to have vanished into thin air. Disappeared inside a high-security prison without so much as a spot of blood on his clothes and taken the murder weapon with him.’ Thorne held up his hands. ‘Any thoughts? I mean, you can see why we’re a bit confused here, can’t you?’
    Grover sat back, stretched his long legs underneath the table. ‘If you think I’m going to do your job for you, you’re more than confused, mate. You’re completely mental.’
    â€˜You sure?’ Holland said. ‘You don’t know anything that might help us?’
    Grover shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t matter if I did, would it? You know how it works in here. Paul was my mate, and if I find out who carved him up, they’ll have me to answer to. But you still don’t grass.’
    â€˜That’s a real shame,’ Thorne said. ‘Because as soon as we clear this up, we can crack on with getting your good citizen medal organised.’
    Grover seemed to find that genuinely funny, but told Thorne to go and fuck himself anyway.
    â€˜It also means we can’t really do anything but jump to conclusions,’ Holland said. ‘I mean, we’d rather not, but when you’ve not got anything else . . .’
    â€˜What “conclusions”?’ Wide-eyed and mock-innocent.
    Boyle pushed himself away from the wall suddenly, clearly irritated by the back and forth. ‘Like it was you , you poxy little wankstain. You strolled into Monahan’s cell and shanked him.’
    â€˜Why would I want to do that?’
    â€˜Because someone paid you to,’ Thorne said. ‘You were contacted and told to get Paul Monahan out of the way. Now, if you could tell us who contacted you and how, it might make a difference when this comes to trial.’
    â€˜You think this is going that far?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t bet against it.’
    Grover let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling, as though he were considering what Thorne had said. As though the accusations were perfectly fair and justified. When he looked at Thorne again, though, it was clear how little he cared if they were justified or not.
    â€˜I’ll tell you what your problem is,’ he said. ‘This non-existent murder weapon.’ He was full of himself now, leaning forward and pointing at Thorne. ‘I mean, what am I supposed to have done with it? Did I stab Paul and then walk out of the cell covered in claret, nip off somewhere to get rid of the blade and then calmly stroll back in there again? Is that really what you think happened?’
    â€˜No,’ Thorne said. ‘I don’t think that’s what happened.’
    â€˜Well, until you can prove it happened any other way, you can kiss my arse.’
    Thorne said nothing as Grover calmly stood and walked to the door. He knocked, then turned and smiled at