Read The Damage (David Blake 2) for Free Online

item claimed my attention. The trial of Leon Cassidy, aka the Sandyhills Sniper, was about to begin. The Sky News reporter told us earnestly that ‘Cassidy will stand trial on five counts of murder, including the killing of Detective Chief Inspector Robert McGregor.’ I was back in Newcastle when the sniper started picking off his victims and it had been a massive news story at the time. ‘Police are not looking for anyone else in connection with the killing,’ the reporter told us, in a poorly-concealed code that was designed to make everybody think ‘they’ve got the bastard.’ So much for innocent until proven guilty, I thought, but they did find the rifle in his flat, so it looked like Cassidy was going down.
    I turned off the TV, then changed and went for a swim in the indoor pool. That alerted the stone calm figure of Jagrit to my presence, but he wasn’t the sort to overreact to my sudden arrival. He didn’t even flinch. I could see him standing there through the huge windows that overlooked our grounds. With his olive-skinned face and dark, watchful eyes he looked like he’d been carved out of jade. Jagrit is one of my Gurkhas chosen, like his comrades, because of their innate loyalty and legendary hardness. They were the perfect guys to look after me; honest, decent, honourable men but vicious bastards who could creep up on you and slice your throat open without you hearing a thing. Nobody could get into our compound with them watching out for me. These elite fighting men were probably the only reason Sarah and I got any sleep at all these days.
    The water looked inviting enough so I did a few lengths, counting them off each time my hand touched the end of the pool. I did this most mornings to stay in shape, but I also liked the way it cleared my head at the start of the day. I can think in here and not in a way that makes me regret the past or feel anxious about the future. Who needs that? Deal with all of the shit you’ve seen and done and move on, that’s what I say. It’s the only way. Fretting is for old women and fools. Looking back on what might have been just drives you mad in the end.
    I felt better after my swim. I dried myself and put on a robe, then made more coffee, before going into my office to check my messages. There was a new one from Kinane and I frowned at the screen as I read it. He wanted me to come back to Newcastle as soon as possible. I didn’t like the sound of that. It must have been something important if he couldn’t handle things with Palmer and my brother Danny. That was the whole point of living out here with Sarah, thousands of miles away from the shitty end of the stick. They were supposed to look after everything. That’s what I paid them to do.
    Kinane’s message said he would call me on a web phone later so I went up to check on Sarah. She was still fast asleep, breathing deeply, and I was pleased. She hadn’t been sleeping well for months now. Instead she gets up in the night and goes quietly downstairs. I’m usually relieved when I hear her weight stir on the bed, then listen to her feet pad down the stairs. I sleep lightly these days too, and I get more hours on my own without her tossing and turning next to me and, if I have one of my nightmares, I don’t really want her to know about it. So I usually leave her to it, unless I hear her crying downstairs and, if she sounds worse than normal, I’ll go and see if I can do anything to help, even though I know by now that I can’t. She just has to get through this somehow. She’s not a drama queen, and doesn’t wake me intentionally, but there’s something about the pitch of her weeping that makes me pick it up in my sleep every time.
    Some people don’t look too good when they are sleeping but Sarah looks like a Princess from a fairy tale; like Cinderella or, well, Sleeping Beauty. Right now she looks so peaceful, if I took her picture it’d be like one of those adverts for a restful foreign holiday.
    I