Back Scared to Live Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Dedication
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-One
  23. Chapter Twenty-Two
  24. Chapter Twenty-Three
  25. Chapter Twenty-Four
  26. Chapter Twenty-Five
  27. Chapter Twenty-Six
  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-One
  33. Chapter Thirty-Two
  34. Chapter Thirty-Three
  35. Chapter Thirty-Four
  36. Chapter Thirty-Five
  37. Chapter Thirty-Six
  38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. About the Author
  43. Also by Stephen Booth
  44. About the Publisher

He politely remained silent while she exited the car park and negotiated her way out of the airport, following the signs back to the motorway. When the silence began to feel uncomfortable, she searched her mind for something else to say. What did you say in these circumstances? What the hell are you doing here? Why don’t you just go back home where you belong?

‘So where did you learn to speak English so well, Sergeant Kotsev?’

‘Ah, I attended a good school in our capital, Sofia, and later at university. Regrettably, there are still very few police officers in my country who speak English well. You could visit many provincial police stations in Bulgaria and find no officers who speak English at all.’

Fry laughed. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. How many police officers do you think we have in Edendale who speak Bulgarian?’

Kotsev smiled. ‘It’s different. It will be necessary for many more of us to speak your tongue when we enter the European Union.’

‘Still, it must be very irritating to have us all coming to your country and expecting you to speak to us in English.’

‘Ah, but ours is an unimportant little language.’

It was intriguing to hear Kotsev say that without sarcasm or bitterness, as if he actually meant it. She would normally have expected at least a small chip on the shoulder.

‘Well, it’s true that Bulgarian wasn’t offered as a course option when I was a student,’ she said.

Her visitor seemed to take in everything they passed on the journey from the airport. Not that there was much to see on the M60 orbital. He’d pushed the passenger seat as far back as it would go to accommodate his long legs, and Fry was conscious of the fact that he could watch her from that angle without her knowing it. She stood the uncertainty for as long as she could, then she turned to meet his eyes. Kotsev had been right about how brown they were. They made her think of dark chocolate. Thornton’s apricot parfait.

‘So you are a graduate, Sergeant Fry?’ said Kotsev. ‘What is your degree, a Bachelor of Arts or a Bachelor of Science? Police officers should have a good education, I believe. It’s very important, if we are to have the respect of the people. Myself, I attended the University Saint Kliment Ohridski in Sofia.’

‘I was at the University of Central England in Birmingham. We called it UCE. As a comedian said once, it isn’t named after its initials, but the grades you need to get in.’