The Last Straw. Paul Gitsham

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The Last Straw - Paul  Gitsham

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       Blurb

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Author Bio

      Acknowledgement

       Dedication

      Disclaimer

      Prologue

      Friday

      Chapter One

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

       Sunday

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

       Monday

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

       Tuesday

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Wednesday

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-One

       Chapter Thirty-Two

       Chapter Thirty-Three

       Chapter Thirty-Four

       Chapter Thirty-Five

       Chapter Thirty-Six

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Chapter Thirty-Eight

       Thursday

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

       Chapter Forty

       Chapter Forty-One

       Chapter Forty-Two

       Chapter Forty-Three

       Chapter Forty-Four

       Chapter Forty-Five

       Chapter Forty-Six

      Chapter Forty-Seven

       Friday

       Chapter Forty-Eight

       Chapter Forty-Nine

       Chapter Fifty

       Chapter Fifty-One

       Chapter Fifty-Two

      Chapter Fifty-Three

      Chapter Fifty-Four

      Chapter Fifty-Five

      Chapter Fifty-Six

      Epilogue

       Endpages

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

      Blood.

      Everywhere. Across the walls, over the desk, even splattered on the glowing laptop computer. The human heart is a powerful, muscular pump and a cut artery bleeds out in seconds, spraying red, freshly oxygenated blood across the room like a fire hose.

      Tom Spencer removes his gloved hands from the dead man’s throat and rubs them down the front of his lab coat, leaving bloody trails across his chest. Hands shaking, he picks up the blood-covered telephone and presses 9 for an outside line, followed by another three 9s.

       “You are through to the emergency services. Which service do you require?”

       Spencer’s voice is shaky, his breathing rapid. “Police. There’s been a murder.”

       Friday

       Chapter 1

      Detective Chief Inspector Warren Jones slid to a halt with a faint squeak of tyres outside the main entrance to the University of Middle England’s Department for Biological Sciences. Fifteen minutes had elapsed since he’d received the call and he doubted he could have done it much faster with blue lights and sirens. He switched off the engine and the sat nav on the dashboard beeped then went silent.

      Two weeks into this new posting and the freshly promoted DCI was still reliant on the little device to get him around

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