Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

‘Hear me out… Becca.’

She froze, then turned slowly back. ‘What do you want?’

Leaning forward to look as though they were sharing something trivial, part of the flirtation, he put Andy’s photo on the bar. ‘This guy. Andy. Did you see him in here on Tuesday evening?’ Andy was supposed to be keeping away from the pub until after Stoner had been in touch, but Curwen wasn’t certain he’d kept to that. He might have nipped in here early doors.

She barely glanced at it, but he could see the flash of recognition in her eyes.

‘If he was in here, I need to know who he was with, and what time he left.’

‘It was busy. I don’t know what people do.’

‘Yeah. Busy on Tuesday, quiet tonight. Funny, that. OK. Do you know anyone called Doc? Or Stoner?’

Her chin came up and she met his eye. ‘You a copper?’

‘Do I look like one?’

She gazed at him for what felt like a long time. ‘You smell like one.’ She ducked under the hinged flap on the bar and emerged carrying a crate. ‘Excuse me.’ She pushed past him and let herself into a door just to his left, marked ‘–ELLAR: STAFF ––LY’.

The cellar. Curwen hesitated a moment too long, and the door swung shut. He pushed it cautiously, but it had locked. Shit and shit again.

He’d let his mood get the better of him. He should have stayed the fuck out of it until he could control his temper. Not to worry. If she had form, he could use that to put pressure on her. He’d get what he wanted, eventually.

Then he saw the pub door open, and Carl Lavery appeared, irritably shaking the rain off himself.

Curwen turned away, waited until Lavery had gone behind the bar with a quick bark of ‘Toby! Where’s Becca?’ and vanished into the back, then he headed for the door. Now was not the time to get caught. Anyway, there was a second string to his bow that he could follow up now – the vagrant who’d been sitting outside the pub. That was someone who’d notice things, see what was going on. Andy was – Andy had been – a sucker for a sob story and had probably given the guy money at some time. So the guy would remember him. He might be able to help Curwen, with the right incentives.

But when Curwen got outside the pub, he was too late. The blanket lay in the alcove, but the man – and his dog – had gone.

Angrily, he kicked the blanket out of the shelter and into the damp night.

Chapter 8

As Becca made her escape down the stairs into the cellar, she realised she was shaking. Andy – in trouble? With the kind of people you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of. She knew what kind of people those were.

Now his texts about the pub began to make sense. He’d got his boss on his back, he’d told her. Or had it been someone else? He’d asked her for help. He’d asked about this cellar, about what was stored there, and she’d just… She’d been angry…

She hadn’t helped him.

And now he wasn’t back like he’d said, and a copper was after him. She whipped out her phone to text him, then stopped. She could send him a warning, but she could also… She looked round the cellar. What had Andy meant in those texts, things that were stored down here? There wasn’t anywhere to store anything, apart from what you’d expect.

But… something in the cellar that shouldn’t be here. What did he mean by that? She looked round. Drinks, boxes of crisps, bottles…

The cellar consisted of two rooms. In the first one, barrels were lined up against the wall, hooked up to the pipes and the huge gas bottles that made the beer flow. Carl dealt with all of that, and Becca was glad to leave it to him. Against the back wall, a freezer buzzed. Boxes of soft drinks and mixers were stashed against the back wall. The other drinks were stored in a smaller room, with shelves that ran up the walls stacked with beers, ciders, and a few bottles of spirits. There was a damp, slightly sour smell in there, as if something had gone off and the air hadn’t cleared yet.

Against the far wall of the second room was another door, a sort of cupboard, but it was always locked. She couldn’t always get down here, anyway. Carl rarely left the cellar key in the till for them. He had done it tonight and she’d just grabbed it and come down here to get out of the way of the copper.

The pig.

The creep.

Asking questions about Andy…

Putting the drinks crate on the floor, she went across to the cupboard. The cellar key didn’t work in this door. And how did she know that? She’d tried it, out of curiosity. But…

The door was slightly out of line. She looked more closely, and saw that the lock hadn’t quite caught, like someone had pushed it closed behind them and not checked that it was properly shut. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it open.

Inside was dark. She took out her phone and turned on the flashlight application. The room was a deep, brick-lined space. The floor was flagstones, like the cellar. There were some shelves with old, sagging boxes that were covered with dust and cobwebs. They looked like someone had moved them recently then shoved them back onto the shelves. Was this what Andy meant? She opened the camera and took a couple of shots. In the light of the flash, she saw there was something on the stone floor, bundled into a corner.

A couple of holdalls. She took another picture, then stepped into the cupboard towards them. Andy would want to know what was in them. She grabbed the straps of one and tugged at it. It felt heavy, and