Nine Lives, Anita Waller [best interesting books to read .txt] 📗

walked back towards the entrance to the site, but none of the other six garages were unlocked. Two had holes in the doors through which they could see, but neither of them was home to a car, merely used as storage lock-ups.

Nobody was around for them to hold any sort of conversation with, so they headed back to the car, and drove out, following their left-turn rule.

Mike was ticking off their route by using a biro to draw along the roads they had already covered, and by one o’clock they were hungry. Their final left turn had brought them out on to the main road two hundred yards higher than the Starlite Gym, and The Coffee Pot where they knew Flick would be sitting writing her book.

‘We could go in there.’ Mike nodded towards the café.

‘Think she’d be mad?’

‘We’ll not talk to her. Don’t want to blow her cover, but surely six eyes are better than two. Come on. Let’s go and see if they do chips.’

Flick saw her colleagues walk through the door and froze, but they ignored her and chose a table at the opposite side of the room. She realised they weren’t going to acknowledge her, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Nobody had disturbed her for the two hours she had been sitting there, and she had actually enjoyed writing the book that had started out as a joke. She knew she would wipe it once the exercise was over, but it had given her a reason to do some typing, then stop and stare around the room as if seeking inspiration. In actuality, she had been people-watching, wanting to know who had come in, who had gone out, and who had been there as long as she had.

Robert had come in, enjoyed a coffee, smiled at her and left, so that didn’t help at all.

She had used her phone to take photos when it was safe to do so without being spotted, and she had managed to capture almost everyone who had entered. She had definitely photographed every woman.

Sam and Mike stayed around half an hour, then left without even looking in her direction. Good lads, she thought, good lads.

The waitress came across to take her empty cup away, and Flick asked for a cheese and tomato toastie along with a pot of tea. The coffee was making her head buzz.

It was delivered to her table ten minutes later, and the waitress pulled out a chair. ‘You a student?’

Flick swallowed. ‘No, I’m an author.’

‘I said you were! We saw you in here yesterday, so you must have enjoyed it to come back again today. What do you write?’

‘Murder.’

‘Oh my God, that’s awesome. How many have you had published?’

‘This is my first book.’ Flick was thinking on her feet, eager to keep the conversation going. ‘I’ve taken a year’s sabbatical from work to see if I can do it. If I can’t, I go back to my job. In accountancy.’

‘I’m so envious. I do a bit of writing.’

Flick’s heart sank. Please don’t ask for advice.

‘Will you be in again?’ The waitress was smiling at her.

‘I certainly will. Nobody has bothered me, I’ve been able to crack on with the book, and the food is excellent.’

‘Maybe we can talk again.’ She stood. ‘I work every weekday until about seven, but not weekends.’

Flick smiled at her. ‘I’d like that. You enjoy crime books?’

‘Love them. Will you be here tomorrow?’

‘I will. Let’s make time for a chat when you get your break.’

Mike and Sam continued checking garage sites in the area but saw no sign of a black old-style Fiesta. They had found three garages unlocked but nothing in them, and it was only when they decided to call it a day that Sam suggested they go round to the garage with the sleeping bag in it. They had spoken to only four people, and nobody had known anything about a black Fiesta in the area.

‘It’s not only about the car, I’d like to check they’re okay, whoever it is. It’s crap having to sleep in a garage,’ Sam explained.

He drove down the narrow entrance, made more difficult by the approaching darkness, and pulled up at the end garage.

‘Do we knock?’ Sam asked.

‘It’s their home, so I suppose we do,’ Mike said. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Come on, let’s see what he or she has to say.’

Sam tapped on the door. ‘Hello! Police. Can we have a quick word, please? You’re not in any trouble.’

There was silence, so Sam knocked again, this time a little louder.

Mike reached down to the handle and tugged. It lifted slowly and a frightened face peered out from the depths of the sleeping bag. The candle flickered but protected by the jar, didn’t go out.

It was a young face, and Sam guessed at no more than seventeen. ‘Hi,’ Sam said. ‘Can we come in?’ He felt foolish.

The boy nodded without speaking.

‘Only a couple of questions, lad,’ Mike said, ‘then we’ll be on our way. You okay in here?’

Once again the boy nodded.

‘You got a name?’ Sam kept his voice low.

‘Adam.’

‘Okay, Adam. You might have seen us driving around this area all day, but we’re only looking for a car, and my guess is you don’t have one.’

This time the boy shook his head.

‘You hungry?’

‘Yes.’

Mike stood. ‘I’ll be back in quarter of an hour. McDonald’s?’

Adam’s face changed from bewilderment to shock. ‘Please.’

Sam was sitting on the end of the sleeping bag when Mike returned, carrying three Big Mac meals, and three coffees.

He could see that Sam and Adam had progressed to talking, so busied himself sorting out the food.

‘When did you last eat, Adam?’

‘Yesterday. Somebody brought me a sandwich.’ Adam looked up as Mike handed him the Big Mac meal, a large coffee and an apple pie. ‘Thanks,’ Adam said quietly.

‘Let’s eat while it’s still hot,’ Mike said, ‘and then we’ll talk.’

Adam, it transpired, had lived at home until he was sixteen. His mother had then moved a boyfriend in, and they simply