Scare Me To Death, CJ Carver [nice books to read .txt] 📗

legs but a sudden, shocking pain roared through him, making him scream.

He lay there, gasping, panting, waiting for it to ease. His muscles were begging to be released. He wondered how long he’d been like this, and guessed quite a while. His body was stiff and sore, aching with stasis.

‘You’re awake.’

It was a woman’s voice. Behind him.

He blinked. Tried to turn his head to see her.

‘You want to be let up.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Yes.’ His voice was scratchy. He was incredibly thirsty.

‘I will untie your legs but first you have to answer me. Who are you?’

‘Michael Wilson.’ Dan gave her the cover name he’d used when he’d been at MI5 in a past lifetime. He also gave her the cover address for good measure. No harm in hoping she might keep her word and release his legs.

‘And why is Michael Wilson asking questions about the qualifications of an eminent scientist?’

‘I was curious…’ He tried to lick his lips but he had no saliva. ‘How someone could invent such an audacious deception and get away with it.’

Above him shone a fluorescent light. No furniture that he could see, just a red brick wall, shining with condensation.

‘You spoke to Emily Petersen and Isla Hanson, didn’t you?’

Dan opted for silence.

Behind him, he heard footsteps on concrete. Then his hands were pulled hard and the pain shrieked through his muscles. He tried to master the agony rocking him but she pulled again and again until he was half-screaming, half-sobbing, ‘Yes, yes I saw them.’

‘That’s more like it.’ She sounded satisfied. ‘Tell me, what brought you to Isla?’

‘Her picture in the paper,’ he panted. ‘She was my flight attendant last week. I recognised her. I felt sorry for her. I wanted to see if I could help.’

He’d always been told that if he had to lie, to try and keep it as close to the truth as possible, and now he began to fabricate his story.

‘Help, how?’

‘Loan her money, be a support. I have a friend who’s an eye doctor.’

He waited for the woman to ask the doctor’s name and was surprised when she moved on.

‘What made you go to the Hollywood Arms and confront the scientist?’

Interesting she never said his name, Gerald Dunsfold. Perhaps it wasn’t his name at all?

‘I was angry for Isla. She’d been led up the garden path by a company who’d promised her everything and done nothing but use her.’

‘She has a contract.’ Defensive, snappy.

‘Which she hasn’t signed.’

‘She has now.’ Triumph laced the woman’s voice.

‘If it’s proven that Isla was under even the smallest pressure it will be null and void.’

When he heard the footsteps walk away and not return, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

53

Lucy spent the morning attempting to research BreatheZero but her mind wouldn’t settle. She kept looking at her watch, the clock on the wall, waiting for midday to arrive so she could come clean with the SIO. Or would her dad turn up with Amina Amari and turn her in? Anxiety ran across her synapses in waves of orange and red and when her phone rang at eleven forty-five she pounced on it.

‘Yes?’ she barked.

‘DC Davies. Superintendent Hanmer.’

‘Oh. Hi.’

‘I’d like to see you, please.’

She blinked.

‘Before you go to your SIO.’

Her brain locked. He knew what she’d said to Dad?

‘My office. New Scotland Yard, Westminster. In half an hour. Please don’t be late.’

She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. ‘On my way.’

Lucy caught the Circle line to Westminster. Was her father working with Geoff Hanmer to arrest Amina Amari? She hoped to God he was, or she’d be up shit creek without a paddle if her SIO found out that she’d sat on the fact she’d found Chris Malone and not told him.

An icy wind was whipping off the Thames as she approached New Scotland Yard. Traffic roared along the Embankment, and on the other side of the river the London Eye gleamed in the pale spring sunshine.

Superintendent Hanmer came and fetched her from reception. He was medium build, medium height, no outstanding features. Dark eyes, watchful, intelligent. She could imagine him blending into any crowd without a problem. He shook her hand – firm and cool – and ushered her to his office. No offer of tea or coffee. His expression was flat. Grim. Her heartbeat picked up.

‘What’s this about?’ she asked.

‘Your father.’

‘He’s been in touch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oookaaay.’ She drew the word out cautiously.

Hanmer suddenly took a deep breath, let it out. Ran a hand over his head. ‘Take a seat.’ He was curt.

She did as she was told. He, however, stood by the window, looking out.

‘I’ve known your father a long time,’ he said. ‘Thirty-two years, to be precise.’

She wanted to say, you were best man at his wedding, but decided to keep quiet. See what the man had to say first.

‘A lot has happened in this time… I’ve been promoted. He’s been… well, he’s…’ He rubbed the space between his eyebrows, obviously struggling with what to say next.

Lucy didn’t help him. She sat in silence, waiting.

‘Carl.’ The detective cleared his throat. ‘Was an excellent undercover officer. He distinguished himself during cadet training – where we first met – as well as through his two-year probation. We both joined Special Branch after two years in uniform.’

Her hands had turned cold, but she didn’t rub them. She sat quite still.

‘I don’t know if you know it, but the day you join the SDS, you have a huge leaving do. Absolutely massive. Everyone gets royally drunk, goes a little crazy.’ His gaze turned distant. ‘It’s because you know you won’t be seeing any of your police friends for at least five years. Your only official link to the Met is your payslip.’

Someone knocked on the door, stuck their head inside.

‘Not now,’ Hanmer barked.

‘Sorry, sir.’ The man cringed. ‘Didn’t know you had someone with you.’

The door closed.

Hanmer looked out of the window once more. ‘You’ve probably heard about how SDS officers chose their new identities?’

Lucy felt sick. There had been