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

for weeks, Curwen! Weeks! Drug importers, Curwen. They were on the track of the importers. Thanks to you, they had to go in before they were ready, before Lavery had time to get rid of the evidence.’

‘And Andy Yeatson?’ Curwen had not expected this.

Gallagher shook his head impatiently. ‘We already know who killed Yeatson. Hammond could have made an arrest a couple of days ago, but if he had done, he’d have blown one of the biggest drug ops we’ve had for a long time. He agreed to wait, gather evidence and hold his fire.’

Curwen was silenced. Shit! A covert operation, under his fucking nose, and he’d missed it. And he’d sent Andy into the pub right into the middle of it. Had they spotted Andy? Was that why…? Suddenly, his coup didn’t seem like such a big deal. He was starting to feel sick. Had the undercover guys let Andy be led to his death and kept their mouths shut so their investigation wouldn’t be compromised?

‘Curwen?’

He still had to cover his back. ‘With respect, sir, what I found had nothing to do with drugs. Or the pub. I found some dodgy accounting and followed it up.’

‘And that triggered the gang. They’ve been carrying out a massive dump up and down the coast, getting rid of the stuff. We’ve had to go in sooner than we wanted, before we were ready. Which part of stay out of the fucking pub didn’t you understand?’

If he’d known. If he’d fucking known… If Andy had known… ‘I did stay out of the pub, sir. I can’t act on information I don’t have.’

Gallagher’s face darkened. ‘You obey orders, Detective Sergeant. That’s what they’re for. Now keep out of the fucking way. You’ve done enough damage already. Go home, Curwen. I’ll see you here in the morning. Nine o’clock. I don’t want to see your face again until then. Get out.’ Curwen left the office, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind him.

He had no intention of going home. Things were happening and he needed to be here.

The NCA. Jesus. And he’d had no idea. He was thinking fast as he went to his desk. If those shits had stood by and let Andy be killed…

He forced himself back to the practicalities. Gallagher said he was in deep shit. Well, Gallagher could go fuck himself. His first thought was that he’d blown it. But he was beginning to realise that he might be OK. He’d followed up a legitimate query. And this time, he’d covered himself every step of the way. Hadn’t he? His dealings with Becca the Barmaid? He doubted she would say anything, but if she did, he could work round it. His financial queries? Perfectly legitimate response to evidence. The texts that the app had forwarded from Andy’s phone? Those would be trickier to explain. He’d better get rid of those. In fact, it was time to get rid of that phone altogether.

Andy’s phone. If they ever found it, lying somewhere in the vast expanses of Sunk Island, and if it was identified, then it could tell a story that he really didn’t want to come out. He’d better make some plans to cover his back.

He told himself that overall, he was ahead. He’d been instrumental in uncovering a money-laundering racket. And if that investigation blew a big drugs’ bust? Nothing to do with him.

He should have been feeling good. Instead, he felt sick, as if he’d swallowed something rotten. He was tempted to change his mind and go home after all, but first off, he needed to find out what had happened to Becca the Barmaid. He owed Andy that.

Twenty minutes later, tiredness forgotten, he pulled out of the car park and headed south.

Chapter 41

Sunk Island

Becca was freezing. She’d forgotten how cold it could be on a bike and she didn’t even have her coat – it was still on the floor where she’d dropped it. Her jumper was warm enough, but not for riding along dark roads in the night. As soon as she put some distance between herself and the flat, she stopped and checked the storage box on the back.

There was no helmet but there was a padded jacket and a pair of gloves. Kay had given them to her with the bike.

She dug in her bag for her phone. She needed to check the map again, though it looked pretty straightforward – get on the Hornsea road and just keep heading south.

Her phone wasn’t there.

She checked her pockets, remembering her frantic dig through her bag for her keys, just letting stuff fall onto the ground. Had she dropped her phone as well? She must have done. It wasn’t here. She’d lost it, and she couldn’t go back.

Shit. Shit!

She didn’t know the way. She couldn’t get to Kay, couldn’t warn her, couldn’t…

Stop.

So she didn’t have her phone. But she’d looked at the route to Sunk Island, and she had Kay’s address. All she needed was to be sure of her direction.

Jared had taught her about finding your way. He’d taught her to find north using the stars, but she didn’t even need to do that. She just needed to keep the sea on her left – and the signposts would tell her where the sea was when she came to a junction. If she was on the right road out of Brid, soon she’d join the A1033. A left turn from there would take her into Sunk Island. After that, she had to head south until she got to a crossroads. According to the map she’d seen it was just empty – hardly any roads, just… nowhere.

There didn’t seem to be too many houses. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the one that was Kay’s.

OK. She could do this.

The road ahead was empty. She opened up the throttle and headed south.

Forty-five minutes later, despite the gloves, her hands were numb and she was freezing again. She was travelling blind and she had