Someone Who Isn't Me Danuta Kot (best books to read .TXT) 📖

His phone rang. He checked the screen. It was Dinah. Excusing himself, he moved away from the table to take her call. He listened as she told him what the barman had said about Andy and Becca the Barmaid seeing each other.

Shit! He hadn’t wanted her to get hold of that straight away. Given B the B’s closed-mouth attitude, he’d thought Dinah didn’t have a chance. If his role in Andy’s operation came out, he was toast. He tried to sound surprised, and didn’t bother arguing when she said she was going to take it to Hammond.

He had nothing to argue with.

Instead, he had to move fast. Hammond would almost certainly get someone to interview Becca tomorrow. But what could Becca actually tell them? He felt himself start to relax. Andy had kept quiet about being police; he’d told her he was a private investigator, which meant he wouldn’t have told her about Curwen. Becca the Barmaid didn’t have the information to hurt him.

But she knew he’d been in the pub. That wasn’t good.

He ignored the voice that was telling him his best plan was to go to Hammond, tell him Andy had been a regular in the Smokehouse, and that Andy had been in there asking about drugs. But then his own part in it would come out, and he could sit back and watch as career climbers like Karen Innes disappeared up the promotions pole while he stayed down here at the bottom.

Fuck that.

He had to do this himself.

He checked the time. It was after ten. B the B would still be at the pub. He couldn’t risk going in there again, but he could meet her outside and talk to her. With luck, he could defuse the ticking bomb she represented to his prospects. What Sykes and Innes had told him suggested Andy had been heading for the pub that last night, despite his agreement with Curwen. Maybe, just maybe, she knew more about Andy’s last night than she’d said, and might be willing to share it with Curwen.

He might still be able to retrieve something from this mess.

Chapter 19

Cursing the rain, Curwen stood on the corner near the entrance to the Smokehouse, waiting for Becca the Barmaid. It was almost closing time. She would be finishing soon. He’d done his homework before tonight, so he knew she’d been working all day as well as all evening. Come to think of it, the rain might help him. It was a foul night, she’d be tired, a lift home would be tempting. And she’d want to know about Andy.

When he’d talked to her before, they’d clashed. This time, he’d present himself as a friend – one who had come to tell her about Andy. According to Dinah Mason, she already knew, which meant he wouldn’t have to deal with any messy emotional stuff, but it would make him look good – the copper who cared enough to tell her about her boyfriend.

He’d been waiting for twenty minutes when a small figure emerged from the doorway, hunched against the rain. The streetlight caught her face. Becca. The collar of her jacket was pulled up around her ears, and she was carrying a plastic bag, but no umbrella.

Curwen was standing in the shadows, more or less invisible. She started walking quickly towards where he was waiting. He didn’t want to scare her – not yet, anyway – so he stepped out into the light of the street lamp.

She stopped when she saw him and seemed about to turn back, then came on towards him.

‘Evening, Becca,’ he greeted her. ‘Lousy night.’

She stopped abruptly and faced him. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’ve got some bad news about your friend, Andy.’ He held out the packet of cigarettes, but she shook her head.

‘I heard,’ she said abruptly.

‘Do you want to know what happened?’

She glared at him. ‘Not from you.’ He kept his gaze on her face, and her defiance faded. ‘Yeah.’

‘It’s too wet to stand around. I’ll give you a lift home. We can talk on the way.’

The rain was running down her face and dripping from her hair. ‘You can tell me here. I’m not getting in a car with you.’

He sighed. ‘Becca, I get that you don’t like me. I get that you don’t like the police. I don’t know why, and I’m not interested, OK?’ Not true. He was very interested, but she didn’t need to know that. ‘Someone killed Andy. I want to get the person who did that. I think you can help.’

A motorbike went past, curving into the pavement and sending up a wave of water that splashed her legs. She didn’t seem to notice, just stood there looking at him.

‘We’re getting soaked,’ he said. ‘Let me give you a lift home. Please.’

She chewed her lip, then nodded grudgingly. ‘OK.’

Curwen led the way to the harbour car park. He drove an Audi A8 – more car than he could really afford on his salary, but he couldn’t resist it. In a town like Brid, a top of the range car could stand out like a sore thumb and the vandals and thieving gits would be lining up to wreck it or twoc it, so he’d chosen a dark colour, and let it get mud-spattered and look uncared for. But the inside was immaculate and the engine was tuned to the last degree. It drove like a dream.

He opened the passenger door, enjoying the expensive smell of leather, and after a brief hesitation, Becca got in.

‘Where to?’ He had her address already, but he didn’t want her to know that. He drove fast along the brightly lit main road, taking care to avoid the speed cameras, then they left the town centre behind them and were back into dark and empty streets. The wet pavements gleamed in the lamplight.

She didn’t say anything and he took his cue from her. They drove in silence until they got nearer their destination