Blood in the Water: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller Oliver Davies (my reading book .TXT) 📖

sign it out. “Could you do me a favour and have a quick look into Sean Osborne for me while I’m doing that?” My cousin had access to a lot of personnel records that were closed to me, and there was no harm in seeing if Osborne had said anything useful about Phelps when he was debriefed. I could look through that while Shay was busy with the phone.

“The covert agent on the smuggling op? Sure.”

When I got back with the bagged up phone, Shay beckoned me over to look at his screen. “What do you think of that, Cuz?” He’d put a good, clear headshot up for me to see.

“That looks just like a younger Damien Price, maybe ten years ago?”

“That’s what I thought too. The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it? But no, that’s a twelve-year-old photo of Sean Osborne from his MI5 file. Nice catch, Cuz! That’s the closest to a genuine doppelganger I’ve ever seen.”

I stared at the photo, studying it more closely. The cheekbones and jaw weren’t quite right, and if you compared the two men carefully, you’d find that the eyes and mouth were also fractionally off. Still, after such a long time, I wouldn’t blame anyone for failing to notice tiny little details like that.

Phelps had probably thought about what he’d do if he ever got his hands on Sean Osborne during every day of his time in prison. He’d been a pal, a workmate, a trusted ally. From Cory Phelps’ point of view, operatives like Osborne were the lowest kind of lying, backstabbing bastards on the planet. And then Osborne, or so Phelps must have thought, had turned up here out of the blue, snapping pictures like a tourist and pretending to be some Scottish drinks merchant. Up to his filthy old tricks again. Maybe Damien Price had even looked right through him, not remembering or recognising Phelps at all because he’d never met him. That, surely, would have really pushed the man’s buttons. There was no way in hell he’d let Sean Osborne be responsible for ruining his life a second time. I’d say we’d definitely found our motive.

Sixteen

Shay

However Conall’s seemingly random mental processes worked, I’d seen them produce remarkable results a surprising number of times. I think his ‘investigative mode’ brain functioned a bit like Flex’s nose, sniffing around for anything that smelt out of the ordinary. It wasn’t an efficient system, if you could even call it a system. Con had his mental equivalents for every time-wasting bag containing unusual but harmless teabags or spices that Flex decided her partner should look into, but the important thing was that he also mirrored her successes. I wasn’t sure precisely why Conall had wanted to look into Sean Osborne, but it didn’t matter. Opening that bag up for a little nosy had certainly paid off.

His idea about seeing what I could do with the spyware on Whitaker’s phone was a worthwhile one. I should have thought of it myself, really, because I’d naturally assumed that Locke’s organisation would be using spyware on all their recruits. And if they did have a hub set up, then infiltrating their system would give me access to the locations of every active phone on their network. Even if Phelps had turned his off, at least we’d be able to see if any of Locke’s other people were in the area. That might at least give us a possible location for Jordan and Phelps, because they may well be hiding out with them.

I got my laptop packed up and pulled my jacket on before picking up the bag with Whitaker’s phone in it. “Where do you want to go to turn this thing on?” I asked Conall, “Because I’d prefer to work on it somewhere quiet, maybe in the car, if that’s alright.” Without having to worry about anyone seeing what I was doing. Our hotel didn’t seem like a good idea. I’d rather be overcautious than not careful enough. Too many people knew we were staying there for my liking. I wasn’t paranoid or anything. It was just a good habit.

“I’d suggest driving out to Whitaker’s place, but Trish sent a pair of her DCs out there to keep watch in case Phelps or Jordan decide to pay him a visit. We could just nip down to South Beach car park and find a good spot, if that would do?”

That sounded alright. Anyone checking on Aaron could easily discover he’d taken a sick day by calling the distillery. He could have come into town for a number of reasons. Conall was leaving his own laptop here, but I was pleased to see him shoving his new coffee maker and the thermos into his bag. I was rather chuffed by how much he liked his unexpected little present.

“South beach sounds fine.” It was where the Port Authority had its offices down on the waterfront, only a few minutes from here. I put the bagged phone in my jacket pocket, and we headed out.

Once we were parked up, I pushed my seat back a bit and gloved up. Whitaker was an android guy, so I picked out a USB-C cable from a side pocket on my pack before pulling my laptop out and opening it up on my knees. Conall was frowning over his own phone, reading through the file I’d sent him. Sean Osborne’s handlers had left him out in the field for far longer than they should have, and Osborne had eventually cracked, like most people doing his job did, sooner or later; medical discharge, head totally messed up. Some of the bosses on ‘our side’ were as bad as their criminal counterparts when it came to treating their human assets like disposable, replaceable tools.

I could have found a way into Whitaker’s phone easily enough, if I’d needed to, but he’d willingly offered up his password during the interview, and I’d been listening along while Conall went through the recording. Aaron had been very