Scare Me To Death CJ Carver (top android ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: CJ Carver
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âAnd Greenhill?â
âZilch. And I mean zilch. Itâs my belief both of them either had false IDs â which donât really work any more since Social Security have got wise to all the tricks by now â or they bought newly stolen passports. We froze Flowersâs accounts, but that didnât mean she didnât have a million or ten stashed away somewhere, and with lots of money, the world was her oyster.â
He leaned back in his chair, glancing outside. His office was a fair size but the view could have been better since all it faced was the blank wall of another office building.
âI thought they could have rented a boat to cross the Channel, headed to Eastern Europe. Itâs almost impossible to find someone in Croatia, for example, because you donât need any kind of ID or information linking you to household accounts, like gas or electricity. But if I started looking for them there, I may as well just wander around the streets shouting their names.â
âWhat about Central and South America?â Lucy suggested.
âEasy to keep off the grid out there,â he agreed. âAnd these two are especially slippery. They havenât contacted anyone from their pasts. No calls to Granny or Mum and Dad. They left that world behind.â His gaze turned inwards for a moment. âI wonder what theyâre doing now, to make a living.â
âYou think theyâre still together?â
He shook his head. âI think theyâre too astute to do that. They would have split, Iâm sure.â
âThereâs a warrant out for Greenhillâs arrest too?â
âNo. Heâs a âperson of interestâ, but he was obviously in it up to his neck because of the way he buggered off. He was a weird customer, though. No family at all. Didnât socialise. Few people at the factory ever saw him. We never found out where he lived. I rather assumed he was living under an assumed name.â
âSurely someone has to know where they went?â
He leaned down and brought out another enormous file, placed it on his desk. He tapped it as he spoke. âFriends, family, work colleagues⊠theyâre all in here.â
Lucy pulled the file across, flipped it open. Her eye went to a photograph of Helen Flowers getting out of a limo at some swanky event that involved a chauffeur opening her door and some red carpet to pop her Jimmy Choos upon. Next, was a copy of the warrant. She continued turning the pages as Pearson continued.
âThere were rumours she went to live in Kentucky, USA. Another said sheâd gone to Australia.â
Lucy studied a picture of an industrial building. The sticker on the photograph read TASS Production Facility. There was a stack of statements from people who Flowers had worked with at the MoD. People who remembered her from her sales days. Another picture of Helen Flowers and then a passport photograph of a man in his thirties. Strong jaw, dark hair closely cropped. A steady gaze that seemed to go right through her.
Lucy felt the shock of it beneath her breastbone, as though sheâd been punched in the heart. She couldnât breathe.
âWhat is it?â Pearson sounded alarmed.
She took a huge breath of air. She was trembling. She felt sick.
She held up the photograph.
âWhoâs this?â
âNeil Greenhill.â
But it wasnât.
It was her father.
38
Dan hadnât sat around after Lucy left. There was no point. He was hoping the man in the mask wouldnât expect him to react so fast. That heâd expect him to stay at home, scared for his family. Which he was. But he could no more sit at home twiddling his thumbs than stick Jennyâs potato peeler in his eye.
âHe knows where we live,â Dan told Jenny. âAnd yes, if I do nothing, then hopefully we wonât see him again. I donât like hopefully. I want to know that we definitely wonât see him again. Which is why I have to find out who he is, and shut him down.â
He took Jennyâs hands in his. âDo you understand?â
âYes.â Her gaze was clear. âI do.â
âThank you.â
He texted his old buddy Max Blake and asked if he could stay. Max was an old friend from when he used to work at MI5 and who had helped fill in many of his memory blanks. Max said he was happy for Dan to use his London apartment. He wasnât there. He was in the country with his girlfriend.
After unlocking his gun safe and withdrawing a handful of items â he left behind the guns, he didnât want to complicate things overly â he put them in a small leather holdall. He kissed Jenny, kissed the kids. Patted goodbye to Poppy. With his overnight bag packed and in the back of his car he drove to London. Pondering the man in the mask â had he killed Kaitlyn? â he rang Lucy. It went to her messaging service. He asked her to ring him back. At the Chiswick roundabout, he pulled off the M4 and headed to Ravenscourt Park. In Maxâs pad he unpacked his laptop and chargers. Settled himself in.
Lucy had forwarded him Tomas Featherstoneâs address in Southwark. Dan studied the sleek, modern apartment block on Google Maps. Searched further to see it had a doorman. Security cameras. How to gain access without alerting Tomas? He needed more information. Names. Material to lull Tomas into thinking Dan was a friend. He tried Lucy again. No luck.
Dan busied himself researching TASS. The factory, the workers. He made a note of the floor manager. No mention of the whistle-blowerâs name. Impressive it had remained under wraps for so long, and he wondered whether the BlackShark Snifferâs inventor, Helen Flowers, had known who it
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