Someone Who Isn't Me, page 8
He could ask her. Kind of.
Andy’s phone sat there on the table. Curwen wasn’t going to get another chance. He picked it up and began turning it over in his hand. ‘They’ll give you a bit of time to get the stuff tested, then they’ll be in touch, set up a meeting. That’s when we get the backup and go after them.’
Normal drug deals were simple cash transactions between the dealer and the buyer. Curwen and his team had picked up loads of dealers in Bridlington – rats in a barrel, basically. But Andy and Curwen had been fishing for much bigger prey – the smugglers who were bringing the stuff in.
Curwen was gambling here. He had to call in backup, but not until they’d got enough evidence. A couple of baggies wouldn’t cut it, and he couldn’t reveal the undercover operation – he and Andy would both be in the shit.
The meet. When the meet was set up. That was the time to get support.
Andy was still chuntering on about Becca the Barmaid.
‘Look, about Becca. I’m worried about her. I should get her some protection, get her on the register, get them to pay her for what she’s given us.’
‘We can’t. You know this isn’t exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. This is off the record until we have something.’ Curwen was still on desk duties as the enquiry into the raid wound its slow way onwards, and not keen to be busted down further for afterhours sleuthing.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m cool with that. But I’m not getting her more involved. I want her official as soon as it breaks. She should get something from this.’
‘She knows you’re a cop?’
Andy looked uncomfortable. ‘No. I haven’t told her. She really doesn’t like us.’
Curwen’s plan began to take shape. ‘Don’t tell her yet. That could put her in danger if it gets out. Wait until they’ve been in touch again so we know what we’re dealing with.’
‘OK.’
‘We’re close, and now we need to play safe. You need to drop out of sight until this is sorted. Stay out of the pub, no contact with your informant, low profile. Nothing that’s going to give you away now.’
‘What are they going to think if I’m suddenly not around?’
‘That you’ve got what you want and you’ve no need to go back. They’ll get that.’
‘Becca’s going to wonder what’s happened to me.’
‘She’ll be OK for a few days.’ His plan wouldn’t work if Becca the Barmaid and Andy were still communicating.
But Andy wasn’t backing down on this one. ‘No. I need to let her know if I’m not going to be around. I can’t just ghost her.’
‘OK, OK. Tell you’re away for a few days for work.’
‘I can text her, right?’
‘Best not, and don’t call. Remember, if they know you’re in contact and anything gets out, she could be in trouble.’
‘I suppose. Yeah. I’ll let her know I’m going to be away for a few days and then I’ll leave it. She’s nice, Becca, once you get past the claws. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.’
‘It won’t,’ Curwen reassured him. He held up the phone. ‘How long does the battery last on this? Mine’s so fucking complicated I’m lucky to get a day out of it.’
Andy looked surprised. His phone was pretty basic, and Curwen always had the latest piece of gear available. ‘Couple of days. It’s OK.’ He checked his watch. ‘I need to get back. I told the babysitter I’d be back by one.’
‘I think we’re done.’
‘I’ll be off then. I’ll just go for a…’
Curwen had been hoping for this. ‘Help yourself. Down there on the left.’ He held the phone up again. ‘Mind if I take a look?’
‘Be my guest.’
Curwen held out the phone, and after a moment’s hesitation, Andy unlocked it and handed it back, then headed along the corridor. As soon as he was out of the room, Curwen moved quickly. He brought up the home screen, listening for Andy all the time, then he clicked on the store and started downloading the app he wanted, watching in frustration as the slow line moved across the screen.
It had barely downloaded before he heard the cistern flush.
Come on! Come on!
Done.
But now the screen told him the app was installing. He could hear Andy moving around. Shit – he was pushing his luck here. Quickly, he went into the contacts list, found Becca’s number and ticked the boxes to forward messages. Not to his main phone, but to a pay as you go, an off-the-record burner phone he kept for emergencies. The bathroom door opened and Andy’s footsteps came along the corridor. Shit! Moving fast, Curwen set the app to delete the messages, and returned to the home screen just as Andy came through the door. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, holding out the phone.
Andy took it and shoved it into his pocket. All Curwen needed now was to download some spoofing software onto his own phone, and he would not only get the texts Becca the Barmaid sent to Andy, he could send texts to her, and make it look as though they came from Andy’s number.
What were the chances of Andy spotting the app? Not great – there were too many other apps on the phone. Once this was over, Curwen could manage the same trick and delete everything – or just get rid of the phone altogether.
The raid had been a bad setback, but he was finding his feet again.
Chapter 13
Sunk Island
Kay sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake, trying to work out where she was and what had woken her. Milo was barking. An engine sounded outside, like someone was slowing down, then it picked up and faded into the distance. Milo barked again, a sharp, painful sound. ‘Quiet!’ Kay said sharply. It was bad enough having the noise of the motorbike – she knew a bike engine when she heard one – without Milo adding to the cacophony.
Then there was another engine – the same one? No, this was the tinny roar of a cheap, souped-up machine, the kind of bike very young men rode around on, the amplified engine noise making them feel strong and invincible. It came closer, then raced along the road outside the gate and faded away into the distance.
The farm thieves? They wouldn’t make so much noise, and they wouldn’t be on bikes. They’d come quietly and leave quietly. These were just idiots vandalising the silence for the sake of empty roads they could race around. She toyed with the idea of going out to the gate to… To do what? Shout abuse at some Hell’s Angel wannabe as he roared past on his hairdryer?
Great idea, Kay.
She checked the time, groaning as she saw it was only just after twelve. The hour’s sleep she’d had would probably have revived her enough to make further sleep difficult. As she slipped back under the quilt, discarding her now tepid hot-water bottle onto the floor, she thought about how life used to be. In her twenties, she was rarely in bed before one, and after she and Matt married, they often used to sit up into the small hours, appreciating the quiet when they could just be together, catch up with the day, make plans, talk.
Now, she was pretty much done by ten.
Old age tiptoes up behind you, armed with its sock full of wet sand and if you don’t watch out, it will get you. Had that happened? People talked about coming to terms with Matt’s death, but in truth, the pain could still knock her sideways sometimes. In the aftermath, in the struggle to keep going, had she let herself get old?
She drifted into a fitful sleep where Matt was saying to her, over and over again, ‘You have to watch out for it, you know.’
And suddenly she was wide awake again.
It wasn’t Milo this time. He was sitting up in his basket, alert, but he hadn’t barked.
She pushed herself up, listening, trying to shake the remnants of the dream away. You have to watch out for it, you know… Something in the road? Another bike? Was that what had woken her? But there was nothing, nothing at all.
Then Milo growled, and she thought there was – just on the edge of hearing – a faint sound from downstairs, like the click of a door swinging closed.
Catherine Ford’s stories flooded into her mind – cars speeding along dark lanes, people breaking into farms and houses to steal, maybe harm…
Milo erupted.
Damn! Hell and blast!
It couldn’t be anything. Could it? The house was secure. She’d locked up, there was nothing valuable here, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep now until she was sure. Putting on her slippers and wrapping her dressing gown round her, she stood at the open bedroom door. All she could hear was the rain, and…
Was it? Could she hear something moving down there in the darkness? She stayed where she was, listening, but she didn’t hear it again. Milo pressed against her legs, making a low grumbling sound. ‘What is it, boy?’ But Milo just pressed closer, the growl steady in his throat.
Part of her wanted to go back to bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend nothing had happened. But another part, the stubborn part, wasn’t going to do that. She left the room and moved towards the stairs, looking down into the hallway.
Just shadows.
And silence.
‘OK,’ she spoke out loud for the comfort of hearing a human voice. ‘Tea. Come on, Milo.’ If someone had broken in, she was giving them due notice there was someone here so they could discreetly make their exit. Stopping to grab her torch – she didn’t trust that ancient fuse box, and anyway, the lights were so dim it would be easy to trip on something hidden in the shadows – she headed down the stairs, making as much noise as she could.
It made her feel like one of her foster kids, one of the girls, who lived in mortal terror of both axe-wielding serial killers and creepy-crawlies. Kay used to be very brisk with all that sort of nonsense, but here she was whistling in the dark to keep her own monsters at bay. The torch was a reassuring weight in her hand. Get a grip, Kay. There’s no one here. If there was, it would only be a break-in, and the culprit would have scarpered smartly at the sound of Milo’s bark.
It was a reasonable precaution to check, though, and she did. The front door was locked, and the downstairs windows were all tightly shut. Idiot, she told herself. She’d done all of this before she went to bed. She went down the corridor to the back of the house, using the torch to supplement the dim lighting. Her dressing gown caught on the knob of the door into the cubbyhole under the stairs, which she must have left open. She’d forgotten about that.
Shining her torch into the space, she reached across and tried the door that led to the storage shed. It was locked.
All secure.
As she opened the kitchen door, the moon came out from behind the clouds, filling the room with a pale light. Kay stood at the window, looking out across the flat, bleak landscape where the grasses danced in the rain, their wet sheen glittering in the moonlight, and stunted trees formed strange shapes against the sky. Then the clouds closed in again, leaving her in darkness.
Her hand hesitated over the light switch. If she turned it on, the light would blaze out, saying clearly, ‘I’m here.’ But wasn’t that what she wanted? If people knew the house was inhabited, they’d stay away.
If there was anyone out there.
Which there wasn’t.
She was pretty sure now she had been dreaming. Yes, Milo had barked, but it didn’t take much to freak Milo out, especially in an unfamiliar place. He’d barked at the motorbikes earlier. That was probably what had woken her up.
She’d always dealt matter-of-factly with teenage night terrors, and now she tried to deal the same way with herself. It was a dream. It was something outside in the road. It had made her uneasy, but it wasn’t anything to do with her. She filled the kettle and switched it on, taking a clean mug from the draining board and getting a carton of milk out of the fridge. A cup of tea, then back to bed. She checked her watch again. Three thirty.
Milo was snuffling around, back to his usual self. The kettle clicked off. Kay filled her mug and left the tea to brew for a minute.
Milo let out a sharp, sudden bark.
She jumped, knocking the milk over and flooding the worktop.
Footsteps. Outside. She could hear them clearly, faint but getting louder as they came closer.
Coming straight towards the back door.
Kay froze, her heart hammering. Her gaze locked on the door handle. Could she see it… was it moving, or was she…?
Milo barked again, a sharp, high-pitched sound.
And the steps moved past the door and faded away.
Kay sank down into her chair, trying to catch her breath. She turned slowly towards the window, knowing what she would see – a face pressed up against the glass.
There was nothing, just the square of illumination from the light, and blackness.
She should open the door, shine the torch into the night and find out who was out there, because no one had the right to be.
But she couldn’t.
The rain was beating harder against the window. She tried to pick up the milk container and screw the top back on but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t do it.
Come on.
So someone had been out there. They’d seen the light and they’d gone.
Gradually, the shaking stopped. She grabbed a towel and put it on the worktop to soak up the spilt milk, and picked up her mug. There was just the sound of the rain now, and she was beginning to think she must have been hearing things. Why would anyone be walking round the house in the small hours, in this kind of weather?
The best thing to do would be to go back to bed and ignore all the night-time noises. Old houses were full of weird sounds – she should know that.
Putting her hands on the table, she pushed herself to her feet. She was tired, she’d been asleep and when you were woken up suddenly it was easy to mistake—
Her breath stopped in her throat.
They were back, the footsteps.
Someone had walked right round the house. Looking for what? A way in? And now they were back. She froze, half upright as the faint sound got louder, coming quickly towards the door, closer and closer.
The door. Her eyes were fixed on the handle.
Was the door locked? Had she checked it?
Milo gave an uncertain bark. And then, again, the footsteps went past, faded and vanished.
What, as Becca might say, the actual fuck? Kay stood there wide awake, listening, and sure enough, about ten minutes later, the footsteps approached again.
This time, she was ready. She flung open the door and shone her torch into the night. ‘Who are you and…’
There was no one there. Water from the gutter was overflowing onto a piece of board that had been dumped outside. Something must be blocking the gutter because the flow of water was slow at first, making a faint pattering sound, then faster and faster, getting louder, and then, as the gutter emptied, slowed, grew fainter and stopped. If you didn’t know what was happening, it would be easy enough to mistake the sound for footsteps.
There was no one here.
She leaned against the doorframe, limp with relief. No one was walking around in the darkness. No one was approaching the back door then moving on. There was no one there, and it was time she went back upstairs.
But first, she slipped her feet into her boots, stepped outside into the rain, and pulled the piece of board away. No more phantom footsteps tonight. Her fingers were covered in mud – she hoped it was mud. She sniffed them and smelled that same, sweet chemical smell that Milo had got on his coat earlier.
Horrible. She scrubbed her hands under the tap. It was time to go to bed. The combination of warm tea and the belated humour of the situation eased her tension, and when she was back in the bedroom, she knew she was ready to fall asleep.
She asked herself, just as she was dropping off, how it was she’d heard the sound of the overflowing gutter up here in her bedroom. She wouldn’t have thought the sound could reach so deep into the house… But old houses played odd tricks with sound. It wasn’t important. And anyway, there hadn’t been any footsteps.
It had been an illusion.
Just an illusion.
And the sound of the door closing? She couldn’t have heard that. At all.
Chapter 14
Bridlington
Becca jerked awake, sweating, from a dream. Another one about a locked door and knowing she was trapped in a small space with… with… It was all mixed up with a kitten calling from somewhere she couldn’t find, even though she looked and looked, while Andy kept saying, Baggers can’t be choosers, Becca, you know that.
The dream fell out of her head as she sat up, and she was glad to let it go, but it left her feeling anxious and unsettled, like she had urgent things to but couldn’t remember what they were.
She fumbled for her phone on the floor beside the bed and squinted at the screen. No messages.
It was seven fifty. OK, time to— Seven fifty! Shit! She’d slept through the alarm! She had to be at work by half eight. She fell out of bed and shoved some biscuits in her mouth as she got her work stuff together.
The kitten! She had to feed it and she didn’t have any food or any time to get any.
Milk. Kittens could have milk, couldn’t they? And she could buy some cat food from work for later.
She gave herself a cursory splash in the shower, slapped on some make-up – just enough to cover the scar. Pulling her clothes on, she gave herself another glance in the mirror – it was OK, the jagged white line didn’t really show. The time? What time was it? Five past eight. Shit! She’d have to spend money she didn’t have on the bus. Bus fare, cat food – suddenly, she was angry. What was the use of working? She was always fucking broke.
She took a carton of milk from the fridge, grabbed a towel, a carrier bag, her bag and her coat and was halfway out of the door before she stopped and went back for something to hold the milk. Her cereal bowl. That would do. She poured some milk into it, then ran downstairs into the yard.
The rain was heavier now.
Working fast, she lifted the tarpaulin that covered her bike and put the carrier bag on the ground. The scarf went on top of that to make a bed in the makeshift shelter. She put the bowl just under the shelter of the tarp and scrambled to her feet.
