Dead Catch by T. F. Muir

Author:T. F. Muir [Muir, T. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472128782
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2019-02-06T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

Jessie reached the car before Gilchrist, and walked straight to the boot. She felt a surge of relief as she recognised it. Tommy was here after all.

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘And it’s the right-hand light.’

‘You’re sure it’s the same car?’

‘It’s got the same bird-shitty roof. So it has to be.’

She said nothing as Gilchrist ran his hand over the broken tail-light. ‘For future reference,’ he said, ‘this is the offside rear-light.’

‘I’ll remember that next time I’m watching football,’ she snapped, and an image of Lachie flashed into her mind. He’d done that sweetheart deal with a car salesman, for which she was supposed to be forever grateful. This was the problem with men, their presumed superior knowledge when it came to cars. They could be birds displaying plumage to win a mate. Did they really think she would drop her knickers for a smooth-talking car mechanic? Your spark plugs need changed. Oh, aye, right, well, your place or mine then? Who could remember whether left was offside or nearside?

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Gilchrist asked.

She threw him a glance. ‘Jesus, Andy, you’re such a boring bastard.’

But he had moved away, was slipping latex gloves onto his hands – she pulled a pair from her own pocket – and trying the door handle …

The door opened. He leaned inside. ‘Looks like it’s been hotwired.’

‘Well, this is Tommy Janes we’re talking about.’

The interior cabin bulb wasn’t working, but even so, in the dim street light she could see the car’s state of disrepair – seats torn and stained, dashboard grey and fingered with dust, grease smudging the windscreen. The car could do with a proper valeting – or just driven to the scrappies and dumped. All in all it looked just as it had yesterday when she’d collected the envelope. Except that now there were wires dangling from the steering column.

‘You’d think he’d have given it a clean,’ she said. ‘At least try to blend in.’

‘Maybe he’s only using it for this meeting.’

She turned to face the paper mill, the two-storey brick wall, the barn-sized door that ran along a metal rail on two metal wheels – pull the door, and it slid along the wall. She saw no padlock or keyhole, which told her the door could be locked only from the inside. But in the centre of that sliding door was a smaller hinged door through which staff could enter or exit without having to slide the main door open.

Gilchrist already had the flat of his hand against it.

‘It’s unlocked,’ he said.

The door creaked open to reveal a black interior.

Jessie stepped over the threshold and followed Gilchrist inside. She stopped for a few beats to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. A gust of wind rushed through the opening, slamming the door behind her with a clatter that echoed like a drumbeat. A shadow shifted to her side, and her heart leaped to her mouth. She whipped her mobile towards it. From the dim light of

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