Killa City by Dawson Mark

Author:Dawson, Mark [Dawson, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Crime
Amazon: B088C5H4JN
Goodreads: 53515537
Publisher: Unputdownable
Published: 2021-05-03T07:00:00+00:00

He went back inside and saw that Tanner’s daughter was sitting next to the seat he had just vacated. There was a vending machine in the lobby, and he slotted in the change for a couple of cups of coffee. He looked back to where the young woman was sitting. A doctor was standing next to her, and she was remonstrating with him. Björn was a little too far away to hear what was being said, but her demeanour and the occasional word that he caught—'impossible’ was repeated more than once—suggested that she was protesting against something that the doctor had told her.

The first cup dispensed. Björn took it and waited for the second. He was confident that he had a little extra time to investigate what had happened before the body in the basement was discovered. He had locked the door to the premises, and the sign had already been flipped over to indicate that it was closed. It was late, too. No one was going in at this hour.

Björn wondered whether it might make sense for him to go back and dispose of the body, but dismissed it. There was nothing that tied him to what had happened, save that the police would be told that he had discovered Tanner. The footage recorded by the security cameras would soon be wiped, if it hadn’t been already. It seemed unlikely that he could be connected to Tanner’s misfortune, but even if it was possible, it would take time. Björn did not intend to remain in Missouri for long. Once he had found and dealt with Milton, he would be on the first flight back to London.

The machine beeped as it finished pouring the second cup. Björn took them over to the waiting area. The doctor had just finished his conversation with Tanner’s daughter and had moved away.

“Here,” Björn said, handing her one of the cups.

“Got anything stronger?”

“Actually, I do.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small silver hip flask and unscrewed the top. “It’s called Flóki,” he said. “It’s a single malt from Iceland.”

“Seriously?”

He smiled and shrugged.

She held out her cup and Björn poured in a finger’s worth, then poured a similar measure into his own cup.

“Is Iceland known for its whisky?”

“No,” he said, “although they are saying that might change. The weather is good for distilling. And we have a lot of sheep dung.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dung—we smoke the whisky with it. The first settlers to Iceland had little wood for fuel, but plenty of dung. That’s where one of our traditional festive dishes comes from. Hangikjöt—lamb smoked over dung.”

“Well,” she said, “I’ll be honest—that’s not something I thought I’d be doing today. Drinking sheep-dung whisky. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He sat down on the seat next to her. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Mollie,” she said. “Mollie Tanner. Sorry—I forgot yours.”

“Eidur.”

“That’s right—Eidur from Iceland.”

“That’s me.”

They sipped their coffees, both of them watching the doctor engaged in a hushed conversation with the nurse who was outside Tanner’s bay.

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