Lucky Number Seven: An Explosive British Crime Thriller (DCI Kett Crime Thrillers Book 13) by Alex Smith

Author:Alex Smith [Smith, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Relentless Media
Published: 2023-08-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kett was standing in the corridor of the veterinary surgery, replying to a text from Billie, when he heard the shout. It rose over the general hubbub of the busy building, over the hum of chatter and the scuff of feet as a swarm of officers searched for evidence.

“Sir, over here!”

He sent the text—Sorry, going to be a late one, give everyone a kick from me—cursing autocorrect as he slid the phone into his pocket. He squeezed between two PCs who were loitering in the doorway to the break room, seeing a third standing by the boiler against the far wall. The front panel had been removed, and the constable was holding a jiffy bag in her gloved hand.

“It was inside the boiler, sir,” she said as Kett crossed the room, his boots crunching on the carpet of shattered ceiling tiles. “Right inside, hard to find. Looks like a passport, documents. I haven’t opened it.”

Kett took it from her, holding it up to the light that blazed from the closest halogen lamp. His arm ached from his fall. In fact, his entire body ached, his ribs bruised from where he’d been stuck in the framework. It had been bad, but it could have been a whole lot worse. The suitcase that had fallen next to him still lay there, the lid open. Inside were plenty of tools, but thankfully no explosives. If Hope had been storing something else inside then the entire building might have been blown to kingdom come—him, Savage and the bloody owl right alongside it.

He pulled his glasses from his pocket and slid them on, the room becoming a blur but the contents of the envelope taking shape. Opening it, he pulled out the passport and flicked to the ID page, seeing Justin’s dead-eyed expression staring back.

“What’s all the shouting?” came Clare’s voice from the corridor. The Super pushed between the two Uniforms, flapping his arms at them. “What am I? A twig? Move out of the way, you great pair of tossbollocks.”

“It’s Hope’s passport,” said Kett. “He stashed it here, in the boiler.”

He passed it to Clare then pulled out the collection of papers, spreading them on the dusty counter.

“Birth certificate too. And this, it’s the V5C for his Golf, insurance documents, and…”

He studied the last document, checking it against the rest.

“It’s a separate logbook, this one for a SEAT Ibiza, 2011 model, registered to a Craig Mallet, Norwich address.”

“Why does he have that?” asked Clare.

“Not sure. I’ll put out an alert, see if we can find it.”

“Do it,” Clare barked.

“I literally just said I was going to do it, sir,” Kett muttered, too quietly for Clare to hear him. He pulled out his phone again to see a text from Billie.

I take it that was a typo, or was it a Freudian slip?

He laughed, texting back.

I meant kick, not kick.

He’d sent the text before he realised the bloody thing had corrected him again.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, ignoring Clare’s bug-eyed fury as he called DI Spalding.

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