Pilgrim by Devon De'Ath

Author:Devon De'Ath [De'Ath, Devon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-14T22:00:00+00:00

Vicky leaned against the rear handrail of a westbound Thames river bus. A boiling mass of foam churned up in the engine wake, turning the brown, muddy surface of the treacherous tidal watercourse into something resembling a trendy coffee.

A hot, soothing shower at the gym had eased some tenseness in her muscles. It amazed Vicky to discover an appetite for the fatty, cooked breakfast devoured afterwards in a cheap cafe her companion knew. Prior to the change of law prohibiting smoking in public places, any errant fag ash dropped in that eatery might constitute a serious fire hazard. The fried bread dripped with so much grease, she dreaded how solid her arteries would now become. But it warmed her up and filled an aching hole.

Bill joined her at the handrail. “It feels like we’re in for another fine day.”

Vicky examined a bright blue sky above the smart business structures of Canary Wharf to starboard, as they rounded a bend towards Limehouse. “Did you retrieve enough of your treasure hoard to see us through?”

Bill tapped the front of his jacket to indicate an inside pocket. “We’ll liquidate these while we’re in the city. I know some places to try.”

Vicky smirked. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? I suppose using our bank cards at an ATM is out of the question?”

“Unless you’d like to stick a giant pin in a map to announce we were here, then mail it to the police. Why not send them a postcard while we’re at it?”

“I know we’re talking about murder, but will they be that on the ball?”

Bill leaned over the rail and spat into the water. “It doesn’t matter. They can obtain historic records after the fact, to work out where we’ve been. It’s another reason I wanted you to kill our phones, even before they setup a live trace. The fewer pointers to our whereabouts, past or present, the better.”

“So, I’m Jenny Sloane. What do I do for a living?”

“You’re a civil service administrator.”

Vicky sucked in a breath of cool morning air. “In which department?”

Bill pushed away from the rail. “Try to avoid any conversation drilling down that far. If it does and you can’t change the subject, make something up. Just be sure to remember what you said. To be honest, I chose that job role because the title will make most people’s eyes go dull.”

“It sounds boring, I’ll grant you that. Who’d want to know more?” She switched places with him to get a better look at passing river traffic. “What about you, Chris Keeling?”

“We work together.”

“Convenient. So, why aren’t we at work today?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think Professor Faust might find it odd that two civil servants are lugging laden backpacks around Temple Church on a work day?”

“Excellent point.” Bill stopped, gazing into the distance behind them.

Vicky turned.

A black, high-powered rigid inflatable roared up close to the river bus. Its prow raised high against repeated impacts from bouncing across the choppy swell. Armed police officers, dressed in black, sat in two neat rows. Each clutched an assault rifle, while attempting to sit tight in the jostling craft.

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