White Heron (Run and Hide Thrillers Book 1) by JJ Marsh

Author:JJ Marsh [Marsh, JJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783906256030
Publisher: Prewett Bielmann Ltd.
Published: 2021-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

The late start meant she arrived in Soure, dusty, sweaty and hot just after eleven. After a couple of wrong turns, she found the police station and parked her bike on the shady side of the street. She had no intention of marching in there for a repeat encounter with the gormless officers from last time. Instead, she intended to wait as long as it took until she could be sure of speaking to Maduro alone. She locked her bike against a palm tree, set her backpack by her feet and drank half a litre of water to compensate for what she had lost on the ride.

“Good morning, Ann.” Gil Maduro stood behind her, cool and crisp in his uniform. “Are you waiting for me?”

His ability to creep up on her enraged Ann and made her snappy. “I have some information I thought might be of interest to the police, that’s all. I wasn’t waiting for anyone, just taking a moment to cool down.”

“Yes, it is hot. Maybe we should sit in the shade somewhere and you can tell me what you have to say. By the river is pleasant. I have a few things to do in the next hour but I can meet you at midday. Take that street to the end and then go right along the riverbank. There’s a bar called Casa de Iemanjá. If you’re hungry, they do a pretty good camusclim.” He strode away across the street, raising a hand in greeting to a passing car.

Casa de Iemanjá. House of the Sea Goddess. Ann snorted, remounted her bike and headed for the river. She was hungry after her ride and nothing more than coffee for breakfast, but having lunch with the cop was not on the agenda. For one thing, she didn’t want to spend too long in the man’s company. He was far too perceptive for her liking. Secondly, having been warned off against consorting with the police, it would be inflammatory to be seen breaking bread with the inspector. The whole idea was to have a quiet word behind closed doors and leave the decision up to him.

When she found the bar, it was not what she expected. This was not some street café with mismatched chairs, overfilled ashtrays and a TV inevitably showing a football match. Instead, it was a hotel with a terrace overlooking the river and an air-conditioned interior. Exactly the kind of place Fátima would love to drink cocktails. What tipped the balance was reading the description of camusclim. Shrimps and pasta baked in a béchamel sauce sounded irresistible, especially as everything she made was cooked on a basic hob. She ordered a beer and sat near the window, observing the well-heeled patrons of this discreet watering hole. From what she’d seen so far, Gil Maduro had pretty good taste.

He arrived several minutes before twelve, exchanged greetings with two businessmen near the bar and strolled over to her table.

“Good choice. It’s always quiet inside. This is my lunch break so I plan to have the special and a beer.

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