A Killer's Heart: A gripping political thriller by Susan Wilkins

Author:Susan Wilkins [Wilkins, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781916901230
Publisher: Herkimer Limited
Published: 2020-03-08T07:00:00+00:00

40

DAY 28. 6.05pm

It’s already dark and Wendy is at her desk checking tomorrow’s schedule when the headlights sweep into the yard and come to rest glaring straight at her through the office window. She knows at once it’s not one of their vans, wrong colour lights; these have the icy, bluish tinge of a high end German manufacturer. Mercedes is her guess and when the driver extinguishes them, she’s proved right.

In her gut she has a sinking feeling, but decides to sit and wait to see what happens next. Since the business with the Luton van, she’s been expecting a visit, though not quite in this form.

She did as he’d asked—hard not to—called her brother and got him to come over with a low loader. The paperwork was in order; it went to the crusher. She told her brother to keep the twenty-five quid. In her experience, if you could lie to the old Bill from some sort of moral high ground, it came out better, and they were more likely to believe you.

The driver gets out and opens the back door, never a good sign. Then from the backseat a fat calf emerges, followed by a stout body and a neatly coiled bun. The overhead lights in the yard throw the short figure into stark relief as she marches towards the door. Wendy has a terrible sense of foreboding; whatever is coming her way, it’s not good.

Getting up from her desk, she walks through to the reception area to meet the visitor. The other girl in the office has gone home. There are some lads in the warehouse, but apart from that, the place is empty. She feels exposed.

The door swings open and the woman enters. Short but formidable, with the same solid shelf of a bosom that most of Wendy’s battle-axe old aunties have. Expensive coat. Long fancy scarf, one of those Indian things that are really soft. What should she do? Definitely not a casual: how can I help you, love?

Wendy waits.

The woman smiles and says, ‘Is Tony about?’

‘Haven’t seen him all day,’ says Wendy. ‘Well, several days, come to think of it.’

‘I’ve got the right place?’

Wendy hates coppers like this. They treat you as if you’re stupid. Why can’t she do it properly and with a bit of respect? Pull out the warrant card and ask politely.

It’s annoying enough for Wendy to say, ‘Is this official, then?’

This seems to amuse the snotty cow. But still no ID and no respect.

‘No,’ she says, ‘not at all. We’re old friends, Tony and I. But I haven’t seen him for a while.’

Wendy nods. This is a side of him she hadn’t imagined: police informant? A snitch; Ma wouldn’t be surprised. She’s said all along he was bad news.

‘I just work here,’ says Wendy.

‘What’s your name?’ says the woman. The tone is peremptory. She assumes she has the right to know.

‘Annie’ says Wendy. Ma’s an Annie, and strictly speaking, she is too. But no one has ever called her Anne. Calling a kid after its parent has always seemed a daft idea and bound to lead to confusion.

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