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.The liquid tasted like a chemical wash, leaving a nasty aftertaste on her blistered tongue, but she sucked and swallowed.Sucked and swallowed.‘Easy.’ The cup was pulled back.Rio’s head hit the pillow again.Only then did she realise that her superior officer was in the room too, sitting in the armchair by the bed.DCI Newman stood up.‘So how are you feeling?’She gulped in air, which scraped against her dry throat.‘How did you find me?’‘Someone called it in.’‘Who?’He shook his head.‘We don’t know.A man.But don’t worry about any of that, you need to rest up.’Her features became stark.‘Detective Martin.’ She couldn’t manage the rest of the words, but that had nothing to do with the state of her throat.DCI Newman gave her a grave look.‘I know.There was nothing anyone could do for him.’ He shifted his shoulders back.‘You don’t need to worry about informing his family, I’ve done it.’‘But I should’ve been the person doing that.’‘They understand.I’ll come back and see you tomorrow, so get a good night’s sleep.’Rio shuffled, trying to sit up.She slumped back down, but that didn’t stop her from speaking.‘Sir, we found a map of St Katharine Docks in Katia Romanov’s house.Something is going down.’‘Rio.I told you earlier that this investigation is over for you.’ His hand fell against her shoulder, but strangely it didn’t feel comforting.He squeezed ever so slightly.‘Time for your medication,’ the nurse gently interrupted.‘This will ease the pain and help you sleep.’She passed Rio a white paper cup with two blue pills in it.Rio placed them in her mouth and then her throat worked with the water she took.Newman smiled at her.She closed her eyes, but her eyeballs twitched under the orange-black haze of her eyelid.Less than a minute later, the door closed.Rio sprang into action.Spat out the tabs hidden under her tongue.Pulled herself up.Ignored the dizziness as she tugged the tubes from her body.Shoved off the bed and, with painful arms, picked up her neatly stacked clothes on the nearby chair.Awkwardly dressed.She checked the corridor.No one around.Head down, she briskly walked and vowed that she was still going to solve this case.And now DC Martin’s murder.seventy-sixMac stared hard at a yacht as his brain ticked away.It wasn’t one of those flash, racy vessels, but of a much more modest style.Behind its wheelhouse a man’s head occasionally bobbed up and down, surveying the area.From time to time he would appear and take a longer look before disappearing below.Mac looked at his watch.10:40.Then back over at the warehouse, where nothing was happening.When he looked back again, Mac saw the man on the yacht had emerged and was standing on the prow, from where he had a commanding view of the scene.He was dressed in a smart suit, a cravat, and wearing a peaked cap like a Sunday afternoon sailor.Mac started to look away, but something about the man drew his attention.That something was the way the man carried himself: the ramrod straightness of a soldier.The man turned slightly, giving Mac a better, but still half-shadowed view of his face.Mac squinted his eyes.There was something familiar about that face.but he couldn’t place it.Where had he seen it before? Where.? Mac quickly dug into his inside pocket.Pulled out the charred remains of the photo he’d recovered from the fireplace in Elena’s home.Studied the photo.Studied the man.He couldn’t be sure, but the man looked like a dead ringer for one of the military men in the photograph.The one on the left with the crooked front tooth in his smile.Sure, the man on the boat was older, but the line of his nose, jaw, even forehead all looked the same.The man flicked up his wrist and checked his watch.Then, before Mac could investigate him further, pulled out his mobile as he disappeared into a cabin below.Mac still couldn’t be sure, but hey, what did he have to lose?He walked out of the shadow and approached the yacht.Took light steps along the gangplank.The boat swayed ever so slightly as Mac took two easy steps onto the deck.He remained still for a few seconds.Listened as the night breeze kicked up around him.Moved towards the opening leading to the cabin below.Mac peered down.Short, single flight of wooden stairs.Once again listened as he pulled out the Megastar.He could hear a voice, but couldn’t make out the words.Either the man was talking on his phone or had company.The slight motion of the vessel rippled through his body as he took the stairs.Carefully.Slowly.One at a time.When he reached the bottom, the view of the cabin was laid bare to him.The yacht might not have looked expensive up top, but this cabin was a mariner’s dream.Smooth cream ceiling with spotlights, all-round windows instead of walls, and walnut furniture, including the impressive bed where the man sat, with his body half turned away from Mac.‘Can I help you?’ the man said, obviously sensing he was no longer alone.No panic in his voice, no worry.Slowly he turned round, punching off the phone as Mac entered the room, gun raised.He looked surprised, but unworried, that he had a visitor pointing a double action at his chest.‘Can I help you.Mister.?’ he repeated, showing his crooked front tooth.seventy-sevenDefinitely a dead ringer for one of the men in Elena’s photo.The soft spotlight on the man’s face smoothed out the wrinkles around his eyes and the deep grooves bracketing his mouth.But it sharpened the silver hair that had once been completely nut brown.Mac spread his legs, keeping his stance evenly grounded.‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’‘Of course,’ the man said calmly, as if he were beginning a presentation in front of an audience [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]