Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

brought her mirth under control.
    ‘If there are, no one’s told me.’
    Lucila left them at the door, Jason tucking the discs inside his jacket as they passed the cordon. A dense Cardiff drizzle was falling, the overcast sky turning afternoon to premature evening.
    ‘You staying round Mam’s tonight?’ Jason asked.
    Cerys rounded on him. ‘Why do you say that?’ She was sharper than him, always had been, and she jabbed a manicured finger into his chest. ‘You knew Owain was blowing me off this weekend.’
    ‘What you and Owain get up to—’
    ‘Fuck off! You knew, didn’t you?’
    Jason strode back towards the Harley at the front of the museum, forcing Cerys to trot to keep up. ‘It’s the case, Cerys. Nothing personal.’
    ‘I get to decide whether it’s personal, not you! You could’ve warned me.’
    ‘No way am I your go-between. I run enough errands for Amy and Bryn.’
    She sulked silently until they got back to the bike, the rain falling in heavy droplets now, beating a rhythm on his uncovered head.
    ‘Want a lift down Butetown?’ he asked, grudgingly.
    ‘Yeah, all right.’
    He gave up his helmet to her, as she climbed on the pillion and he kick-started the bike. Nothing. The engine didn’t even splutter, the nothingness of a failed start.
    He tried again with the same result. Frustrated, he climbed off and looked it over, hoping to spot something obvious he could tidy up and be on his way.
    ‘You need to stop relying on rust buckets,’ Cerys said.
    ‘This is a genuine 1940s Harley Davidson,’ Jason said with feeling.
    ‘Yeah, yeah, Cap’s bike – I remember. Better make my own way while you haul that into Dylan’s garage.’
    She was off before he could stop her, but she had a point. He couldn’t strip down the engine in the centre of Cardiff, and definitely not in the rain. He made a quick call to Dylan, who chastised him for dropping out of their drinks date by text before arranging to pick up the bike round the back of the university’s creatively named Main Building. The students weren’t back yet and they’d have some room to manoeuvre both the bike and the old truck.
    Jason walked the Harley round the other side of the museum, ignoring the amused laughter from the police on guard. He, at least, would soon be out of the rain, whereas their shift lasted hours. The mean-spirited glee warmed him as he passed the closed museum car park on his right and the memorial park on the left. The roads around Park Place were lined with cars, cheap parking near the city centre hard to come by, but he saw only a few people, on their way to somewhere else.
    He found a spot for the Harley outside Main Building, a name more befitting an anonymous concrete monster than the elegant marble affair with a flourishing garden. It was tempting to seek shelter in the foyer, but without the hubbub of students and considering the recent crime on their doorstep, security would be twitchy around strangers.
    Speaking of strangers…
A striking blonde across the street caught his eye. She was maybe early thirties with a shining head of golden hair, a more natural shade than Cerys’ platinum blonde, turning bronze under the rain. Her coat was expensive, the kind they sold knock-offs of down the market, and beneath it she wore a pinstripe trouser suit with high-heeled boots.
    And she was standing next to a posh Mercedes 4x4 without getting in it.
    Jason looked for any explanation for her standing in the rain, but she didn’t check a watch or phone, wasn’t smoking a cigarette. Thinking about cigarettes stirred something in his veins, but he forced it down. After a stubborn chest infection that just wouldn’t shift, Amy had cajoled him into quitting – ninety-three days and counting. Felt like a decade.
    The woman could just be lost. Or waiting for someone. But maybe she was an art thief returning to the scene of the crime, trying to discover how much the police knew about her.
    They’d assumed the person on