Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) Read Online Free PDF Page A

He sat in the front of the van, his hands shaking. No doubt this vehicle had been stolen a couple of hours before.
      He couldn’t do it.
      ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, the tremor in his voice obvious.
    The older man cleared his throat and sniffed. ‘You’ll see.’
      ‘Can’t you just tell me?’
      ‘We’re almost there.’
    He squinted at the windscreen but just saw the road stretching in front of them, narrow, more of a track. Tall hedgerows rushed by on either side as his stomach lurched. His companion was whistling. It had to be to calm his nerves; no one could be this relaxed with a job like they had to do. He glanced at the other man, but he didn’t look nervous. If anything he seemed to be enjoying himself, as if they were out for a drive with a picnic in the boot. He was singing now under his breath, the words unintelligible, as he steered the van to the left, then slowed it to a halt. Unfastening his own seatbelt, the older man nudged him.
      ‘Come on then, we don’t want to hang around.’
    He swallowed.
      ‘Look, I . . .’
    His companion wrenched the seatbelt off for him.
      ‘Get your arse in gear.’

10
     
     
     
     
    It felt as though Catherine had been asleep for just a few minutes when she woke, the images of the nightmare still vivid in her head. She had seen Claire lying in a coffin, shrouded and pale, her beautiful blue eyes closed. All at once, Claire had sat up, her eyes unfocused, her fingers curling into claws. Her mouth had opened to reveal a black swollen tongue, and she let out a scream of anguish. To Catherine’s horror, Claire had begun to decompose before her as she lay back down, her flesh changing colour, sinking and disappearing, her face becoming skeletal within a few seconds.
     
      Catherine rolled over, wiped the tears from her face with the sheet and attempted to control her breathing. She turned on her bedside lamp, hoping the images would begin to fade. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she reached for the white towelling robe that hung on the chair nearby. The house was silent and cold. Catherine staggered across the landing to the bathroom, turned on the light and stared at herself in the mirror. She’d suffered heartbreak before, of course she had, but nothing like this. The feelings of guilt and those of betrayal. The numbing realisation that she had lost a relationship that had never properly begun, one that could never have been. She knew, not that she would ever say it out loud, not even to Thomas, that she would have forgiven Claire anything. She closed her eyes for a second, then turned on the tap and scooped up some water, splashing it over her face. She needed to stop thinking like this.
      Tying the robe around her waist, Catherine went downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a drink. Curled up on the settee, she wondered how much tea she must have drunk over the past few weeks: gallons. It wasn’t making her feel any better.
     
     
     
      Nine am. The police station must be open by now? Mark Cook had been awake most of the night, calling Lauren’s phone over and over, pacing the floor of the living room and drinking endless cups of coffee. He walked down the grey concrete path that led to the police station’s door, located at the far-right end of a building that was never going to win any design awards. Mark had been past it hundreds if not thousands of times, but he’d never been inside. He felt sick, still not sure if he was doing the right thing, but he squared his shoulders and pushed open the door.
     
      It was quiet, which he hadn’t expected. He had thought there would be shouts, threats, accusations. He should have known better. It wasn’t a prison, not quite, not yet. Mark hesitated, glancing around him. He finally noticed a tall desk, built into the wall, with an officer about his own age behind it who glanced up with a smile.
      ‘Can I help you, sir?’
    His voice was pleasant. Mark stepped forward, almost