Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) Read Free Page B

straightened his clothing before moving back behind his desk.
      ‘Not personally,’ Knight said, ‘but it was down to him. You can see why I don’t go swimming.’
    Catherine managed a smile.
      ‘But why? What does it mean?’ she asked.
    He shook his head.
      ‘I told you I had some history with the Hughes family, with Malc in particular. His name croppe d up in a few cases while I was with the Met and I got a bit obsessed, I admit it. I wanted to bring him down a peg or two and I was careless. This,’ Knight gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, ‘was his way of telling me he knew what I was up to, had seen me coming if you like, and wasn’t going to stand for it.’
      ‘But . . . assaulting a police officer?’
      ‘I don’t know who actually did it, I didn’t see anyone. They grabbed me off the street, I’d just come out of a chippy.’ Catherine had to smile at that, knowing Knight’s fondness for fish and chips. ‘They threw me into the back of a van and blindfolded me. I think I ended up in some garage or workshop. I could smell petrol fumes, oil, that sort of thing. I don’t know how many there were and I couldn’t identify anyone. They gave me a bit of a kicking, then when I was on the ground they did this. I thought they’d cut me at first, it seemed to go on forever. In the end they chucked me back in the van and dumped me at the side of the road.’
    Catherine was appalled.
      ‘So he got away with it?’
      ‘I never reported it. What would be the point? No witnesses, no names or faces to identify and a million and one people with the initials MH. It wasn’t part of an official investigation, so . . .’
      ‘So you might have a motive for revenge on Malc Hughes yourself?’ Catherine kept her tone light.
    Knight met her gaze.
    ‘He’ll start a life sentence one day, that’ll do for me. Anyway, while Paul Hughes was being tortured and killed, we were on our way to the hospital.’
    Catherine closed her eyes for a second.
      ‘Of course we were.’ she whispered.

6
     
     
     
     
    Two forty-five in the afternoon. Mark Cook raised a hand to his aching neck and rubbed it, wincing. He sat up straight, feeling slightly better than he had a few hours before.
      Then he remembered. Lauren. He snatched his mobile from the coffee table, prodding the screen into life. Who could he call? He jumped to his feet, scrolling through his list of contacts.
      ‘Mark?’ A baby bawled in the background.
      ‘Steph? Have you heard from Lauren?’
      ‘What? Wait a minute.’ A few seconds of muffled noise, then the sound of a door closing. Mark paced the living room. ‘What did you say?’ Steph asked.
      ‘Has Lauren been in touch?’
      ‘No, why? She’s away, isn’t she?’
      ‘Yeah, but she should be back in the country at least by now. She’s not answering her phone, I’ve had no texts, she hasn’t rung . . .’
    A silence.
      ‘I’m sure she’s fine, Mark. She’ll just be hungover, she’s probably asleep on the ferry or at a mate’s house. You know what she’s like. She’ll be home soon, I’m sure,’ Steph told him.
    Mark sighed.
      ‘Yeah, I suppose so. All right, thanks.’
    He closed his eyes for a second, wondering who else he could phone.

7
     
     
     
     
    ‘Please tell me you’re not growing a beard?’ Catherine asked as she wound a few strands of spaghetti around her fork. Thomas raised a hand to his face.
      ‘What’s wrong with it? Anyway, it’s not a beard, I just haven’t been arsed to shave for a few days. It wasn’t a priority while we were away.’
    She chewed and swallowed, then picked up her slice of garlic bread and gestured to her plate with it.
      ‘I didn’t realise you could cook, this is delicious.’
    He flushed a little.
      ‘Thanks. Anyone can chop up an onion though, chuck a few herbs in a pan.’
      ‘I don’t normally bother.’
      ‘Louise was a good cook, wasn’t she?’
    Catherine gazed at him,