Читать книгу Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower - Simon Toyne, Simon Toyne - Страница 91

Alone in the white-tiled changing room, Liv blotted her reddened skin with the thin, scratchy towel. She could hear someone doing laps in the pool beyond the shower block.

The small pile of white and blue gym clothes the Sub-Inspector had given her positively sparkled next to her old blouse and jeans. She slipped into the tracksuit bottoms and pulled the white T-shirt over her head. ‘POLIS’ was printed on the front and back in large black letters. She went through her pockets, transferred the few dollars and change and wiped the mud-caked phone clean. She jogged the on button and the screen flashed on. It shivered gently in her hand; a new text message. She didn’t recognize the number.

She opened it and felt the chill return.

DO NOT TRUST THE POLICE

The capitals couldn’t have been more emphatic.

CALL ME AND I’LL EXPLAIN

She thought of the warning she had received last night, before the crash and the gunfire.

Liv stood stock still. She could hear the trickle of shower water, the splash of whoever was in the pool and the hum of air conditioning overhead, but nothing else. No approaching footsteps. No muffled conversations in the corridor. But she suddenly had the feeling that someone was in the room with her, standing behind the wall that divided the changing area from the main door, listening to her movements.

She slipped the phone in her pocket and pulled on a pair of white gym socks.

I think it’s best that you stay under our protection …

Arkadian had said that before packing her off with her chaperone.

Police protection. Her brother hadn’t benefited too well from it, had he?

She laced her grubby trainers over the pristine socks. The dark blue sweat-top swamped her slender frame. It too had POLICE emblazoned across it. She glanced once more towards the door then scooped up her ink-stained newspaper and headed in the other direction, past the still-dripping showers towards the pool.

The air in the pool enclosure was warm and damp and scraped the back of Liv’s throat with chlorine fingers as she made her way around its edge towards the fire exit. A slash of morning sunlight had somehow found its way through the crush of surrounding buildings and sparkled on the surface of the pale blue water.

Liv pushed down on the horizontal locking bar. A high-pitched siren echoed through the building. She pushed it closed behind her, killing the alarm as suddenly as it had started. The swimmer didn’t look up, just carried on doing steady lengths, sending glittering reflections across the white painted walls.

Sulley was on the phone to a news producer. The warning only sounded for a few seconds but it snapped him to attention.

‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘I’ll have to call you back.’

He approached the entrance to the ladies’ locker room, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the shiny vinyl floor. Women. Jesus. She’d been in there for a lifetime. He listened for the sound of the shower. Heard nothing. Knocked gently.

‘Miss Adamsen?’ He pushed the door open far enough to poke his head through.

No reply. There was a partition just inside, so he couldn’t see a thing.

‘Miss Adamsen?’ A little louder this time. ‘You OK in there?’

Still nothing.

He peered around the corner. Apart from a small pile of dirty clothes and a wet towel, the place was empty. Sulley felt a hot flush rising under his shirt, turning his pale flesh pink. ‘Miss Adamsen?’

He looked left. All four toilet cubicle doors were wide open.

He whipped back round to the showers.

Empty.

Moving on through, he found himself in the brightly lit chemical fug of the pool area. He squinted at the swimmer, hoping it was her; saw the short black hair and police issue swimsuit he hadn’t given her, knew it was not. He spotted the fire exit and felt his throat go dry. He jogged towards it. The moment he pushed it open and the alarm sounded he realized what had happened.

Outside, the street was teeming in both directions; people in suits, tourists in casual leisurewear. He searched amongst them for a dark blue, police-issue sweat-top. He saw nothing. The door swung shut behind him and the alarm stopped shrieking. His phone started vibrating in his hand and he glanced down at it, anxious in case it was Arkadian calling for an update. The number was withheld.

‘Hello?’

A white transit pulled up beside him.

‘Hello,’ the driver replied.