She nodded. She was not in Garrison’s good books. Anything like this could point a finger towards her, a direction she’d rather it didn’t take.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
Rayah narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “Going shopping.”
“Where?”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you’re like.”
“Garrison was associated with one of the people in a picture. A man who was murdered. Open case.”
Alex bent down and grabbed his backpack, an item that was almost ever-present. He pulled out a slim laptop that Rayah guessed was the latest model. Her cousin was a techno geek.
It was up and running within seconds, Alex viewing the pictures. “I assume you’re going to Manchester?”
“The shops are better than Leeds.”
“I take it you’re probably going to go to a bar called Minted?”
She raised her brows. “I may do. It’s in the Northern Quarter, so it’s near to the station.” It was also where the picture of Drew O’Malley had been taken, mainly because the bar was an acquisition in his portfolio.
“If you do, stay on the main road and don’t ask too many questions.”
“You’re encouraging me?”
Alex closed his computer. “I’m not handing that pen drive over.”
“Why?”
“Not to Garrison at least.”
His blue eyes were still, calculated.
“Al, what’s going on?” She felt cold, even though the bar was warm.
“I can’t say. And you can’t tell anyone that something is going on. But it’s bigger than what you can possibly imagine. When you go to Manchester, go to the bar. Speak to Drew O’Malley. Mention me. Tell him that you’re my cousin. Tell him about the fires. And tell him Garrison didn’t find the button. Then you let him get you back to the train station.”
“How do you know he’ll do that?”
“Because O’Malley owes me more than that.”
Her stomach rolled. “Al, are you putting your job at risk?”
“Fuck no. Anything but. Promise me you won’t say anything Rayah, not even to Jonny.”
She should’ve said ‘why Jonny’, at least put up a show of ignorance, but there was no point. Plus she knew that Alex wouldn’t broadcast it. He kept more secrets than the Queen’s butler.
“Do you want another coffee, Alex?” Abby, Scott’s bar manager and Sorrell’s hotel manager, slipped over to them. She was Severton’s hardest working person.
“Please.” Alex’s eyes flickered up to hers, as did Rayah’s.
She found herself looking at the familiar grey shade, and long blonde hair that was tinted a different colour each week.
A thought itched in her brain, but it was too far away to work out what it meant. She pushed it away, reaching for her bag and standing up. She had a train to catch.
Manchester bustled.Piccadilly Station had been a hubbub of commotion and noise, people rushing to make connections, trying to avoid groups of drunken revellers and parties of school children heading into the city for educational visits.
