The warehouse door groaned open. Inside, a single bulb swung over a metal folding table. On it: a laptop and the folder.
“AC-12. You’ve been chasing ghosts. Tommy Hunter’s ghost. The ‘H’ in the fourth man. You think it’s Hastings. You think it’s Wise. You’re looking for a Bentley-driving officer with a gold watch.” line of duty papadustream
“I’m the clearance sale,” the figure said. “The final markdown. You want bent coppers? I’ll give you a live feed. Tomorrow, 0200 hours. Warehouse 73, Docklands. A handover of exhibit logs from the Lawrence Christopher case. Cash for concrete.” The warehouse door groaned open
“Then my backup has your backup outnumbered three to one. And that folder with Arnott’s sins? It goes to the Sun by sunrise.” “AC-12
“I don’t want money,” the voice said. “I want immunity. And I want the real ‘H’ in a cell next to Dot Cottan’s grave. You show up with a uniform within a mile, the stream dies and the folder burns. You come alone, Fleming. You and the wee angry Scot.”
The blood drained from Steve’s face. Kate turned to him, a question in her eyes he couldn’t answer.