Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

she was about to hit, but her body jerked backwards. Sharpie had grabbed her utility belt and heaved her back.

‘Intent on taking a dip today, Buck?’ he joked.

‘Just making sure you’re awake.’ She yanked the pole again, firmer this time and the jolt was enough to free the body from the water’s grip. They pulled the male towards the RIB and grabbed his clothing, pulling him over the inflated edge and onto the base of the boat. Working quickly, they manoeuvred him inside a mesh-sided bag. The mesh allowed any residual water to drain off, while holding any potential forensic evidence inside.

As Connor navigated the RIB back to shore, Marlo cupped her hands to her mouth and blew hard, trying to warm them up. The Kevlar gloves were great for preventing injuries, but they didn’t stop the cold seeping through into finger joints.

‘What have we got then?’ asked Ali as the team pulled the RIB up the bank.

Marlo opened the zip fastening at the top of the bag, peeling it down so Ali could see the male’s face, watching as Ali frowned.

Kneeling down for a closer look, he said, ‘I know this lad. We had him in not so long back for domestic assault, I’m sure we did. Charlie handled the interview. He bashed his missus round the head with an ornament. Maybe this is her way of striking back. Is there any ID on him?’

‘We haven’t looked. We pull ’em out. You can put your hands in his pockets, guv.’ Connor’s voice was sarcastic as he stood beside Marlo glaring at Ali. She shot him a warning look. What the hell is his problem?

Ali looked suitably shocked at Connor’s tone. ‘Problem?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Connor looked ready to respond with anger, so Marlo quickly interrupted. ‘No, no problem. I’ll check for ID now.’ She patted the male’s pockets and found his wallet tucked in his jeans at the front. Pulling it free, she flicked it open. ‘Grant Cooper?’

She handed Ali the wallet so he could look at the picture on the provisional driving licence card.

‘Aye, that’s him.’ Ali put the wallet into a small evidence bag, sealed the open end, and turned back towards his team. Remembering his manners, he turned back. ‘Thanks, Marlo.’

‘What the hell was that?’ hissed Marlo in Connor’s direction.

‘What was what?’ he asked, looking confused, ‘I just told him to do it himself.’

‘He’s a DI, Connor. Checking the pockets wouldn’t have killed you.’

‘Cops like that do my head in, waltzing in like they own the place and taking over. Besides, he’s a knob. It’s his fault that guy escaped the other month. Proper risk assessments weren’t carried out. Because of him, a prison guard was killed. That guard was my cousin, Billy. No way Billy deserved to die like that. His deaths on his shoulders.’ Connor jerked his head towards Ali.

‘I’m sorry about your cousin. But I’m sure the prison does their own risk assessments. I don’t know much about the case so can’t really comment, but—’

‘Well, keep your comments to yourself then,’ snapped Connor before marching off towards the van.

Marlo stared after him. Jesus, overreaction much. Though I guess I’m one to talk. It was only this morning I was bitching about Ali. Pot. Kettle.

 

River Wear, near Durham Cathedral, Durham – 2 November

Connor stopped beside the van, immediately regretting his harsh words to Marlo. She wasn’t to know Billy had been his cousin. To be fair, Connor had often wished he and Billy hadn’t shared familial ties anyway; his cousin had been a tosser for the most part, always had multiple women on the go and treated people like shite. Connor knew Billy had been responsible for half the drugs going into the prison, but it was just one thing on a list of many that he couldn’t prove. And regardless of his faults, he was still family.

He sighed deeply.

His family really were the bane of his life. He was convinced he’d been born into the wrong body. He tried his damnedest to stay on the right side of the law, despite every opportunity placed in his path by his uncle. He had always been in the picture looking after Connor and his sister, and Connor had always been expected to enter the family business. If racketeering and smuggling could be called a business. Instead, he’d stuck to his guns, kept his nose clean, even moved to the Midlands and joined the force.

The rumour mill however, had closely followed him, eventually forcing him into the transfer to the north-east police.

His new colleagues knew nothing of his family, despite the fact that Uncle Fred had soon moved up to the north-east himself. To help his parents, he’d said. Lord knew his mum and dad needed the help. His mum had early onset Alzheimer’s, and his dad struggled daily with looking after her. His uncle made sure the mortgage was paid and visited every day – always making sure Connor never forgot just how much he had to be grateful for.

And his uncle Fred rang him every day when he was at work, fishing for goings-on and information. Which Connor had to provide, or his mum and dad would end up homeless. His wage, though decent, wasn’t enough to pay their mortgage as well as his own. Not to mention the cost of putting his sister, Marie, through university. Uncle Fred took care of it all, and if all he wanted in exchange was snippets of information, then Connor really didn’t have it in him to say no.

Connor was smart though, at least he thought he was. The information was only ever minor – drugs raids going down, whispers of searches heard in the bait room. He’d never accessed the force systems purposefully for intel, but it was still bad enough. He knew if he ever got found