World’s End by Ed James (Cullen & Bain #2)
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.9 MB
A body in a supermarket. A cop with a plan. A cop with a nightmare.
When a body turns up in an Edinburgh supermarket, Acting DI Scott Cullen must dig into the victim’s life—and his own recent past. While DS Brian Bain is in charge of investigating the supermarket and its staff, including the tainted meat scandal of a few years ago, he’s also scheming away, trying to solve the case before his boss. But will Cullen’s goal be thwarted by Bain’s game? Will Bain save the day? And will they catch the killer before they strike again?
‘Busy nudging turps, aye?’ Keith stepped forward, his glassy eyes glowing in the dark store. ‘Found this cracking video about coronavirus. Apparently the CIA developed it, unleashed it on some bats in China. From space.’
‘How did bats get into space?’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Keith rolled his eyes. ‘They targeted the bats from an orbital platform.’
‘No.’ But he didn’t have an answer.
Time for Adam to twist the knife. ‘If the CIA did it, how does that explain it infecting people in America?’
‘Collateral damage.’ Keith’s shrug showed that’s all the consideration that gaping hole needed. ‘Plus, the kind of people most at risk of catching it are the ones who can’t afford to get a test and can’t afford to take two weeks off work in quarantine. Thinning out the herd.’
Always an answer for everything. What Adam wouldn’t give to go back in time to before YouTube and all those nut-job conspiracy theories, and before pretty much everything else. ‘All so the New World Order can institute a global government, aye?’
‘Sure you didn’t watch it?’
‘Positive.’ Adam patted his arm. ‘I’ll just check on the young lad, see how he’s getting on.’ He pointed to the cleaner’s store cupboard again. ‘Get on with it.’
‘Aye, aye. It’s boiling in here. I’m sweating like a bastard already.’
‘So turn the heating down.’
‘Aye, aye.’ Keith shuffled off, stuffing in his earbuds to listen to yet another conspiracy freak podcast, or an audiobook about chemtrails turning frogs gay, or whatever new nonsense he was filling his head with.
Adam walked off in the opposite direction, passing through the rubber flaps into the store itself. He hit the first aisles and triggered the banks of lights to flash on.
It was set in pitch darkness—not a good sign—so he set off, the lights flashing on as he passed. He tried not to inspect each and every aisle for how badly they needed refilling. Tuesday night wasn’t nightfill, so his team of underpaid idiots would stack up during the day. The way things used to be, but it meant they’d be chasing their tails all day until the store shut and the nightfill took over.
No toilet rolls, even with their rationing at the tills. Pretty soon people would start paying for things by the sheet. Or they’d move on to pasta or tins of tomatoes.
At the far end, the bread aisle was a complete disaster. The shelves were virtually empty, just the huddled remnant of yesterday’s stock that hadn’t been sold off to the yellow-item vultures in the final hour of trading last night. And no sign anyone had been in this morning. Young Phil should’ve been here at the crack of sparrow fart to take the bread delivery and start stocking up. Should’ve just about been finished by now too.
He checked his phone for messages from Phil, maybe saying he was self-quarantining, but there was just the YouTube link from Keith.
Either way, looked like he was going to have to do the whole lot himself.