“I asked Arthur if I could borrow his phone and when I tracked it down it turned out to be a message from central dispatch in Ballymena. They had got my girl! An army patrol had nabbed her on her motorbike heading north out of Carrick and they’d handed her over to the police. She was now at Whitehead Police Station. “Well, well, well,” I said, and grinned at Arthur. “Good news?” “Aye, could be, mate. Could be.” I ran back to the barracks, jumped in the Beemer, hit a ton on the Bla Hole road and ...was at Whitehead Cop Shop in eight minutes. It was a small police station, unmanned at the weekends. Four police reservists and an inspector ran the show. I found the duty officer, a freckly kid called Raglan with a David Soul haircut and a feeble ginger tache. “I need to interview your prisoner,” I said. “The prisoner?” “Aye, presumably you’ve only the one.” “She’s left already,” Raglan said. “What?” “She left.” “Who the fuck with?” “A couple of superintendents from Special Branch.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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