Alias by Cari Hunter

Author:Cari Hunter [Hunter, Cari]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635552225
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2018-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

The train is ambling away from Chester when a text buzzes my phone. The number shows up as anonymous, but it’s Pryce, apparently using her own mobile: I’ve emailed the CCTV in a zip file. Let me know if you have any problems opening it. I’m in the middle of typing a reply when she tags on an addendum: PS—you did fine today.

I delete my original, standard acknowledgement and dither over the writing of a new message. Every jolt of the train reminds me I’m heading away from the relative sanctuary of the past thirty or so hours. Hashing things out with Pryce was like taking my first breath of fresh air after days of being smothered. Unable to put any of this into a text, I write an inadequate, Cheers, keep in touch, hoping that last part doesn’t sound as needy as it actually is, and then distract myself by phoning 101 to report break-in number two.

By the time I get home, I’m lightheaded and tripping over my feet. There’s no sign that Priti has been back, and the blood sample is undisturbed in the fridge. The courier arrives within the hour, accepting a sizable tip in exchange for his promise to deliver the package directly into Pryce’s hands. As his van pulls out of the driveway, I sink onto the sofa, fully intending to download the CCTV file the moment I can get my eyes to focus. Closing them proves to be a mistake, though. I wake choking on drool and achy from dozing off in an upright position.

“Bloody hell.” I dry my chin, straining to see the clock. The room is dark, the slats of the window blinds limned with a faint orange glow from the streetlights. I switch on my laptop and nip to the loo while it loads, dreading coming back to find that Pryce has requested a read receipt. I don’t want her to think she’s partnered herself with a complete slacker.

A splash of cold water on my face clears the lingering cobwebs, and I install myself at the kitchen table, fortified by strong coffee and a corned beef barm. The zip unspools eight hours of footage onto the desktop: two CCTV cameras, with a four-hour window for each. I settle in to watch the first file, a lamp-post-mounted, council-funded beady eye that focuses on the post office precinct in Bethesda and captures an oblique view of the A5. I experiment with different speeds, settling on one that allows me to eyeball passing cars and study the people who come and go, while skipping past the dead air.

The post office is shut, but Friday night sees the chippy and the Co-Op shop attracting a steady stream of customers. Scrawny teens slouch along the low wall framing the car park, the boldest among them stepping forward every now and again to pester adults into buying booze and fags, any acquired booty shared down the line and back. Most of the people approach on

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