Free The Chosen Seed by Sarah Pinborough Page A

someone involved in any number of respectable professions; Cass would’ve put money on him having a membership to some exclusive golf club somewhere in the suburbs. Mind you, he still might. It just went to show that you could never judge a book by its cover.
    ‘Feel free to smoke.’
    Cass did, and the forger pulled an ashtray from a cupboard before taking a large brown envelope from one of the kitchen drawers. He lit a cigarette for himself and inhaled deeply before tipping the contents out between them. Watching him, Cass wondered how much of this man’s exterior was a construct. He smoked like an expert, and held the butt between his thumb and forefinger. There was no hint of East End in his smooth voice, but Cass thought there must have been at some point. This forger had created a forgery of himself.
    ‘I’m pleased with these – some of my best work, I think. Of course, the passport itself is kosher, which helps. Don’t ask how, but it is. Take a look. It’s yours now.’
    Cass picked up the passport and flicked to the back. The man was right – to his untrained eye it looked exactly like his real passport, sitting back in his bedroom drawer in St John’s Wood. He looked at the name typed next to the photo Artie Mullins had taken only days before and his heart thumped. Charles Silver .
    ‘Who picked the name?’
    Charles. Charlie . The last time he’d had a false identity he’d been Charlie Sutton. His stomach lurched slightly as the years tumbled away, bringing that time and this together, folding his existence so the two moments touched. It was just a name . A long stream of smoke escaped through his gritted teeth.
    ‘It’s not a matter of picking the name.’ He looked up. ‘It’s about which identity fits. You have a problem with the name?’
    Cass shook his head. ‘I can live with it.’ According to his new passport and driving licence he was also forty-one. He could live with that too. He hadn’t planned on having a big fortieth birthday, so bypassing it altogether was probably a good thing. He was also a business analyst, whatever that was.
    ‘Thanks for these.’ Cass tucked the driving licence into his wallet and zipped the passport into the inside pocket of his jacket.
    ‘Mr Mullins is always a pleasure to work with. Pass on my regards if you see him.’
    Cass nodded, but didn’t speak; who knew when he’d be seeing Artie again?
    He finished his cigarette and drained the rest of his coffee before getting to his feet.
    ‘Do you want me to call you a minicab?’
    ‘No,’ Cass said, ‘thanks. I’ll walk.’ Walk to where was a different question. The first thing he needed to do was find somewhere to stay: a bedsit or cheap motel, from where he could plan on how to get Luke back.
    ‘Well then, goodbye and good luck, Mr Silver.’
    Cass shook the smooth hand and headed back to Crouch End. He’d walk up to Highgate and jump on the tube there.Letting his head fall forward and his shoulders slump – any cameras he passed would have a harder job getting a clear image of him – he started to walk.
    He had walked barely ten paces when the doors of a parked car ahead flew open and four men climbed out. Cass barely registered the visible gun within one man’s overcoat before the cloth was over his mouth and the nauseatingly sweet smell of chloroform overwhelmed him. He saw the boot of the car being opened. He was out cold by the time it shut over him.

Chapter Ten
    M at Blackmore had been getting edgier as the trial drew closer, and he hadn’t exactly started from a place of calm. Sometimes, despite the months that had passed, he still found it hard to believe that this whole shitstorm had come down on them at all. Gary Bowman had promised him it was all fine, that they wouldn’t get caught – and then everything went to shit, with the two boys getting killed, and the Christian Jones family murder – it was a mess, a bloody mess, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.
    He rocked