Free PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES: a gripping crime thriller (Camden Noir Crime Thrillers Trilogy Book 1) by JOHN YORVIK Page A

him.”
    “They say he disappeared into thin air.”
    “I reckon they’ll find his body mixed in with the other guy when they clean the tracks.”
    “Oh don’t, Jules.”
    I had to get out of there before they finished and noticed the occupied cubicle with men’s shoes in it. I pulled the gorilla mask on over my head. Then I flushed the toilet and left the cubicle. On the sink, next to a handbag, there was a luminous vest belonging to one of the women. I put it on.
    I looked in the mirror and saw a railwayman with a gorilla’s head. I pulled off the mask and smoothed down my hair. The toilet flushed and a hand slid the bolt. I ran out of the washrooms and found myself in a nondescript carpeted corridor. I followed the exit signs which led me through a string of deserted offices to an entrance hall where people in hi-viz tabards were queuing to get through the turnstile. I smiled as I walked past the security guard. He wished me a good evening as I left the building, but I didn’t reply. I was out in the open, safe in the knowledge that the police didn’t know who I was. And if the Polish didn’t know where I lived, maybe it was safe to go home.
    * * *
    When I got back to my building, I knocked on Kate’s door and she told me that she’d given the key to my Welsh friend a few days earlier. I knocked on the door of my own flat. Dani answered with a smile and gave me a long, warm Dani hug.
    “I came on the off-chance,” she said, breaking off and allowing me to walk in.
    “Dani, I was only trying to protect you, given your...”
    “No need to explain. But you must understand, I only wanted to help you. I know the risks and I’m still here for you, Lishman.”
    “Dani, I...”
    Suddenly the day’s events caught up with me and I felt myself spinning. Dani ran over to catch me before I fell and helped me to the sofa. It was like that footage of 1920s marathon runners who would almost collapse in sight of the finishing line and be helped on by the crowd the thirty yards or so they were short.
    Dani rushed to the kitchen and came back and handed me a glass of water. I drank half and then emptied the rest over the back of my neck. That worked. I felt myself return to the land of the living.
    “What happened?” exclaimed Dani. “Why are you in such a state? You really need to let me help you.”
    I lit a cigarette and thought about it. That day I had arguably just added a Polish man to my death count. I’d also taken part in a manhunt. And not in a good way. And even though the police had no leads, there was a chance they had video surveillance footage of me at Euston station, which they could broadcast nationwide. I had no alibi. The police hadn’t disclosed the time of death so getting an alibi was impossible. I had no evidence that would clear my name in my pockets. No matchbook with the name of a hotel on it.
    I was about to start explaining my story to Dani when I noticed something awry.
    “Dani, what have you done to the place?”
    The floor was several inches high in papers, ripped up books, torn upholstery and broken glass.
    “They, whoever they are, have been here looking for it, whatever it is. The thing you’ve been hiding from them I suppose.”
    I motioned towards my bag. She passed it over. I rifled inside and pulled out the envelope containing the photos and handed them to her.
    “I don’t suppose they left some brandy,” I said, getting up and leaving Dani to discover the corpse photos by herself.
    “I brought you some, and some cigarettes. They’re in a bag in the kitchen. There’s beer in the fridge.”
    “How did you know I would be coming back here,” I said, standing at the door to the living room and feeling another wave of doubt and paranoia subsume me.
    “I’ve been coming here every day since you left. I knew you’d come home eventually.”
    “And when did the break in happen?”
    “It was like this on Wednesday night.”
    “Weren’t you scared to come here after