Dead at First Sight

102 Friday 12 October

Jules de Copeland stood by the window of his apartment, up on the fifth floor, watching the progress of the breakdown truck as it headed east along Marine Parade. He saw the small saloon suddenly appear from seemingly nowhere and accelerate hard in the same direction.

Cops?

Moments later he lost sight of it in the mist.

Cops who had been waiting somewhere outside, out of his view? Watching the building? Watching him? What would the breakdown truck driver tell them? The man had turned down his attempt to bribe him. Would he give them his phone number?

Of course he would. The phone which he had dropped down the chute. It was a burner, but he did not know how much information they could pull from it. His address?

He looked at his watch: 7.25 a.m.

How accurately could GPS triangulation on his phone call pinpoint him? To the building? The floor? The apartment?

Even more urgent to make a run for it.