The stream cut to black.
The figure tilted its head. “Then tomorrow, I leak the other folder. The one with your name on it, Arnott. The one about the gun you didn’t log back in 2016. The one that put a drug dealer back on the street who later killed a witness.”
It was now behind them.
He pointed a trembling finger toward the rafters.
“And if we say no?” Steve growled.
But no balaclava.
Mullins laughed—a wet, broken sound. “God, no. I’m just the antenna. I’m just the stupid postman .” line of duty papadustream
Outside, three sets of headlights flared to life. Tyres on wet concrete.