Riot Act (10 page)

Had he recognised me? He’d certainly been watching the estate, keeping tabs on his younger brother. I thought he’d been aiming for Garton-Jones that night when he’d nearly run us down, but it could just as easily have been me.

Leave her
. With a shudder I remembered his words back there in the alleyway. If it wasn’t for Madeleine, whoever she was, I’d still be there, with the hard-liners from Streetwise Securities using me as a surrogate punchbag. Venting their frustration that their real victim had got away.

Still, Sean was damned good at abandoning people when they needed him.

Now, he veered the Cherokee off the main road, ducking through half a dozen dark and empty back streets, veiled by the fog. I watched his eyes keep flicking to the rear-view mirror, constantly checking for any sign of pursuit. I suppose it was inevitable that eventually he’d have the chance to take a proper look at me.

And as soon as he did, he knew.

How could he not?

I saw the eyes widen. He jumped like he’d been shot, and stamped on the brakes, twisting round in his seat to stare at me directly, as though the mirror might have lied. Madeleine gasped as she was thrown forwards and the inertia jammed her seatbelt. I nearly lost hold of Roger’s still-unconscious body.

Then I took one look at the angry disbelief in Sean’s face, and totally bottled it. Before the vehicle had even stopped, I’d flung open the door, and catapulted out onto the road.

We can’t have been doing more than ten miles an hour or so by that time, and decelerating hard, but it was enough to unbalance me. I rolled through the fall, and came up on my feet, already running.

I heard Sean shout to Madeleine, “Stay with the boy!” and then he was out of the vehicle too, and pounding hard on my tail.

I was never a fast runner, but adrenaline is a powerful stimulant, and fear gave me a turn of speed I didn’t know I possessed. I reached a junction and dipped round it. Unless I was out of his sight, I knew I stood no chance of evading him. Sean was predatory and relentless. It was in his nature.

I ran with everything I’d got, not lifting my head, not looking back. I made another couple of frantic turns, found myself outside a short row of closed-up shops. There was a yard alongside one of them, barred by a mesh gate about ten feet high.

It was an instant decision. I took a flyer at it, sheer momentum carrying me far enough up to grab the top rail and swing my body over in one fluid movement. By the time Sean appeared, I was fifteen feet further back, down behind a stack of pallets. Breathless and terrified.

For such a big man, Sean moved smooth and quiet, with a deadly purpose. Even in army boots his ability to creep up undetected on the unwary had bordered on the supernatural. In the intervening years it seemed he hadn’t lost the knack.

I peeped through the slats in the pallet and saw him stop by the gate, staring up at it. Judging the height, and the probability of my having fled this way. He was still as heavily muscled across the shoulder as he had been when I’d known him. Built like a boxer, exuding menace.

I squeezed my eyes shut as if I was a kid. As if my being unable to see him would also work in reverse.

I heard his footsteps and risked another look. He’d moved back from the gate, turning a slow circle. Alert, as if trying to sense where I’d gone to ground. I fought to keep my breathing steady.

Headlights swept across the gateway then. Sean rounded sharply, and I shrank back. I saw the Cherokee pull up at the kerb next to him. Madeleine had moved over to take the wheel. She leaned out of the window.

“Have you found her?”

“No.”

“What on earth made her take off like that?”

Sean didn’t answer that one. Prowling back over to the gate, he reached up suddenly to smack the mesh with both hands. Making it clatter and jangle. Making me gasp.

“Charlie,” he called out, “I know you’re in there somewhere.”

I kept silent, but my heartrate took off.

“You can’t hide forever, Charlie,” he said, more quietly. “We’ve unfinished business, you and I.”

The words were left hanging. Sinister. Malign.

“Sean, I hate to hurry you, but we really need to get your brother fixed up,” Madeleine broke in. “Judging by the way she did a runner, the girl’s not so badly hurt, and she obviously doesn’t want to be found. Come on. We’ve got enough problems of our own to worry about.”

Sean let out a pinched breath through his nose, shoulders hunched, then he turned without a second glance and stalked back to the jeep. I squirmed round, seeing him climb into the passenger seat and slam the door.

“OK,” I heard him say tightly, “let’s go.”

For a good quarter of an hour after the heavy exhaust note had faded into the night, I remained in my hiding place, not moving. It was only when a thin drizzle of rain started to fall out of the mist that I forced my frozen limbs to stir.

It took willpower to do it. I had an evil headache and the metallic bitterness of the blood I kept swallowing left my stomach raw.

Without the primitive flight reflex boosting me, I found I couldn’t get back over the gate. My hands were grazed and starting to throb, and my bruised body protested more at every failed attempt. Eventually I had to drag one of the pallets over to the base and use that to gain initial purchase on the mesh. Even so, it was an undignified scramble.

On the other side, I realised I had no real idea where I was. I turned in the opposite direction to the way the Cherokee had gone, and started walking. Finally, I reached the main road. I plodded on, one step after another into fog that hung like smoke under the streetlights.

Partly by luck, and partly by keeping a very low profile, I managed to get back to Pauline’s without encountering either Sean, or Garton-Jones’s mob. The way I was feeling, I don’t know which would have been the less preferable option.

The next morning I dragged myself out of bed with enough aches and pains to send me groaning for the bathroom. My flat only has a shower, and the prospect of access to a long soak whenever I wanted one had in no way helped persuade me to house-sit for Pauline in the first place.

By the time I’d soaked my way through three chin-deep refills of hot water, it was time to get sorted and head for the gym.

I briefly took stock of my reflection in the mirror in the hall on the way out, and found the split lip much less noticeable than it had felt the night before. I reckoned I could probably claim a bit of boisterous behaviour on Friday’s part to explain it away if I had to.

***

The day was uneventful apart from a phone call from Eric O’Bryan, asking if I’d had chance to reconsider my decision to support Roger. I took the opportunity to pick his brains about the relationship between Roger and Nasir.

“If they’re mates, it just doesn’t fit in with Nasir’s threats against whoever’s behind the robbery,” I said. “But, on the other hand I suppose if he’s so friendly with one of the lads who was involved, he might have an inside track, know there’s something deeper going on. What do you think?”

“Hmm,” O’Bryan said. “You may be right. There certainly seems to be more to this than meets the eye. Tell you what, leave it with me and let me nose around for a few days, and I’ll get back to you. It gives you chance to think a bit more about that caution as well, eh?”

I made noncommittal noises, which obviously failed to reassure him about my change of heart, but when he probed further, I stalled him.

He wasn’t happy being fobbed off, but knew pushing me wouldn’t get him anywhere. He took my continued indecision on the best of his chins, and promised to call again.

***

I trundled home again in the early evening, running the gauntlet of Garton-Jones’s boys. They stood and watched the Suzuki pass as I rode into Lavender Gardens, but made no move to intercept me. A glance over my shoulder found they’d moved out into the road behind me and were speaking into their walkie-talkies. I couldn’t shake the smothering feeling that I’d just stepped into the closing jaws of a trap.

Back at Pauline’s, I wheeled the bike through the back gate quickly, and into the shed. When I came back out, snapping the padlock firmly shut, I stilled, listening. It was only the faintest suggestion of a noise from over the garden fence, but it sounded very much like a sob.

I sneaked up to the fence and peered over it. The Gadatras weren’t big on gardening and the place had been allowed to run wild. Uncut dead winter grass lay brown and matted over most of the area.

Halfway down, past the looping washing line, the garden had been abandoned entirely to the children. The main feature was a half-deflated paddling pool that didn’t look as though it had been capable of holding water for years, the sides mouldy and creased.

And there at the bottom, on a lopsided rickety swing, sat Nasir. He was wearing jeans and just a T-shirt with no thought to the sting of cold, rocking himself gently backwards and forwards, as though in a trance.

He had a cigarette held with the lit end shielded in the cup of his hand, like a seasoned outdoor smoker. Every few seconds his hand went jerkily to his mouth, and he dragged air through the filter in quick, nervous puffs. When the cigarette was dead he looked at it in surprise, as though he didn’t remember smoking.

For a moment he stared at nothing, eyes blank and stony. Then something seemed to break inside him. His face crumpled in on itself, and he brought his hands up to cover it, body beginning to shake.

“Nasir?” It was little Aqueel who spoke as he came trotting down the path past the washing line with its swaying string bag of pegs. He faltered about a dozen feet from his brother. “Nasir?” he said again, less sure this time.

Nasir’s head snapped up, and he waved Aqueel away sternly, rapping out rough commands that obviously told him to go, to leave him alone.

Confused, upset, Aqueel hesitated. Nasir leaped to his feet, arms flailing, and repeated his order. His voice rose until it was almost a scream.

Aqueel fled without looking back.

Once his brother had vanished into the house, Nasir sank back onto the swing, as though the burst of action had exhausted him.

Ah well
, I thought.
In for a penny . . .

“Hello Nasir,” I said quietly.

He turned to look at me, his expression shrouded, then glanced away, head bent. “What do you want?” he asked sullenly.

I knew his tolerance to me was low, so I might as well start at the top. “I want to know about you and Roger Meyer,” I said.

Nasir’s head came back up at that. For a second or two the fire was back in his eyes, then it fluttered weakly, and went out.

He shrugged. “I don’t know who you mean,” he said, sounding tired.

“Come on, Nasir,” I said sharply. “I’ve seen the two of you together. It’s not exactly a secret. Was he on his way round here to see you last night? Is that what he was doing on the estate?”

Nasir jumped to his feet, looked about to crack, then thought better of it. He reached for another cigarette, stuck it between his lips and lighted the end.

I paused, watching his edgy fingers, then went out on a limb of guesswork. “What happens when your aunt finds out you’re best buddies with one of the boys who stabbed your uncle?” I asked gently. “Don’t you think coming clean now is going to save you a load of trouble in the long run?”

“
Trouble?
” Nasir threw his cigarette away untasted and whirled to face me, stabbing the air with an accusatory finger. “Violence – that’s all you people understand!” he spat. “Well, I hope you’re happy now with the trouble
you’ve
caused, spying on us. You and your fascist bully boys! But you make the most of it while it lasts, because I swear to you that we won’t lie down and be beaten for much longer!”

With that he marched up the garden towards the house, ignoring my attempts to call him back, and slammed the door heavily behind him.

***

I was still puzzling over my run-in with Nasir when I set out with Friday for his evening walk a couple of hours later.

The dog was going loopy at the prospect. He tore round the living room making incongruous squeaking noises while I pulled on my coat, and he kept trying to bite the lead when I attached it to his collar. My rebukes were met with a cheerfully blatant disregard.

I stopped to pull on my bike gloves as we left the house. My hands were still feeling delicate and Friday tended to haul me along with more gusto than a pair of plough horses. It was a good job it was so cold that it didn’t look suspicious.

Yesterday’s fog had dissipated, but the air was bleak, grainy with a damp that knifed its way straight through to your bones. I shivered as the chill of the evening bit, and made yet another mental note to treat myself to a warmer pair of gloves.

We’d only got as far as the next street before Friday suddenly started acting nervous. Things happened quickly after that, but it gave me the few seconds I needed to ready a game face.