Mulligan shook his head. ‘Not according to Harris. What’s mine is yours, Cousin Victoria. Harris doesn’t care whose bones he breaks, as long as he gets his money. I hope you’ve got a stash of used notes tucked away somewhere, because fuck knows I haven’t.’ He glared at her. ‘And what did Harris mean when he said you were an amazing businesswoman, that you’ve turned a profit? What bollocks have you been telling him?’
‘Keep your voice down.’ She scanned the room, but no one seemed to be taking any notice of his histrionics.
‘Keep my voice down?’ Mulligan spoke in a squeak, his tone ingratiating. ‘“Of course he’ll have your money. Yes, Mr Harris. No, Mr Harris. Why don’t you bend me over the bar right now, Mr Harris?”’
Caelan’s hand shot out, seizing his arm. The tips of her index and middle fingers found the spot she was looking for as her thumb nestled into place on the other side of Mulligan’s wrist. She increased the pressure and twisted. The movement was discreet, almost imperceptible, but it caused enough pain to make Mulligan’s eyes bulge. Caelan knew she was taking a risk – if anyone noticed, they might wonder what was going on. She was supposed to be Mulligan’s assistant, not his boss, certainly not someone who would manhandle him to make a point.
But he deserved it.
He gasped. ‘What are you doing, you crazy bitch?’
Caelan spoke pleasantly. ‘Shut your mouth, Mulligan. We’re here to have a good time, remember? To meet people?’ She let him go and he stumbled away.
‘Yeah, well strangely enough, I’m not enjoying myself,’ he said.
‘Poor you. Tell me about Reuben Nash.’
‘Listen, why don’t we call it a night?’ Mulligan said. ‘We can go home, make some cocoa, have a chat. I’ll tell you anything you want. Scout’s honour.’
Caelan glanced at Ewan. ‘Had enough?’
He smiled. ‘Before we got here.’
‘You’re a miserable bastard, you know that?’ Mulligan said.
Ewan drained his beer. ‘It’s been said.’
They retrieved their coats, headed outside. The queue waiting to enter the place was even longer than before. Caelan reckoned there must have been about a hundred people in the line. Rico was still there, joined by another man, both of them laughing as they saw Mulligan.
‘What’s wrong, is the music too loud for you?’ Rico called.
Mulligan kept walking, didn’t reply.
As they approached the end of the queue, Caelan saw a man say something to the woman he was with and move towards them. He looked to be in his early twenties, hair expertly styled, clothes clearly expensive. Mulligan saw him and grinned, held out his fist to be bumped.
‘Leyton, pal, how have you been?’
‘Good. I heard you’d been banged up?’
Mulligan scoffed at him. ‘Heard wrong, didn’t you? Hospital, that’s all.’
‘Your hair, man.’ Leyton shook his head, his expression sorrowful. ‘What’ve you done to your hair?’
‘See Leyton?’ Mulligan said to Caelan and Ewan. ‘Best barber in London. Ask anyone.’
Leyton laughed. ‘Not just anyone. Some people are beyond help.’ He cast a critical eye over Ewan, whose hairstyle could be described as casual at best. Ewan stared back, and Caelan was pleased to see he was unembarrassed. He might not be the most experienced, but she was glad he was with her. She knew she could rely on him to back her up whatever the situation, and in their job, that could be the difference between life and death.
‘Like I said, I’ve been in hospital,’ Mulligan was saying. ‘Getting a haircut doesn’t seem so important when you collapse in a pool of blood and wake up in intensive care.’
Caelan wanted to remind him that she’d lost more blood the last time she donated than he’d done when he’d been shot, and that the nearest he’d come to intensive care was being pushed past the entrance on his way to the X-ray department. Leyton looked suitably impressed, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Caelan could see the woman he’d been standing with frowning at him as the queue began to move. She interrupted Mulligan’s boasting. ‘They’re letting people inside.’
Leyton turned to gawp at her. ‘What?’
Caelan jerked a thumb, and his eyes widened.
‘Shit. See you around, Mulligan.’ He trotted towards his girlfriend, calling over his shoulder: ‘And come into the shop, yeah? We’ll get that barnet sorted.’
They kept walking, Caelan scanning their surroundings, Ewan walking a couple of feet behind them. After a few minutes, Mulligan glanced at Caelan’s face, saw her expression.
‘What?’ he asked.
There was no one nearby, no one listening. ‘Intensive care?’ She nudged him. ‘You’ve a good imagination, I’ll give you that.’
Mulligan laughed. ‘Aye, all right. But I’ve been away six weeks. People are going to ask questions if I tell them the truth – that they took one look at my leg, stuck a plaster on and sent me on my way with a sticker and a lollipop.’
Caelan had to concede it was a fair point. ‘Just don’t…’
‘Don’t what?’
She looked at him. ‘Say too much. Stick to something like the truth. It’s safer. You’ll be safer.’
Mulligan huffed. ‘Safe? Good one. You saw Harris and his mates. You told him we’d have fifteen grand for him within forty-eight hours. If you’re planning on us staying safe, you should have kept your mouth shut.’
* * *
Back at the house, Mulligan threw himself onto the nearest sofa and closed his eyes, kicking off his shoes. Ewan went through to the kitchen to make coffee while Caelan paced the room.
Mulligan opened an eye. ‘Can’t you sit down? You’re making me nervous.’
Caelan stopped and stood in front of him, hands on hips. ‘I want to ask you about—’
‘No.’ He said it wearily, his chin on his chest. ‘Not tonight.’
She frowned down at him. ‘You said—’
‘I know what I said. Now I’m saying I’m knackered, and we can play twenty questions tomorrow. All right?’
It wasn’t, but Caelan knew there was no point pushing him. If this was going to work, she had to keep him onside. ‘Fine.’ She sat on the other end of the sofa, drew her feet up underneath her. Mulligan watched, his eyes half closed. Caelan remembered the face of his sister in the photograph Penrith had left with her at Ewan’s house. Those same green eyes.
‘What do you think of the house?’ Mulligan spoke softly, and Caelan almost missed the question.
‘It’s nice,’ she said automatically.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Nice? Aye, I suppose it is. I own it outright, you know. No mortgage, none of that crap. All mine. Can you say that?’
She looked at him. ‘What?’
‘You’re what, late twenties? Wee bit older? And you’ll be paying off your mortgage until you die, or it’ll seem like it. Or giving rent to some greedy bastard who never fixes anything and could kick you out any time if they felt like it. Won’t you?’
Caelan thought about the flat in Rotherhithe, how she had come to live there. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Yeah?’ Mulligan shifted position, turned to face her. ‘Look at your job.’
‘What about it?’
‘The day we met, you were close to death, and I’m guessing it wasn’t the first time. So I’ll ask you – is it worth it?’
Caelan rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day. ‘It’s what I do.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about the loneliness, the isolation, the soul searching.
A smirk. ‘And you’re a real hero. Let’s say you had died that day. What do you think would have happened?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t, or won’t?’ He sat up straighter, warming to his theme. ‘I’ll tell you what would have happened – nothing. The world would have kept turning, wouldn’t even have noticed, certainly wouldn’t have given a shit. A quiet funeral, no big do with full honours for you, because let’s be honest, no one knows who
you are. You’re faceless.’
Caelan said nothing, her head beginning to ache. He was right, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him so.
‘Do you have a family?’ he asked. ‘Husband?’
She stared at him then, couldn’t help it. Mulligan leered, realisation dawning. ‘Wife?’
‘Shut up.’
He wriggled in his seat. ‘Wait until Jolene hears. She swings every which way, that one. She’ll be round here—’
Caelan narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Aye, right, she thinks you’re loved up with Action Man in there.’ Mulligan jerked his head towards the kitchen, where Ewan could be heard clattering around. A smile. ‘I’m not much good at this undercover thing, am I?’
‘We’re undercover, not you. You just have to be the same hateful little shit you’ve always been.’
He pulled a face, held a hand over his heart. ‘I’m wounded. That hurts, it really does.’
‘More than your leg did, I’m sure.’ Caelan glanced towards the kitchen.
‘Does he even know how to make coffee?’ Mulligan raised his voice. ‘Oi, we’re gasping out here.’ He met Caelan’s eyes. ‘As I was saying, look around you. When we walked into that club tonight, people knew who I was. You’ll never know what that feels like.’
‘Thankfully.’
‘Come on now. Have you never been tempted?’
‘To do what?’
He grinned. ‘To sample life on the other side. Never taken a bribe, a backhander? Never seized a load of drugs and skimmed some off to see what all the fuss is about?’
Her face was solemn. ‘Never,’ she said truthfully. Mulligan slapped his thighs with both hands.
‘Never, Mother Teresa? Then I feel sorry for you. I might be grabbing the shitty end of the stick right now, but I’ll tell you what, I’ve no regrets. I’ve done everything I ever wanted, enjoyed every minute. You only have one life, sweetheart. Maybe you should try enjoying it. Let yourself go a little, you know?’
‘And the best way to do that is to be like you? Ruining lives so you can live like a king?’ Caelan was aware how prissy she sounded, but she enjoyed winding him up.
‘Ruining lives? Whose lives are we talking about?’ Mulligan spread his hands. ‘Come on, tell me.’
‘Anyone who ever bought drugs from you, for a start.’
He smiled at her. ‘You believe that, do you?’
‘Fairly obvious, I’d have thought.’
‘Shall I tell you something?’ He drew himself up, looking as though he were preparing to make a speech.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Well, you could walk out of here now, and I’ll do the same. How about it? Nah? Right. Then you listen. The people who bought from me, they were looking for a bit of happiness.’
‘Happiness. You’re serious? Happiness?’
‘That’s what I said. Anything to take them out of their shitty lives for an hour, half an hour, even a few minutes. Even a second, because you know what? It’s better than reality. Even using a drug you know is killing you is better than looking around and realising what your life is. They couldn’t do it, couldn’t cope with the reality.’ Mulligan licked his lips, kept talking. ‘Some had probably been abused, some might have had mental health issues, learning difficulties, whatever. Never given any advice or help, just been pushed aside and forgotten about. And eventually they were offered a little something to make the misery disappear for a while. Why wouldn’t you take it? In that situation, who could refuse? Could you?’
‘Any day of the week,’ Ewan said as he appeared carrying three mugs. He handed one to Caelan, held one out to Mulligan, who scowled at him as Ewan crossed to the other sofa and sat down.
‘You spit in mine?’ Mulligan demanded.
Ewan grinned. ‘Never know, will you?’
Mulligan grunted, peered into the cup. ‘All I’m saying is, some people will always find ways to destroy themselves. They choose different ways to do it, that’s all. Drugs, drink, too much food, too little food, gambling. Taking risks. It’s how they think, how they’re made. Self-hatred, self-sabotage, call it what you like. It might take years, it might be over in minutes. But they’ll find a way. They punish themselves, do things they know will destroy them in the end. A long, slow suicide, because it’s what they think they deserve. I see it all the time.’ He blew on his coffee, watching Caelan’s face. He nodded at her, then smiled. ‘Anyway. Shall we see what’s on the TV?’
Camden, 11.24 p.m.
Lucy needed some paracetamol from her cupboard downstairs in the kitchen. It was late, she was tired, and though she didn’t like to admit it, she was scared. Her room had always felt like a sanctuary, until recently at least. Now she felt watched, threatened. She wanted to lock her door and get into bed, but she knew she would have to wait. The headache had been there all day, but now it was worse, pounding and pulsating. She needed painkillers. Swearing quietly, she made her way downstairs.
The house was silent, everyone either out or in their room. She paused as she reached the front door. The kitchen was in darkness, the hallway silent and still.
Then, movement. A man stepped out from behind the kitchen door. He was dressed in black, a cap pulled low over his face. Horrified, Lucy gaped at him, a scream rising in her throat. She swallowed it as he raised a finger to his lips. Staring, she stood frozen. He had something in his hand. Was it a gun? He saw her eyes move to it, and grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly gentle.
‘It’s a taser,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t use it, not unless I have to. You understand?’
She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak if she tried.
‘Let’s go.’ He pulled on her arm. As the front door opened, another man standing outside, she turned her head, looking back at the empty kitchen, the silent house.
No witnesses.
9
Caelan was trying to put Mulligan’s words out of her mind as she got into bed. She shouldn’t have listened, should have told him to shut up. A drug dealer, suspected people trafficker, trying to justify his actions now he’d been caught. He could dress it up any way he wanted, but he had sold misery packaged in pills or powder. And if he had been involved in trafficking… She closed her eyes. She was here in his house, lying in a bed bought with the profits of his shitty dealings.
And she’d allowed him into her head.
She wouldn’t let it happen again.
She’d wanted to talk to Ewan, to ask if he was okay, but Mulligan had given them no opportunity to do so. Maybe now, with the three of them tucked up in their separate bedrooms, she could cross the landing to have a quiet word.
Pushing back the duvet, she swung her feet to the floor. As usual when she was working, she wore a T-shirt and jogging bottoms to sleep in, her trainers and a rucksack containing clean clothes, her phone and all her ID and bank cards ready at the side of the bed in case a quick getaway was needed.
She hadn’t quite closed the bedroom door, and slowly, soundlessly, she pulled it open and stepped onto the darkened landing. She stopped and listened, hearing a murmur of voices. Was it coming from Mulligan’s room? He must have switched the TV on when he’d got into bed.
She was about to tap on Ewan’s door when she remembered.
There was no TV in Mulligan’s bedroom.
She marched across to his door and barged inside without knocking.
His bed was empty.
She turned, not allowing herself to panic. She’d locked the doors herself, and the keys were in her pocket. The windows were locked too – she’d checked. Mulligan must still be in the house, and he couldn’t have let anyone else in. Could he? She paused on the landing, listening. His voice was low and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She couldn’t hear anyone responding.
She jogged down the stairs, switching on lights as she went, not bothering to hide the fact that she was awake and looking for him. Again she told herself to stay cal
m, but it wasn’t easy. Mulligan had been out of prison less than eight hours. He’d known he was going to be released, down to the hour; been aware he would be coming back to this house. She and Ewan had been through the place when they’d arrived, but she admitted they hadn’t been as thorough as they might have been. She’d known Penrith would have sent people in to get it ready for them, but that could have been days ago. Someone could have been hiding here since then, ready for Mulligan’s return, either to hurt him or help him. Unlikely, but possible.
Also, Mulligan knew she and Ewan were police. He could have traded that information for his own safety, or his sister’s. Caelan had made plenty of enemies over the years, and London wasn’t that big a city. She stopped and listened once more, but she knew there was little point in being cautious now. She heard a soft thud, and tensed, tilting her head as though it would help her hearing. Had Mulligan closed a door? A window? Had someone just left the house? She told herself it was impossible, but she knew that wasn’t true. The house had been standing empty for weeks. Duplicate keys for the windows or doors could have been acquired, either on Mulligan’s orders or without his knowledge. Panic gripped her chest, and she forced herself to breathe normally. Whatever was going on, she had to deal with it professionally. It was too late to wish again that she’d never agreed to get involved.
Mulligan was silent. Had he been attacked, abducted? Caelan moved forward. The living room was in darkness, but a light was on in the kitchen beyond. She kept moving. No movement, not a sound.
A tap was turned on in the kitchen, the clunk of the pipes and sudden gush of water making her jump. She swore under her breath, knowing she was on edge, being ridiculous, and kept moving.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, hands loose by her sides. Mulligan, wearing a navy bathrobe, his feet bare, was by the sink, drinking a glass of water. He nodded at her.
‘You’re awake. Come to join me in a nightcap?’ he said, raising the glass as though proposing a toast. He looked calm, unruffled. No hint of guilt or concern.
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