I’d left footprints? That was why he was so close behind me. I hadn’t even thought of checking the ground.
“Check both ways, then! I will stay here, by the exit, in case he tries to come back this way. Hurry it up!”
So much for my cunning plan.
“Yes, will do.” He moved off again, hurrying as instructed. He took the left path.
Which left me only one way to go. I hauled myself back over the wall and this time I couldn’t avoid letting out a moan. At least it confirmed that my ribs weren’t broken, I told myself. If they had been, I’d have a punctured lung by now and I’d already be dead. Which was the closest I could get to a comforting thought as I made my way down the right-hand path.
A wall emerged from the vegetation in front of me. A shuttered window. A door. The metal cover had been forced off at one time, but re-secured, with bars welded on and padlocked to hasps set deep into the brickwork on either side. Big, heavy-duty padlocks, still shiny and new. It seemed that the authorities had finally got round to dealing with the squatter problem. Lousy timing, from my point of view. But they had at least cleared the path. It ran alongside the house, bramble free, and disappeared into another alleyway. One that would lead to the road.
This one was even darker than the other. There was no light at all coming from the other end, so there was probably a gate or a door. Would it be locked? Bolted? On the inside or the outside? Fortunately, it had been cleared of rubbish. I groped my way along it, gritty brickwork under my fingers, until my forehead met something solid. I reached out and felt smooth steel. When the council workers had come to re-secure the doors at the back, they’d also closed off the way out. Just the one they’d used, obviously, or I would never have got into this maze. Presumably that other alleyway wasn’t on the job sheet, or hadn’t been budgeted for. So I could get in, but not out.
I leaned against the metal, pushed at it, heard a faint rattle. Like a chain. Probably with another one of those big padlocks. Not something that would give with a bit of a shove. I rested my head on the cool surface, thinking of June coming past on the street outside, driving up and down and wondering where I was. Cut off from me by a single sheet of galvanized steel.
There was a noise behind me, and I turned to see the small amount of light coming down the alleyway obscured by a shadowy figure. He still didn’t know I was here. I could creep forward, hidden in the shadows, take him by surprise. Get his gun, perhaps. Or his phone. I could hold Canoso off then, call June, and tell her where I was. I could still win.
But though I thought about it, I was still slumped against the door. I couldn’t get my body to move any more. I was finished, done.
There was a sudden bright light. Just a mobile phone screen, but it dazzled me.
“I’ve got him!” The man sounded both excited and relieved. He’d stopped about halfway down the alley. “Can you hear me?… Yes, I’m in another one of these covered passages; that’s why the signal’s bad. He’s here. The street end’s blocked off. Do you want me to drag him out, or are you coming in?… Sorry, boss, what was that?… OK. Do you know which one it is?… OK.”
He hung up, and stood still. I wondered what he was doing, but couldn’t be bothered to ask.
There was silence for a moment. Then a massive explosion right next to my head. And another. I fell forward thinking I was already dead, but the door squeaked open, letting in brilliant light. I blinked furiously and saw Canoso standing there, gun in hand.
Even a heavy-duty lock was no match for a bullet. The council obviously hadn’t thought about squatters with firearms.
“Get him out of there.” Canoso’s voice.
Hands gripped me, dragged me, left me lying on my back, blinking up at the faces: Canoso and his two little helpers. Gazza – the beefy one – had apparently found his way out of the pit he had fallen into. A pity. I’d hoped he’d been buried in the rubble. But at least he wasn’t unscathed; his shirt was torn and his face was covered in blood and truculence.
“You are so much a troublemaker, Mr Seaton,” Canoso said. His voice was tight and angry, and his accent was stronger. “But what – you think it makes any difference? You think you escape from me like this? You think I just let you run away – and with my sister’s bag? With evidence against me?”
Laney’s bag was still hanging from my shoulder. He nodded at Gazza, who reached down and pulled it off, not trying to be gentle about it. Canoso searched through it with one hand, while Gazza held it open.
“And you take some of my merchandise as well?” He held up the packaged Lappies. “You think, perhaps, you will show these to the police?”
He put the packages back in the bag and turned to me again. “So. The code for the door. How did you know this?” He pointed his gun directly at my head as he spoke. The sun must have come out, because I could see shiny highlights on the metal. I concentrated on them. It suddenly seemed important to notice every detail. To experience every moment.
“Do not ignore me, Mr Seaton. This is rude.” He crouched, reached out with his gun, and rapped me on the head with the barrel.
I looked at him. His face was still bloody, though it had dried now.
“That’s better. Now then, I asked you a question. How did you know the code to open the door?”
“We should get going,” one of his men said, looking round. “Someone might have heard those shots. Coppers could be on their way. Let’s finish him and clear off.”
“Who is in this place to hear anything? A few tramps – perhaps some squatters. They will not involve themselves. We have plenty of time to ask questions.” He dug the barrel under my chin. “Well, Mr Seaton?”
I couldn’t fight any more. I was too tired now; I just wanted it to finish. “Laney knew,” I whispered.
“Yes, I showed her myself when I convinced her to join me. But how did you know? Did she tell you?”
“No. Never met her. It was in her poem. The one she sent to the library.”
“I saw that. She wrote nothing of the door, and there were no numbers.”
“It was all about the door, and the pub, and what was behind the door. You just had to know how to read it.”
He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish. “This is annoying. I should have paid more attention to the poem. Still, I now understand why she took La Paz before she killed herself. She knew the police would test her body for drugs, and hoped it would point them to me.”
“It did. They’re on to you, Canoso. They know you’re involved, and when they read the poem they’ll know where to look.”
“But who will read it?” He searched my pockets till he found the crumpled piece of paper. “Of course, I understand what you are thinking now. You’re thinking of the copy the librarian made. Such a helpful lady! When I explained that I was a member of the family, she was so pleased to show it to me. And when I go back and ask for all the copies, I expect she will give them to me.”
“She’ll go to the police if something happens to me,” I said desperately, and Canoso laughed.
“But nothing will happen to you, Mr Seaton! You will go away, that is all. And your boss will wonder why you do not come to work, your landlord will come looking for the rent, and the police will search and make inquiries – but no one will find you.” He made a broad gesture, taking in the abandoned houses and the ruins of the Mills. “There are so many places where you could be, after all.”
He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “And shall I tell you something more? Explain to you what you do not know? You find out much, but understand very little. The police will not investigate my sister any more. They will not have any more interest in La Paz.”
I was struggling to stay with the conversation. There was too much pain, too much exhaustion, and I just wanted to be left alone. But some last little bit of survival instinct was telling me to keep talking, keep him talking, because once he stopped I was dead. And if he would just talk a little bit longer, June would come. She would be here
.
And besides, he had just said something important. I frowned, trying to concentrate. “Why not?” I forced the words out.
“You see? You do not know as much as you thought, Mr Seaton.” He was smiling now, his good humour fully restored. “Do you not wonder why the police take such interest in you when Laney dies, but take no notice of me? Did you know that they watch your flat, but not my pub?”
I stared at him. “How do you know…” Just in time I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be aware of the surveillance. “Why would they be watching my flat?”
“Because I told them to!”
And now that it had been spelled out for me, it was all obvious. “You have someone in the police!”
He nodded, chuckling as if I had finally understood a joke. “My father, he taught me this. Always to have a man in the police. Never to begin an operation without it. And so when I came here, I knew that I would be under suspicion once La Paz appeared on the streets. So I first sought for a suitable person who would help things run smoothly. You have met him, I believe. DS Fayden?”
I thought of Mickey Fayden and his expensive suits, his top-of-the-range car, and his high opinion of himself. “He came to interview me. Asked me about drugs.”
“Yes, that is the one. I arranged with him to have the Prince William raided. Of course, nothing was found, so I was in the clear and could proceed with my operation.”
“But Laney messed that up.”
He shook his head. “She was a disappointment to me – as she was to our father. Family did not mean anything to her. She even threatened to tell the police about me, can you believe?” He smiled. “Ah, but there is a joke here – I’m sure this will amuse you, Mr Seaton – I had the police watching her to be sure that she would not tell the police!”
He chuckled, but I couldn’t even manage a grin. “I don’t get it.”
“What? You do not see? And you British are so proud of your sense of humour. It is simple. I do not know if I can trust my sister. So I arrange for my good friend Mickey to have her watched. So if she tries to go to the police, he is the first to know. He is the one she tells. And the story goes no further. And then, of course, I let her know that she is watched. I tell her it is for her own good, so that when she works for me she has already been cleared of suspicion. But of course, she understood, and she did not try to tell the police.”
“I wondered why she didn’t. I put it down to a family history of distrusting authority – quite reasonable, considering. But you’d closed that off for her. She didn’t give up, though, did she? She found another way. Dosed herself with your drug and wrote that poem as a clue. One she knew you wouldn’t understand. And then…”
“Yes, then she goes to the road, chooses your vehicle, and walks into your path. This I know. But still I do not understand why would she do such a thing? Why does she fight so hard against me that she must even kill herself? She had no need to die. I promised to pay her well, to give her a good life, her and her grandmother. She could write her poems, publish her books – I would not stop her. It is…”
Canoso ran out of words, and raised his arms in helpless bafflement. I thought of trying to explain everything I’d heard from Roshawn, but I was too tired, and he still wouldn’t get it anyway. Instead, I had a question of my own.
“What I don’t understand is why you had Fayden come after me. All those questions and the surveillance… he knew I wasn’t involved! What was the point?”
Canoso shrugged. “It was important that he was seen to be doing something. He must be busy, so that his superiors let him continue to be in charge. So I tell him to watch you for a while. And then you will disappear, and in your flat they find La Paz. So – it seems that Mickey was right all along, and he gets his promotion. The matter of my sister’s death is finished, and if La Paz is still circulating, well, that must be down to you. They will look for you a long time, I think!”
He smiled and smiled, watching my face as I grappled with his meaning and finally came to understand. “You were going to kill me anyway. You had already planned it.”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Ah, now you have it. A good plan, is it not? Especially as I had to think very quickly when my sister was so foolish as to die – and with La Paz in her blood as well, that made matters more difficult. But you were most convenient. A man without family, without attachments. A man who could easily disappear. And also the man who killed my sister, so it is a personal matter as well. Of course, I did not expect you to come to me and make all this difficulty. But, then again, you have saved me the trouble of coming to find you. It is wonderful how well things work out sometimes, is it not?”
I didn’t really see it that way, but there was something else that I wanted to get clear in my head. “Fayden leaked the post-mortem results to you? That’s how you knew that Laney had taken La Paz?”
“Of course.” He looked at me, suddenly suspicious. “But how do you know about the post-mortem?”
June had told me. But if he found that out, then he would want to know what else she knew. And I suddenly realized that if I was dead, she’d be the only person with any chance of unravelling this mess and stopping him. Canoso couldn’t know about her.
“The post-mortem?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes. You will tell me what you know of this, or I will make things very bad for you.”
Worse than they already were? I saw the look in his eyes, and believed that, yes, that might be possible. “I… heard about it.”
“Who from?”
“I… you said it. In the cellar. You said then that she had taken La Paz. You already knew. So I thought it must have been from the post-mortem. I knew that there had been one, but I didn’t know what the results were. No one did; they hadn’t been released. But you knew, so you must have heard, and it must have been from Fayden.”
He looked at me for a moment. Then shrugged. “Well, that was clever of you. But no matter. What you know is no longer important. And now that I have explained why you must die, it is time to finish this.”
He stood up and aimed at my head.
I didn’t believe it. Even though I could see it happening, I couldn’t really believe I was about to die. It just wasn’t possible for things simply to come to an end.
“No… no, wait a minute,” I protested, desperate to stop him, to hold him back, even for just a moment, just another second of life.
And I could hear a car. Revving hard, getting louder.
He shook his head. “Waiting is over. Goodbye, Mr Seaton.”
There was a tortured shriek, rubber on tarmac, a sudden jump in the engine noise as the car came round a corner. I couldn’t see it, but Canoso and his men could. They were looking up the street, and Gazza said, “It’s the cops! Leg it!”
Then he was off and running, the other one following. But Canoso had turned and was aiming at the car, firing two quick shots before I kicked him in the back of the leg. The third bullet went high in the air as he fell to his left, turning as he did so, and I saw his face, the fury directed at me, just before the car reached us.
Then he was gone.
The yellow and blue stripe went past a foot from my nose, tyres smoking and flinging grit in my face. It finally came to a stop several yards further down the street, leaving blood and torn flesh and smoking rubber in its wake. And déjà vu in my head.
There was a conversation going on in the background, someone on the radio. I thought I recognized a voice, but I was too tired, too drained to look. I lay staring up at the clouds, until June bent over me.
“Rob! Rob! Did he shoot you? Did I hit you? Speak to me, Rob!” Her hands were on my face, searching my body, checking me for bullet holes in a professional manner while her eyes dripped unprofessional tears on my chest.
“Easy there,” I whispered. “It’s not a date.”
DAY 9: MOVING ON
I was amazed by the number of visitors I got in hospital. Colin came, and several of my driving mates –
who I would have expected. But to my surprise Liz and some other office staff turned up too. Sandra came from the library, and Roshawn as well. Both of them wanted to pray for me, which was a little embarrassing but also rather moving.
Less welcome was the copper who came to take my statement. I’d been expecting it, of course, and managed to give a good account of events without mentioning my non-date with June or any of the information I’d got from her. On the other hand, I didn’t get much information back, either. I asked several times about Mickey Fayden, but the most I could get was that he was “being sought for”.
So he’d done a runner – probably as soon as he heard that Canoso was dead. That was more information than had appeared in the very sparse press reports, which merely indicated that the police had found a “drugs factory” following an “incident”. No mention of La Paz, no links to Laney, and my name was kept out of it this time. The clear instruction from the copper was that I should keep it that way, and I wasn’t inclined to argue.
The person I most wanted to see didn’t appear. June sent me a text, telling me she was OK and she’d be along when she could. Nothing more. I sent her texts, I left messages on her voicemail, but there was no reply. Well, it happens. It does to me, anyhow, and I had no good reason to believe this was any different. After all, we hardly knew each other.
It turned out that I’d suffered a lot less damage than I should have, considering all the high-velocity lead flying around. I had two cracked ribs, some cuts from flying glass, and a magnificent set of bruises all over my face and body. The CSI who came to photograph them was thrilled by the wonderful colours and contrasts; it was the highlight of his day. I still hurt everywhere, but the doctor assured me that everything was healing nicely, and sent me home with appropriate strapping and strong painkillers.
I was just in the slow and careful process of getting dressed when June showed up. They’d put me in my own room off the main ward, probably because of the statement being taken, so there was no curtain round the bed. Fortunately, I’d got my trousers on when she opened the door and peered through.
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