by Zoe Sharp
He looked round hesitantly before speaking, and when he did, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, like he was picking his way across a muddy field in his Sunday best shoes. I was unkindly reminded of a cheap imitation of MacMillan.
“I had Sean Meyer’s young lady, Madeleine in to see me yesterday asking certain questions about Nasir Gadatra, and also about one Harvey Langford,” he said, circumspect. “I don’t suppose you might know what that was all about, would you?”
“Maybe you should be asking her that,” I said.
O’Bryan sighed. “I tried,” he said, “but she’s a charming girl who’s rather good at stonewalling you totally and smiling sweetly while she’s doing it.”
He smiled, rueful. I could just imagine Madeleine cajoling information out of him. He stood as much chance as a chocolate fireguard.
“Yes,” I said, keeping my face straight, “I suppose she is.”
O’Bryan continued to look hopeful for a few moments longer, then the smile faded as he realised that I was pretty good at stonewalling, too. Even if I didn’t quite possess Madeleine’s allure while I was at it.
“I don’t suppose you’ve managed to catch sight of Roger recently?” he asked instead.
“He hasn’t shown up at home since you were there,” I said, which was true, technically speaking.
O’Bryan seemed to recognise that evasion for what it was. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he said, earnest, “Look, Charlie, I’ll level with you. I’m very worried about the lad. Going AWOL will land him in very hot water, but I’m afraid he may also be mixed up in some way with what’s happened to Nasir. Has he said anything about that?”
“I told you, we haven’t spoken to him,” I said, thinking that vanishing back view on the Honda didn’t count as conversation.
“Of course.” O’Bryan’s shoulders slumped. “I just thought you might – ah, well,” he said, suddenly sounding tired. He turned away, sank down onto the nearest bench.
Then he glanced up and met my eyes, and the fussy little man receded for a moment. “It’s just, you see—” he stopped, started again. “I’m not sure I can save him this time.”
The words sent a prickle of apprehension through me. If O’Bryan didn’t know for certain what Roger might have done, then he strongly suspected.
I tried for a casual tone. “What if you’re right,” I said. “What if Roger’s involved in something pretty serious. What would happen to him?”
He paused for a moment without speaking, pursing his lips. “Well, that would depend on exactly what it is that he’s done,” he said at last. “At one time just the fact that he was a minor would have been enough to ensure that he could get away with murder, but—”
He saw the tic that I couldn’t prevent from skating across my features and stopped short. “Oh dear God,” he murmured, “you don’t think . . .?”
“Unfortunately, we’re beginning to, yes,” I agreed.
I didn’t need to elaborate any further than that. O’Bryan got to his feet as though the bench was suddenly too hot to sit on. He paced away briefly, then turned back. “Roger and Nasir were the best of friends,” he said, but there was no real heat in his protest. “What reason do you have for thinking he could have done such a thing?”
“Roger knew Nasir was dead hours before his body was officially discovered,” I said, not going into the details. “And he’s now been seen going round on Nasir’s bike.”
“I don’t believe it,” O’Bryan said, resuming his pacing as he spoke quietly more to himself than to me. “I can’t believe it. They’ll throw away the key this time. Oh, you stupid lad, Roger!”
“It may have been an accidental shooting,” I put in, and had to stop myself adding that the gun was in poor condition, and liable to jam, which always increased the probability of an unintentional discharge. Nothing had made the army range instructors more nervous.
Besides, that would also maybe explain Roger turning up on Ursula’s doorstep saying how sorry he was . . .
On the other hand, it could have been done in a flash of temper. I recalled, starkly, Roger’s reaction to Nasir’s seeming inability to execute me in cold blood.
“She’s got to die, tonight,” he’d screamed. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Don’t you care?”
I swallowed, and took a leap of faith. “Much as I know Sean doesn’t want to believe it, either,” I said. “We think Roger’s to blame for Nasir’s death.”
O’Bryan shook his head. “Oh no, I’m to blame,” he said, and his tone was bleak. His glasses caught the light as he looked up at me, blanking out his eyes. “There must have been some sign I missed, been something I could have done to have prevented this tragedy. And he’s got Nasir’s bike you say? A Honda 600 wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, we saw him on it yesterday,” I admitted. “So, where do we go from here?”
O’Bryan gave another shrug, letting his hands fall back to his sides as though he’d lost nerve control over them. “There isn’t anywhere to go, apart from prison,” he said. He regarded me gravely. “Even at his age, Roger will go down for this, for a long time. You do realise that, don’t you?”
Now it was my turn to feel the weight of the world dragging at my shoulders. “I suppose so,” I said.
A big part of me knew that Roger should get what was coming to him, just as I knew I should do whatever I could to help bring him in. But, there was another part, smaller yes, but no less loud and insistent, that squirmed and twisted at the thought. At what the boy’s capture and conviction would do to Sean, to his mother, and to Ursula and her unborn child.
Besides, Roger hadn’t set out to kill me on his own account, I was sure of that. There was still someone else out there, a shadowy figure lurking in the background. One who’d set the boys on their way with a loaded gun. One who’d whispered in MacMillan’s ear that Sean was a murderer. I needed to find out who that was.
What was going to happen if you didn’t kill me, Roger? I wondered. Who was putting so much pressure on you to do it?
“So,” O’Bryan said now, nudging at a wisp of fraying carpet with his toe, “what do you plan to do next?”
A sudden thought occurred to me, and with it, a course of action. “Find Harvey Langford,” I said.
O’Bryan looked surprised. “Why would that help Roger?”
“Because the last time I saw Langford he told me he knew who was behind the crimewave on Lavender Gardens,” I said. “Or if he didn’t know, he could find out.”
“And you think he’d be prepared to tell you that?”
I gave him a cynical smile. “Let’s just say I know certain things that good old Harvey definitely does not want broadcasting.”
“Ah, I see,” O’Bryan said, looking clearly mystified. “Well, that information would be worth knowing, I suppose. I just don’t see how that’s going to help the boy.”
“Roger isn’t in this alone,” I said, my voice grim. “It’s only fair that he shouldn’t go to prison alone, don’t you think?”
***
After O’Bryan had gone, folding himself into his MG and disappearing out into the flow of traffic, I determined how best to make good on my promise to find Harvey Langford.
I recognised that if Langford didn’t want to be found, it wasn’t going to be easy. I knew Sean had been after him since our run-in on Copthorne, but without success. He’d even spent the previous Thursday afternoon hanging around near the building site, but the vigilante hadn’t shown.
I flipped through the Yellow Pages until I found Mr Ali’s building firm, and rang the office number. A starchy-voiced woman answered, and took my request to speak to her boss with a certain amount of disdain.
“Ai’m afraid Mr Ali is very busy this morning,” she said. “He left strict instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“Tell him it’s Charlie Fox,” I said. “Tell him that I want to speak to him about his business dealings
with Harvey Langford. I’m sure he’ll find time to speak to me then.”
I waited while she relayed the message, listening to a first-year rendition of Greensleeves scratch through two verses.
“Ai’m sorry, Miss Fox, but ai’m afraid Mr Ali is still unable to take your call,” the woman said when she came back on the line, and this time the sneer was all but evident in her voice. “However, he has asked me to inform you that he has no ‘business dealings’ with anyone of that name. If you’d like to arrange an appointment, then ai’d advise that you approach in writing. Goodbye.”
She’d put the receiver down before I had chance to say anything else, leaving me spluttering into an empty telephone. I hung up my end slowly, trying to work out exactly what this new development meant. Then I spent the rest of the day quietly simmering over Mr Ali’s barefaced ability to lie.
***
By the time I got home later that evening, I was in the mood to give half an hour of serious pain to the punchbag in the corner of my living room.
As it turned out, I almost got an interesting substitute.
I saw the hunched figure waiting under a streetlight as I trundled down St George’s Quay, and I kept a wary eye on him as I slowed to turn off the road. Even through the restriction of my helmet, I saw him drop and grind out his cigarette butt, moving forwards to meet me.
I couldn’t fail to recognise Jav’s peroxide hair, despite the shift from the sodium lights overhead. How the hell had he known where I lived? I toed the bike’s side stand down and dismounted quickly, unsure of my reception from the boy. After all, the last time we’d met, Madeleine and I had been lightly crushing his chest with a barbell.
I needn’t have worried, though. He paused a dozen or so feet away from me, waited until I’d dragged off my helmet and gloves before venturing any nearer. He watched me wheel the bike onto its patch of hard standing with narrow-eyed distrust.
It was only when he’d moved closer that I saw he didn’t have a choice about the way he was looking at me.
“Nice black eye,” I said, by way of greeting, as I threaded the roller-chain through the Suzuki’s back wheel and swinging arm.
He shrugged, wrapping his arms around his chest. He was wearing a thin jumper which did little to keep out the bitter chill that nightfall had brought with it, and he was shivering. For a moment we just faced each other in silence, but I was in no mood for games.
“Whatever it is, Jav,” I said shortly, shifting to unfold the cover over the Suzuki and not looking at him, “it must be important that you’ve been hanging around here waiting for me, so why don’t you just spit it out?”
“I might have some information for you,” he said at last, cagey.
“Yeah?” I said. “Well, I’m not sure just how reliable your information is, Jav, if you know what I mean?”
He shrugged again, started to turn away. “OK, lady, but you’re the one who’s been looking to get your hands on Langford. If you’ve changed your mind that’s fine by—”
Before he’d finished I’d got his back slammed into the brickwork and a forearm across his throat. I pressed my face towards his. “Do not,” I said, speaking slowly and clearly, “mess me about, Jav. If you genuinely know where Langford is, then tell me now, otherwise get out of here before I do something you’ll regret.”
He swallowed, which is not easy when someone’s elbow is jammed up against your windpipe. “OK, OK,” he managed. “Ease up and I’ll tell you.”
I released my grip and backed off a step. He rubbed at his neck. “And I thought you’d be easier to tackle without that bloody dog,” he muttered.
“Friday’s as dangerous as a stuffed pyjama case compared to me,” I said grimly. “Now talk.”
“Langford,” he said. “You want him. I know where to find him.”
“Where?”
He hesitated. “Look, this didn’t come from me, all right?”
I sighed, passed a hand across my eyes. “Just tell me where he is, Jav.”
“OK, OK. You know that new industrial estate that’s going up out near Heysham?”
A creeping sense of recognition came over me. “The one Mr Ali’s firm is building?”
“That’s it,” he nodded, almost eager. “He’s camping out in there.” He saw my next question forming, and held his hands up. “I don’t know where, exactly, just that he’s somewhere on the site.”
I paused for a moment, considering. I still didn’t think I could trust Jav. It was a damned sight too convenient, for one thing, but I couldn’t afford to ignore the tip-off, either. “Why the handy hint, Jav? What’s in it for you?”
“It’s time the bastard got what’s coming to him,” he said, touching a hand to his face and favouring me with a tight little smile.
He started to move away, turned back after a few paces. “If you want to catch him, you’d better hurry,” he said. “Rumour is that Langford’s planning on doing a moonlight flit – real soon.”
***
Despite Jav’s warning I took the stairs up to the flat slowly, lost in furious thought. Was he on the level this time, or was this just another set-up?
I unlocked the front door, flicked on the lights, and headed for the phone. I didn’t hesitate over dialling Mrs Meyer’s number, and asking for Sean.
As I waited for him to come on the line, I reflected that one thing was for certain. If this was for real, then I was going to need help I could rely on to confront Langford.
And if it was a trap, there was no-one I’d rather have covering my back than Sean.
Twenty-one
Sean picked me up twenty minutes later from outside the flat, in a dark metallic red Nissan Patrol that struck me as more of a truck than a car.
“I thought I’d better ditch the Cherokee after your warning,” he said when I commented on the change of vehicle. “Madeleine’s taken it – and Ursula – back down south. She’ll swap it for one of the pool cars and be back tomorrow.”
After I’d called Sean I’d changed out of my leathers into black jeans and a dark fleece. He was dressed for night work, too. Neither of us mentioned that we were going on a jaunt that was probably going to include illegal breaking and entering, but it was there, all the same.
As we rolled along the quay and joined the flow of traffic on Cable Street I glanced round at the interior of the Patrol. There must be some money in close protection, I realised idly. It was just as plush as Sean’s last motor, with dark grey leather upholstery throughout. And cavernous.
“I don’t suppose I can use you as a taxi service the next time I go shopping, can I?” I said, only half joking.
“Why, are you looking to buy wholesale?” he said, and I caught the flash of his teeth.
“Well, you certainly don’t have any trouble with carrying capacity in this,” I said, “You should try shopping on the bike, when all you’ve got is a rucksack and a tank bag.”
As the words came out, something shifted inside my head, like turning the focusing rings on a pair of binoculars to bring a blurred image up pin sharp.
Carrying capacity.
Sean, concentrating on avoiding being cut up by a couple of young lads in a wildly-driven Vauxhall Nova, didn’t spot the change that came over me straight away.
“What?” he demanded a moment later, but I couldn’t immediately voice what had come into my mind. “What is it?”
“He couldn’t have moved him,” I blurted out, almost fearing that if I didn’t say something quickly I’d lose my grip on the whole idea.
“What? Who couldn’t? Charlie, you’re not making any sense.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Roger,” I started again. “Don’t you see? The police have said that Nasir wasn’t shot where he was dumped, so he had to’ve been carried there. If all Roger had was the bike, he couldn’t have moved the body. Particularly not if Nasir wasn’t even dead at the time. There’s no way he could have done it.”
Sean didn’t speak right away, and for a secon
d I thought he hadn’t followed my line of reasoning. It wasn’t until I caught sight of his hands, gripping tight to the steering wheel until the knuckles stood out through the skin, that I understood.
“Don’t get too excited.” I hated having to put a dampener on his hopes, but I had to do it. “It doesn’t mean Roger didn’t shoot him,” I went on, but gently. “It just means he wasn’t alone when he did it.”
Sean unclenched his fingers slowly. His features were shaded so that there was no discernible difference between pupil and iris. His eyes just looked totally black. The single word that came out was thick with anger.