He sat on the end of the bed.
Everything would turn out all right, wouldn’t it?
If we don’t get caught.
“Fuck it. I’m sodding off an’ all.” He legged it back downstairs and approached the bloke. “I need a passport.”
The fella laughed. “Fuck me. Hang on. Let me just find a wig to cover your bonce.”
Chapter Eighteen
Abroad at last. Who’d have thought it, eh?
Bleary-eyed, Langham stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. It was different from the one back home. For one, it was lightly speckled with rust spots, and two, the light was so severe it seemed to bounce off the white tiles, into the mirror then back out at him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had a hangover so he could blame the pain in his eyes from the brightness on that. But since it was just because he was tired, as usual… He’d remedy that by napping on the beach in an hour or so.
Spain was just what they needed. Turquoise ocean, white sands.
This morning was the start of their holiday at last—thank bloody God—but Langham had been unable to sleep properly last night. Although he’d sunk a few beers in an attempt to help him sleep, as usual he’d let his hunches interfere with his well-being. On the plane, he could have sworn he’d seen a man who resembled Jackson Hiscock, except it couldn’t have been. That bloke had hair, a beard, and the man he’d been with had a military cut, not a long style. Langham had caught their attention on purpose by walking past and nudging the armrest with his knee on the way to the toilet, but not one ounce of recognition had flickered on their faces. He’d told himself he’d been wrong but…
I’m not convinced.
He left the bathroom, slightly more awake now he’d brushed his teeth, and joined Oliver in the kitchen area of the open-plan space. This apartment was deceptive. From the outside it looked small, yet once inside it was spacious. He could imagine living abroad permanently, although when it came down to it, he doubted he’d be able to leave the city of his birth and give up his job.
Oliver had prepared fruit from the complimentary bowl that had awaited them when they’d arrived. Mango, pineapple, and guava by the look of it. Langham took a seat on a red plastic stool at the breakfast bar, and Oliver joined him, placing cups of hot green tea on the worktop then handing Langham a fork.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Oliver said. “It’s another world. Like the city and our life there doesn’t exist. It isn’t until you get away that you see the difference. Feel the difference. And the spirits, Christ, they’re so polite.”
The spirits. Would they ever leave Oliver alone? Langham doubted it, and Oliver wouldn’t be Oliver if he didn’t carry them around with him twenty-four-seven. Caring about them, trying to help them fully pass over.
“How do you mean, polite?” Langham popped a square of guava in his mouth.
“Well, they’re not pushy,” Oliver said. “And when I tell them I’m on holiday, they back off.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Langham laughed. “We might well get a bit of peace after all.”
“We will if you stop thinking about Jackson Hiscock and that man.”
Langham closed his eyes briefly. Was it that obvious? Was he that transparent? “Christ, sorry.”
“It’s fine. Listen, if I tell you something, will you promise not to go off on one?”
“Go off on one? I wouldn’t do that to you, man.” At least he didn’t think he would.
“I know. Figure of speech. I know how you’ve pledged to uphold the law and whatever, but if there was something I knew and I didn’t say, and you found out I didn’t say, you’d be narked, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably.”
“And I wasn’t going to say anything but I feel I should.”
Langham’s gut contracted. This didn’t sound good at all. “Depends what it is.”
“It’s something to do with knowing something,” Oliver said. “And if I don’t tell you, tell the police, then I’m just as bad as a criminal, but…” He gnawed lightly at his bottom lip. Stared out of the window for a few seconds, then turned his head so he looked at Langham again. “Okay. Right. That was Hiscock on the plane. There. I’ve said it. Done. Now you can do what you will with the information.”
Langham took in a deep breath then pushed it out through pursed lips. “I knew it. Those bloody eyes of his…” But what did he want to do about it? “What did they do? In the mansion, I mean.”
“Hiscock shot Colin in self-defence—Colin had drawn a gun on him first—but he didn’t kill him. Neither did the man he was with. A machine killed Colin. Software, whatever. But Hiscock is here in disguise.” Oliver chuckled. “And I’d guess it killed Hiscock wearing a wig in this heat when we landed.”
“I’ll bet it fucking did. I have to call it in, you know—I’ll text Fairbrother and let him deal with it. But if I see him here, where we are, if they didn’t go off to another resort, then I’ll tell the police here. I don’t care if he didn’t kill that Colin bloke, he has killed others. I just haven’t been able to prove it or had sufficient grounds to arrest him, question him.”
“They’re not here,” Oliver said. “When we landed, they got a bus elsewhere.”
“Well, then. That solves it. Time to enjoy this holiday.” Langham sighed.
Crime could just go and do one. He’d had enough of it.
For now.
