Ascension Day

if a knife had been plunged into it. And the more he ran on with the bloodied bag in his hand, the more attention he drew, perhaps running into another squad car… he had to get rid of it before he went much further.

The sound of the siren had paused, not moving away any more, as if they were edging down the alley opposite very slowly, or perhaps they’d already stopped, realizing he wasn’t there, and were about to head back.

Jac picked up pace again, and it was then that he noticed the boarding sheet to one side, a rusted chain looped through a hole in it, and the gap between it and the next seven-foot-high boarding sheet. Could he squeeze through it?

The siren. Same distance away or moving closer? He had to decide quickly.

The gap appeared too narrow, but the board looked like it might have some give. And as Jac became surer that the siren was moving closer again, he barged against it, pressing hard.

He got a shoulder and part of one thigh through, but couldn’t get further. He pushed again, got a few more inches in, but not enough. Closer. If he didn’t hurry, he’d still be there, stuck half-in, half- out, as the squad car rolled by the alley.

With a heavy, grunting shove, he finally felt something give, the chain biting deeper into the rotting board, and he slipped through.

Long weeds and grass. Rubbish strewn between. Closer. Jac pushed the board back so that it was adjacent with the adjoining board, didn’t look like there’d ever been a gap, and eased out his breath. A dark, derelict building seven yards behind, an old warehouse or shop. Looked like it had been sealed off for development, then abandoned.

The siren stopped then, but a moment later there was the sound of radio static on the night air. If they weren’t actually by the entrance of the alley, then they were very close. Jac held his breath.

The sound of another siren. Moving closer, louder. It cut off when it was only half a block away, then seconds later there was the sound of another engine idling and more radio static on the air, voices conferring.

Jac closed his eyes. Oh God. They’d called in support to close the net.

The voices more urgent for a moment, one of them calling out, ‘Yeah, yeah… sure.’ Then a car door closing and an engine revving stronger. Jac not sure at first what it all meant, until he saw headlamp lights point up the alley, then the sound of the patrol-car engine edging closer, echoing slightly as it bounced off the sides of the narrow alley.

It was moving slowly, ever so slowly, and Jac became aware of another light at that moment, shifting back and forth along each side: the patrolman obviously hanging his torch out the window, every inch of the alley being scoured and checked.

Jac sucked in his breath as they came closer — only six or seven yards away now — but in that instant he also became aware of movement and rustling in the grass, something brushing against one leg. His first thought, with all the rubbish around, was rats, but he daren’t move. His whole body in that instant frozen, breath held, swallowing back even to try and calm the pounding of his heart in case they heard it as they edged alongside.

The rustling moved away from his leg, but Jac was worried that even that faint sound might be heard by them, and they’d stop to investigate — his eyes wide as the torchlight hit the board at his side. It moved gradually away in a steady sweep, then suddenly returned, lingering longer this time.

The sound of the engine idling and the radio static now seemed deafeningly loud, as if Jac was actually inside the car with them, and the torch-beam stayed on the boarding for a full eight seconds — though to Jac it felt far longer — before finally shifting.

The car, though, didn’t start edging forward again immediately, as if the driver was more uncertain about the boarding — then its engine rattle slowly, tooslowly, receded along with the fading torch- beam. Jac didn’t finally ease out his breath again until it was a good thirty yards past and he was sure that they’d gone, that one of them suddenly wasn’t going to pace back to investigate.

The sound of radio static stayed in the background for a while longer, between anything from half a block to two blocks away it sounded to Jac, with a fresh siren joining them at one point — before it all finally faded away.

Yet still Jac stayed where he was, breathless, body winding down, listening to the sounds of the night for almost ten minutes more — until he was sure that the police had cleared from the area and no more sirens were coming for him. Then he started thinking about what to do next.

He looked at the bag in his hand, then the wild grass and earth at his feet. It wasn’t ideal, he’d have preferred an absolute guarantee of disappearance, but there was still a high chance that it would never be found here. And if he ran on with it, more eyes raised, more risk.

Jac looked around briefly, then started clawing at the earth with his hands.

But what Jac hadn’t noticed was the man at a third floor window further along, who had seen him crouched in the rough grass and wondered if he might have anything to do with the sirens he’d heard below a few minutes ago. And as he watched Jac dig and bury the bag, thought he might have his answer.

Nel-M was late getting to the phone, slightly out of breath.

Glenn Bateson, a harrowed edge to his voice. ‘I tried you earlier.’

‘I just got back in,’ Nel-M said. He’d spent half the evening waiting, tapping his fingers anxiously on his steering wheel while McElroy and the girl ate. So after phoning Roche to tell him it was all done, he felt he’d earned a celebratory meal and dived straight into a plate of crawfish and crab claws at Deanie’s, bib up to his neck, smiling and raising a glass of chilled Chablis to the air as he imagined McElroy at that moment being grilled by the police, or perhaps already in lock-up and making his one call to one of his buddies to save his sorry ass. And he’d started to feel mellow, relaxed for one of the first times in weeks. The sense that now, finally, it was the end of everything with McElroy and Durrant. But with the edge in Bateson’s voice, he could feel the first bubbles of anxiety returning. ‘What is it?’

‘You wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Yes, I would — just fucking tell me.’

‘McElroy. He’s arranged for a psychiatrist to come and see Durrant. Some guy called Ormdern.’

‘When for?’

‘Two days time, straight after the BOP hearing, then another session the day after. McElroy will be there as well, presumably to — ’

‘No, he won’t.’

‘What do you mean — no he won’t? I just picked this up fresh and hot from Haveling’s diary, and — ’

‘Can’t say it plainer than that, my friend. McElroy won’t be there. And if you want to know why — I suggest you keep an eye on local news channels between now and tomorrow morning.’ Nel-M sniggered, but he could still feel a tightness in his chest where Bateson’s word psychiatrist had hit him, as if part of his crawfish hadn’t digested and had decided to burn a hole through his ribs. Almost certainly everything with the psychiatrist would now be axed too, but it was an uncomfortable reminder of how close they’d come. More brownie points scored with Roche when he told him, more back-pats for his timely ingenuity. ‘Or, if I were you — you know those special occasions when prisoners are allowed to watch TV? Like the World Series or President’s inauguration, or last episode of Seinfeld or Friends? And you get them all in one room looking at an oversized screen? Why don’t you arrange that now for the local news — then just watch Larry Durrant’s face when the piece about Jac McElroy comes on.’

‘What have you been up to?

Nel-M had never liked Bateson, and while he’d invited the question, Bateson’s folksy, slyly gleeful tone made his skin crawl. I’m not one of your good ol’ boys, asshole! he felt like screaming. But he immediately slipped into similar sly mode for his response.

‘Now, that would be telling.’

Jac went to a cash machine on Gravier Street and took out $300 to add to the fifty in his wallet, then started thinking about how to get a change of shirt. He knew he’d be hard pushed to find any shops open, his only hope was probably the French Quarter, so he’d drifted that way, trying to keep in the shadows of the buildings. A police car