know there’s something deeper going on. What do you think?”
“Hmm,” O’Bryan said. “You may be right. There certainly seems to be more to this than meets the eye. Tell you what, leave it with me and let me nose around for a few days, and I’ll get back to you. It gives you chance to think a bit more about that caution as well, eh?”
I made noncommittal noises, which obviously failed to reassure him about my change of heart, but when he probed further, I stalled him.
He wasn’t happy being fobbed off, but knew pushing me wouldn’t get him anywhere. He took my continued indecision on the best of his chins, and promised to call again.
***
I trundled home again in the early evening, running the gauntlet of Garton-Jones’s boys. They stood and watched the Suzuki pass as I rode into Lavender Gardens, but made no move to intercept me. A glance over my shoulder found they’d moved out into the road behind me and were speaking into their walkie-talkies. I couldn’t shake the smothering feeling that I’d just stepped into the closing jaws of a trap.
Back at Pauline’s, I wheeled the bike through the back gate quickly, and into the shed. When I came back out, snapping the padlock firmly shut, I stilled, listening. It was only the faintest suggestion of a noise from over the garden fence, but it sounded very much like a sob.
I sneaked up to the fence and peered over it. The Gadatras weren’t big on gardening and the place had been allowed to run wild. Uncut dead winter grass lay brown and matted over most of the area.
Halfway down, past the looping washing line, the garden had been abandoned entirely to the children. The main feature was a half-deflated paddling pool that didn’t look as though it had been capable of holding water for years, the sides mouldy and creased.
And there at the bottom, on a lopsided rickety swing, sat Nasir. He was wearing jeans and just a T-shirt with no thought to the sting of cold, rocking himself gently backwards and forwards, as though in a trance.
He had a cigarette held with the lit end shielded in the cup of his hand, like a seasoned outdoor smoker. Every few seconds his hand went jerkily to his mouth, and he dragged air through the filter in quick, nervous puffs. When the cigarette was dead he looked at it in surprise, as though he didn’t remember smoking.
For a moment he stared at nothing, eyes blank and stony. Then something seemed to break inside him. His face crumpled in on itself, and he brought his hands up to cover it, body beginning to shake.
“Nasir?” It was little Aqueel who spoke as he came trotting down the path past the washing line with its swaying string bag of pegs. He faltered about a dozen feet from his brother. “Nasir?” he said again, less sure this time.
Nasir’s head snapped up, and he waved Aqueel away sternly, rapping out rough commands that obviously told him to go, to leave him alone.
Confused, upset, Aqueel hesitated. Nasir leaped to his feet, arms flailing, and repeated his order. His voice rose until it was almost a scream.
Aqueel fled without looking back.
Once his brother had vanished into the house, Nasir sank back onto the swing, as though the burst of action had exhausted him.
“Hello Nasir,” I said quietly.
He turned to look at me, his expression shrouded, then glanced away, head bent. “What do you want?” he asked sullenly.
I knew his tolerance to me was low, so I might as well start at the top. “I want to know about you and Roger Meyer,” I said.
Nasir’s head came back up at that. For a second or two the fire was back in his eyes, then it fluttered weakly, and went out.
He shrugged. “I don’t know who you mean,” he said, sounding tired.
“Come on, Nasir,” I said sharply. “I’ve seen the two of you together. It’s not exactly a secret. Was he on his way round here to see you last night? Is that what he was doing on the estate?”
Nasir jumped to his feet, looked about to crack, then thought better of it. He reached for another cigarette, stuck it between his lips and lighted the end.
I paused, watching his edgy fingers, then went out on a limb of guesswork. “What happens when your aunt finds out you’re best buddies with one of the boys who stabbed your uncle?” I asked gently. “Don’t you think coming clean now is going to save you a load of trouble in the long run?”
“
With that he marched up the garden towards the house, ignoring my attempts to call him back, and slammed the door heavily behind him.
***
I was still puzzling over my run-in with Nasir when I set out with Friday for his evening walk a couple of hours later.
The dog was going loopy at the prospect. He tore round the living room making incongruous squeaking noises while I pulled on my coat, and he kept trying to bite the lead when I attached it to his collar. My rebukes were met with a cheerfully blatant disregard.
I stopped to pull on my bike gloves as we left the house. My hands were still feeling delicate and Friday tended to haul me along with more gusto than a pair of plough horses. It was a good job it was so cold that it didn’t look suspicious.
Yesterday’s fog had dissipated, but the air was bleak, grainy with a damp that knifed its way straight through to your bones. I shivered as the chill of the evening bit, and made yet another mental note to treat myself to a warmer pair of gloves.
We’d only got as far as the next street before Friday suddenly started acting nervous. Things happened quickly after that, but it gave me the few seconds I needed to ready a game face.
So, when Garton-Jones and West stepped out from behind a parked van onto the pavement in front of me, I raised an enquiring eyebrow, but otherwise kept my cool. They’d been going for shock value, and West looked vaguely disappointed when I didn’t react. His boss, on the other hand, was too composed for any show of emotion, one way or another.
A slither of sound behind made me half-turn. Two more of Garton-Jones’s boys had come round to block off my retreat, staying back in the shadows. With the van on one side, and a high privet hedge on the other, I was well and truly boxed in.
I knew I should have been frightened. It would have been the logical response, but all I felt was a kind of deadly calm. I couldn’t take on four of them, not without getting the rest of the kicking they’d started on the night before. Still, I hadn’t had Friday with me then.
The Ridgeback didn’t know which pair to snarl at first, but he did his best to dole out bile in equal measure. He set up a low warning growl in the base of his throat and left it ticking over there, just in case.
I glanced at the dog to reassure him, then turned back, pulling a quizzical face. “Well, Mr Garton-Jones,” I said, allowing a faintly sardonic note to creep into my voice, “it would appear you have my undivided attention.”
Garton-Jones took a step forward, the streetlight overhead shifting on the shiny material of his bomber jacket, emphasising the solid bulk of him. He inclined his head, apparently unconcerned by Friday’s display. “Miss Fox,” he drawled by way of greeting.
They were simple, innocuous words, but my scalp twitched at the intonation. Surely he wouldn’t do anything stupid, anything vicious? Not right here, in the middle of the street?
I knew he was just trying to fluster me, playing on my nerves. But I didn’t like the rules of the game, and I wasn’t going to play.
“I assume this isn’t a social call, so what can I do for you?”
