the six foot fence in front of me. Then I could go sneaking around the building site on the other side to see what I could find out that way.
I had the darkness on my side, coupled with the fact that my everyday leathers are black anyway. They might be a bit bulky to be absolutely perfect for a bit of surreptitious B&E, but at least they were the right colour.
I left my helmet hanging over one of the bar-ends, but kept my gloves on. It was a good job, too. The planked wooden fence was made from cheap rough timber, and I would have come away with half of it bedded in as splinters.
I pushed my way through, stepping into the mud on the other side with a disconcerting squelch, and took a quick look around me. There wasn’t much sign of activity, and no-one seemed to have noticed my arrival.
After a moment to get my bearings, I turned and walked openly in the direction of the site entrance, where I could see several of Mr Ali’s Transit vans parked up. There were numerous big lighting rigs set up and as I moved I threw out multiple shadows from them like a floodlit football player.
I didn’t see any point in scurrying from one shadow to the next like I was doing a prison breakout. If anyone did spot me, behaving furtively was going to look far more suspicious.
Still, when I saw Langford picking his way across the mud to one of the stacked Portakabins, I couldn’t help but duck out of sight behind a parked digger. Peering out carefully, I watched him go over to the nearest one, push open the door, and walk straight in without knocking.
Once he’d disappeared, I came out of cover and hurried over to the Portakabin. Light was flooding out of a barred window in the side opposite the door, and I sidled up close to it.
Inside, the Portakabin was split into two, with a partition wall and a door down the centre. This turned the half I could see into a smallish square room containing a cheap veneered desk, a brown filing cabinet, and a swivel typist’s chair with a torn tweed cover and the foam stuffing coming out of the seat.
The room was harshly lit with an unshaded fluorescent tube slung across the ceiling. There was a mess of what looked like architect’s plans spread across the desk. But no occupants.
I could only assume that Langford had gone into the second room, for which there was no window. If I wanted to find out what was going on in there, I was going to have to get closer. Damn.
Still, I’d come far enough to be in deep trouble if I got caught, so what was another few feet between friends? As quickly as I could, but trying not to look as though I was hurrying, I moved round to the door on the other side of the Portakabin, and turned the handle. There was enough ambient noise from the diggers to mask any squeaks the hinges gave out, but I put the door to very carefully behind me once I was inside. The latch seemed to make an incredibly loud click as it engaged.
I tiptoed across the bare plywood floor to the closed door that separated the outer and inner office, and put my ear against the panelling.
“It’s going to have to stop, Mr Langford,” came the unmistakable high note of Mr Ali’s voice, tinged with bluster. “Things are going too far. You’ve been doing a good job for me up until now, but this is too much.”
Langford’s voice, when it came, was so close it nearly made me flinch back. He could almost have been leaning against the frame on the other side of the door. “Don’t back out now, Ali, just when things are starting to get interesting,” he said, insolent. “As you’ve said, I’ve been doing a good job for you, and the wheels are turning. We both know it.”
Mr Ali had begun to pace, I could feel his footsteps through the wooden floor, making the Portakabin rock. “That is beside the point,” he said, agitated. “People are beginning to suspect something, and I can’t afford for our arrangement to come to light, particularly not after what has just happened.”
“You mean the Gadatra boy?” Langford demanded lazily. “Don’t worry about him. He’s got too many areas of weakness to be a threat, and I know just where to apply the right pressure so he’ll fold.”
“And what about the girl, Miss Fox?” Mr Ali’s mention of my own name made me draw in a breath more sharply than prudence called for.
“Her?” I could hear the note of disbelief, turning to discomfort. “I know she managed to blind-side me, but you really feel she’s a problem?” His inflection made it a question.
“She could be. From what I hear she was instrumental in getting Mr Garton-Jones thrown off the estate. If she finds out about us . . .”
“You worry too much, Ali. If anything, she’s done us a favour. After all, we were just doubling up on the same job, weren’t we? Anyway, I wouldn’t bank on Streetwise being gone long. Garton-Jones knows when he’s on to a good thing, and these community schemes are never up to much.”
There were more footsteps, the sound of chair legs scraping back. I tensed like a deer, ready to flee, but unable to resist the temptation to stay. “So, what happens if they come back?”
“Well, the way things are hotting up, they could be just what we need. Besides, everyone has their price, and I’m sure with the right “financial inducements” shall we say, certain people could come round to our way of thinking, if you know what I mean.”
Mr Ali’s voice became resigned. “How much do you need?”
I could feel rather than see Langford’s artfully casual shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, almost sly. “Let me make some approaches, and I’ll get back to you. Speaking of cash, though,” he went on, and the insolent tone was back again in full force, “where’s my pay packet for this week?”
Other voices approaching outside stripped my attention away from the conversation in the inner office. I looked around wildly and realised there was absolutely nowhere to hide. I scuttled away from that door and headed for the outside one, managing to open it, slip through the gap, and have it closed again in a flash.
“Can I help you?” It was a man’s voice, flat with suspicion, and right by my shoulder. It made me jump.
I turned to see a middle-aged bloke in a dirty green fluoro jacket and a yellow hard hat standing only a couple of feet away.
“Erm, no thanks, mate, I’m all sorted,” I said, smiling at him, but getting no similar response.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t see you come in.”
God, did nobody have any trust in humanity any more? “Bike courier, mate,” I said, keeping my voice cheery. I patted the top pocket of my leather jacket as though to indicate safely secured paperwork. “I’ve just dropped off a package with the bloke in the office there,” I jerked a thumb to indicate the Portakabin I’d just left. “Big Asian bloke. He signed for it.”
He was starting to run with me on this one, but the last vestiges of wariness remained. “What was it, then?” he asked.
I shrugged, trying to stay casual, even though any minute now Langford and Mr Ali could emerge from the Portakabin behind me and expose me for the liar I was. I wondered if people really did end up buried in concrete footings.
“No idea, mate. They don’t tell me, and I don’t ask,” I said blithely. “I just had to get the thing here from Manchester before close of play, and that’s what I’ve done.” I checked my watch, just to prove it. “Anything else is not my problem.”
He nodded, still mistrustful, but unable to put his finger on anything concrete. Until I’d taken two or three steps away from him, that was.
“So where’s your bike?” he called after me.
I froze, painted on a smile and turned, indicating the gloopy mud underfoot with a grimace. “I left it out on the road,” I said. “You think I’m bringing my nice Suzuki through shit like this?”
He gave me the first sign of warmth as he nodded. “No, s’pose not,” he said and waved his hand, dismissing me. “All right then. Off you go. In future, just make sure you check in with the foreman before you go wandering around on site, will you? It’s against the regs.”
“No problem, mate. See you.” I tried my best not to run the rest of the way to the road, but it was a close thing. Once I was out of the site I had to stamp my feet to get rid of the mud galoshes. Then I jogged back round to the trading estate and retrieved the bike.
All the time I was waiting for the sounds of pursuit. I didn’t know how soon the man I’d bumped into would mention my presence to Mr Ali. If he mentioned it at all.
I wished I’d pretended to own a different make of motorbike. At least then if they decided to come looking for me, they’d have been on the wrong track to start with. Damn. Why couldn’t I have said Kawasaki, or Honda? Even a lowly MZ would have been better than admitting to a Suzuki. Mind you, then I’d have had less reason for not
