Riot Act

I should have told him then that the scar was much more recent. That it had nothing to do with my getting thrown out of the army, but the fake sincerity in his voice choked my words.

I jerked back, shrugging his hands away, and pulled the shirt collar back into place. All the while I was blinking back the tears that were rising unbidden and unwelcome to my eyes. “What the hell does it matter to you?” I growled. “Just go.”

For a long time Sean just stood there, hands clenched tight by his sides. Then he turned on his heel, and walked out.

Physical pain would have been a relief at that point. The urge to smack my fist into something solid and unyielding, and to keep doing it, was uppermost in my mind. I barely resisted the temptation.

***

I admit I slept in the next morning. It wasn’t until Friday started howling his protest downstairs in the living room that I finally hauled myself out of bed.

Feeling muzzy, I went down and let him out into the back garden, then headed for the shower. By the time he’d finished sniffing at tree trunks and doing whatever else it is that dogs do in gardens, I was dressed and much closer to being human again.

Friday seemed overjoyed when I got his lead out. It had been so late when I’d got back the night before, taking him out for a walk had been the last thing on my mind. Besides, with both Nasir and Roger still roaming around, I’d been more than a little nervous about wandering round at night in the open.

So, this morning I knew I owed Friday more than a quick turn around the block. I pulled on my jacket and gloves, and unlocked the front door, patting my pockets to check I’d got my keys. The dog pranced out onto the path almost skipping with delight. He did his best to sabotage my efforts to secure the door behind me, yanking the lead in my hands.

I took him the long way, crossing the wasteground and letting him nose around in the piles of rubble and fallen bricks that surrounded the derelict terrace of houses between the Lavender and Copthorne estates. But, as the dog dragged me along the home stretch of Kirby Street, I found that we hadn’t been away nearly long enough.

There was a man walking down the short drive towards the police cruiser that was parked by the kerb. At first, I thought he must have been knocking at Pauline’s door, but as I drew closer I realised he’d been calling on Mrs Gadatra instead. The man was in late middle-age, and his dark hair was longer than I recalled, worn brushed back from his face.

My feet slowed, despite Friday’s insistent pulling. Was he here because of the gunfight at the gym last night? How had he pieced that one together so fast? For a moment I debated on making a tactical withdrawal before he noticed me.

I should have known I wouldn’t be that lucky.

As if I’d spoken out loud, the man turned and then stilled, waiting for me to close the gap between us. Reluctantly, I complied.

I’d run in to Superintendent MacMillan before, and not in the happiest of circumstances. Only the winter before, I’d helped him stop a killer, but had damned near become another victim in the process. He hadn’t liked my methods much, and the whole affair hadn’t exactly endeared me to the man.

Which brought me round to a sudden realisation. MacMillan was too high-powered to be running round investigating unconfirmed reports of gunfire. He was strictly a murder and mayhem kind of bloke. So what was he doing outside my door on a Saturday morning?

“Charlie.” He greeted me now in that familiar clipped tone. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you living here.”

“Superintendent.” I nodded shortly in turn. “It’s temporary. I’m house-sitting for a friend.”

“I see,” MacMillan said. He glanced at Friday, then held out his hand for the dog to sniff. To my great disappointment the Ridgeback didn’t sink his teeth into the proffered flesh up to the gum line. Instead, while the Superintendent rubbed him absently behind his ears, he stood quite happily with a soppy look of animal bliss on his face. I threw him a reproachful glance. Traitor.

“I suppose you noticed us calling on your neighbour,” the policeman went on casually. “I’d like to have a word with you about her son, if you have a moment?”

“Of course,” I said. “You’d better come in.” I unlocked the front door with my mind clicking over furiously. MacMillan was as canny as they came, and he had a sixth sense for lies. If I could avoid having to tell him any, then so much the better. I know nothing, I reminded myself. Let him tell you everything.

I nearly blew it almost as soon as we’d sat down on Pauline’s flowery cotton loose covers. “So, what’s Nasir been up to?” I asked brightly.

“Why should you think he’s been up to anything?” MacMillan asked with a slight frown. “I know the lad had a record of juvenile delinquency, but from what I understand, he’s been out of trouble for the last couple of years.”

“Oh,” I faltered, cursing inwardly. “I just assumed that you weren’t making a social call, and—”

“The boy’s dead,” MacMillan told me bluntly, never taking his eyes off my face while he said it. Unless you play poker professionally, it’s really hard to keep that sort of news from leaving its mark. I could feel my eyebrows lifting as my jaw fell.

“Dead?” I repeated stupidly. “Dead – how?” Let it be an accident, I prayed. Car crash, heart attack, fell in front of a train – anything would do except . . .

“I’m afraid Nasir received a single gunshot wound to the chest some time late yesterday evening,” MacMillan informed me in his best official tone. “It wasn’t instantly fatal, but it would appear that he died as a result of it shortly afterwards, and I now find myself in the middle of a murder inquiry.”

Twelve

For a few moments I sat without speaking. Nasir was dead. I remembered that shot I’d heard while I was tackling Roger. Sean had told me Nasir had managed to clear the gun and so he’d given up the pursuit.

But what if Sean had caught up with Nas? When it came to hand-to-hand Sean was outstanding. Brutally effective. He wouldn’t have hesitated for a second before taking down an armed opponent. Particularly an unskilled teenager, running scared, and with a jammed weapon.

What if he’d taken control of the gun and shot Nasir, leaving him dying before calmly returning to the gym to wait for me. He was certainly cold-blooded enough.

But why? It was a damned stupid way to try and protect his brother, if that was his motive. None of it made any sense.

I raised my head and found the Superintendent still watching me closely with the calm deliberation that made his company so uncomfortable. On the mantelpiece Pauline’s dark wood-cased clock ticked loudly into the silence. All of a sudden my mouth was dry, and I had to swallow before I could speak.

“Where did it happen?” I asked, not stopping to think if the question was a logical one for a supposedly innocent party.

MacMillan gave no sign that I’d made a significant slip-up. “He was found in a rubbish skip, near one of the old industrial estates in Heysham,” he said, matter-of-fact, as though he was describing a change in the weather.

“Heysham?” Not on a piece of waste ground behind a gym in Lancaster, then.

The wave of relief that washed over me brought light-headedness in its wake. “Poor Mrs G,” I said, guilt following on like the next breaker onto the beach. My emotions must have been strung across my face like Times Square neon by this time. “Do you have any ideas who was responsible?”

“We’re working on several lines of inquiry,” he said automatically, but for the first time he looked a little awkward.

I caught the hesitation and was intrigued. “Do I hear a ‘but’ in there, Superintendent?”

MacMillan frowned for a moment, then leaned forwards in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and straightening a cufflink while he considered what he was prepared to tell me.