Riot Act

“I have no intention of getting involved with Sean again,” I said, surprised by her vehemence. “I’ve hardly spoken to him, and when I have, it’s been about his brother.” Well, that was mostly the truth, at any rate.

“He’s dangerous,” my mother burst out. “Look what he did to you last time!”

“That was hardly down to Sean,” I said, shocked to find myself defending him. “He wasn’t even there when it happened. They posted him.”

And kept posting him, Madeleine had said. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe Sean hadn’t abandoned me after all. Perhaps he hadn’t refused to come back and speak up for me at the court martial. Perhaps he hadn’t even known that I was on trial . . .

I was so busy getting my head round the idea that I hardly noticed my mother making hasty excuses to get off the line. After she’d gone, I spent a little while staring rather stupidly at the telephone, and wondering how on earth I was going to find out the truth about the role Sean had really played in my getting chucked out of the army.

***

Later that evening, by way of contrast, I rode the Suzuki north from Lancaster and out past Caton village to Jacob and Clare’s for supper as I’d promised. Not that it took much arm-twisting. Jacob is a superb cook and it seemed to have been a long time since I’d enjoyed a relaxed evening with my friends.

Once we’d finished eating we moved through from the farmhouse-style kitchen to their comfortable living room with its blazing log fire. It was then that I gently reminded Clare about her inquiries into Mr Ali and Langford.

She sighed, but more because she’d just curled up on the sofa with their terrier, Beezer on her lap than anything else. She turfed the dog onto the floor and obligingly went to retrieve what she’d managed to dig out.

Mr Ali, it transpired, wasn’t just a property developer and builder, he was also one of the biggest private landlords in the area. And the majority of the rental housing he owned was slap bang in the middle of Lavender Gardens, with some of it even spreading across into Copthorne.

“I’d like to bet that the residents there don’t know who owns the roof over their heads,” I said.

“Mm, but it’s unlikely they’ll ever find out,” Clare agreed. “He looks after them all through a separate letting agency, and that in turn is owned by another subsidiary company. It’s quite a paper trail. It would be quite difficult to find anything out if you were just a tenant.”

“It might explain the connection between Ali and this vigilante bloke you were talking about, though,” Jacob said as he came limping in with a tray of cups and a full pot of coffee.

“What, you mean he’s got a vested interest in wanting to clean up the estate?”

“It makes sense, I suppose,” I said, shaking the pieces together in my head to see if they fitted any better now.

Jacob nodded as he pressed the plunger in the lid of the cafetiere down slowly.

“It does,” Clare put in, “until you look at the guy he’s chosen to do his dirty work for him. Harvey Langford isn’t anybody’s idea of an altruist.”

“Harvey?” I asked with a chuckle. If I’d had to guess, we would have been there for some time.

Clare nodded seriously. “He’s got form as long as your arm, mainly for putting the boot in. He’s particularly noted for racially-motivated stuff.” She leafed through various clippings. “Going back a few years he used to belong to a local neo-nazi organisation, until they apparently beat up a young Asian lad, and then set him on fire.” She grimaced her distaste. “Then the police clamped down on them pretty hard and the thing broke up. According to my crime desk pal, they arrested a few people, including Langford, but nobody was talking, and they couldn’t prove it.”

“Well, that explains the secrecy I suppose,” Jacob said. “If I was Ali, and Langford was the only bloke I could find to do the job for me, I wouldn’t want to shout about our association, either.”

“You could be right,” I said. I picked up one or two of the pages Clare had laid out on the low table in front of the sofa. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in there about him being involved with firearms, is there?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Clare said. She sat back and eyed me warily as she sipped her coffee. “Why, Charlie, what aren’t you telling us about all this?”

I sighed, and told them all about Roger and Nasir’s gun-toting visit to the gym, and then MacMillan’s arrival with the news of Nasir’s murder. Well, nearly all. Somehow I didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone about Sean, so I left him out of the tale.

They listened in silence, then Clare said determinedly, “I’ll find out what I can on Monday. I’ll come round and let you know after work, shall I?”

I thought of the restless atmosphere on the estate and shook my head. “No,” I said quickly. “I’ll give you a call. Things are very uneasy on Lavender Gardens at the moment, especially if you’re not a resident. I think it would be best if you stayed well out of the way.”

Clare nodded and bent to clear away the papers. Over her head, Jacob had sent me a brief, grateful glance. I smiled back, trying to reassure him that whatever other demands I might place on our friendship, putting Clare anywhere near any possible risk was not going to be one of them.

***

Sunday morning, seeing as I wasn’t in at the gym, I made a desultory stab at the housework, throwing Friday out into the back garden while I ran the vacuum over his discarded fur. He was losing it at such a rate I was amazed the dog wasn’t completely bald.

The noise of the hoover meant I almost missed the phone ringing. I made a grab for it at the last minute, out of breath. “Yes? Hello?”

I almost expected it to be Clare, even though reason told me she probably wouldn’t be able to get back to me until she was back in at work the following day.

“Charlie?” I recognised the voice immediately, but even so, he added, “It’s Sean.”

My first reaction was to drop the phone back on its cradle like it had suddenly gone live. I shook myself, tried to relax.

“Hello, Sean.” I tried for a light tone, but couldn’t bring it off. “What do you want?”

I heard a sigh at the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry I missed you when you came round yesterday,” he said, voice careful. “I was getting a new front screen put in the jeep.”

I remembered the way the glass had crazed in response to Nasir’s wild shot. “That’s OK,” I said, “I had an interesting chat with Madeleine.”

“Yeah, she said.” Another pause. “Look, we need to meet,” he hurried on. “Roger’s vanished, and I want to get to the bottom of what the hell the other night was all about. Can I come round and see you?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He let his breath out quickly and I could hear the frustration in his voice. “Come on, Charlie. So we’ve got history together. Bad history. Well, I’m sorry about that, but nothing I can say right now is going to make it all un-happen. Deal with it and let’s move on.”

I waited half a beat to check he’d finished. “That wasn’t what I meant,” I said mildly. “Garton-Jones and his mob are back on the estate. They seemed particularly anxious to get their hands on you last time. I don’t think absence will have made their hearts grow any fonder, do you?”

“Oh. No, you’re right,” he said in a wry tone. “To be honest, I want to stay put in case Roger shows up, and I don’t want to cause trouble for you, either. Can you get over here again?”

I thought of Jav and his gang. “It’s starting to get a bit dicey going anywhere on foot,” I said. Copthorne, though, was no better. “And I’m a bit reluctant to bring the bike.”

“You’ll be fine.” Sean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It seems my reputation with the local bad lads somewhat exceeds me.” His voice was full of self-derision. “Nobody will dare lay a finger on you if you’re coming here.”

“OK,” I said slowly, temporarily unable to think of another excuse. “Oh—” I opened my mouth to ask him about Nasir, then shut it again.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said shortly. “I’ll see you as soon as I can,” and I put the phone down before he had chance to