Riot Act

the sweat from my face, but actually to drape round my neck.

I was wearing a stretch sports top that left the scar across my throat much too visible for my liking. Abruptly, I felt too naked, too exposed. It seemed to shout to the world that there was a time I’d been stupid, and vulnerable, and had so nearly paid the ultimate price for it. I found it easier all round if I just covered up.

O’Bryan had seen it, though. As he came over to me his eyes were riveted on the towel, as though hoping for another grisly glimpse of what lay underneath it. I observed with a certain sense of detachment that his eyes strayed to pause at another, smaller scar across my bicep. Finally, as he caught himself staring, they darted up to my face. He found me watching him and slid his gaze away altogether, guilty.

I moved over to the counter area, and pulled on my sweatshirt. He seemed to relax a little once he no longer had to be careful what part of me he could look at.

“So, Mr O’Bryan,” I said briskly, “something tells me you aren’t here to take out a new membership. What can I do for you?”

He looked round hesitantly before speaking, and when he did, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, like he was picking his way across a muddy field in his Sunday best shoes. I was unkindly reminded of a cheap imitation of MacMillan.

“I had Sean Meyer’s young lady, Madeleine in to see me yesterday asking certain questions about Nasir Gadatra, and also about one Harvey Langford,” he said, circumspect. “I don’t suppose you might know what that was all about, would you?”

“Maybe you should be asking her that,” I said.

O’Bryan sighed. “I tried,” he said, “but she’s a charming girl who’s rather good at stonewalling you totally and smiling sweetly while she’s doing it.”

He smiled, rueful. I could just imagine Madeleine cajoling information out of him. He stood as much chance as a chocolate fireguard.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my face straight, “I suppose she is.”

O’Bryan continued to look hopeful for a few moments longer, then the smile faded as he realised that I was pretty good at stonewalling, too. Even if I didn’t quite possess Madeleine’s allure while I was at it.

“I don’t suppose you’ve managed to catch sight of Roger recently?” he asked instead.

“He hasn’t shown up at home since you were there,” I said, which was true, technically speaking.

O’Bryan seemed to recognise that evasion for what it was. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he said, earnest, “Look, Charlie, I’ll level with you. I’m very worried about the lad. Going AWOL will land him in very hot water, but I’m afraid he may also be mixed up in some way with what’s happened to Nasir. Has he said anything about that?”

“I told you, we haven’t spoken to him,” I said, thinking that vanishing back view on the Honda didn’t count as conversation.

“Of course.” O’Bryan’s shoulders slumped. “I just thought you might – ah, well,” he said, suddenly sounding tired. He turned away, sank down onto the nearest bench.

Then he glanced up and met my eyes, and the fussy little man receded for a moment. “It’s just, you see—” he stopped, started again. “I’m not sure I can save him this time.”

The words sent a prickle of apprehension through me. If O’Bryan didn’t know for certain what Roger might have done, then he strongly suspected.

I tried for a casual tone. “What if you’re right,” I said. “What if Roger’s involved in something pretty serious. What would happen to him?”

He paused for a moment without speaking, pursing his lips. “Well, that would depend on exactly what it is that he’s done,” he said at last. “At one time just the fact that he was a minor would have been enough to ensure that he could get away with murder, but—”

He saw the tic that I couldn’t prevent from skating across my features and stopped short. “Oh dear God,” he murmured, “you don’t think . . .?”

“Unfortunately, we’re beginning to, yes,” I agreed.

I didn’t need to elaborate any further than that. O’Bryan got to his feet as though the bench was suddenly too hot to sit on. He paced away briefly, then turned back. “Roger and Nasir were the best of friends,” he said, but there was no real heat in his protest. “What reason do you have for thinking he could have done such a thing?”

“Roger knew Nasir was dead hours before his body was officially discovered,” I said, not going into the details. “And he’s now been seen going round on Nasir’s bike.”

“I don’t believe it,” O’Bryan said, resuming his pacing as he spoke quietly more to himself than to me. “I can’t believe it. They’ll throw away the key this time. Oh, you stupid lad, Roger!”

“It may have been an accidental shooting,” I put in, and had to stop myself adding that the gun was in poor condition, and liable to jam, which always increased the probability of an unintentional discharge. Nothing had made the army range instructors more nervous.

Besides, that would also maybe explain Roger turning up on Ursula’s doorstep saying how sorry he was . . .

On the other hand, it could have been done in a flash of temper. I recalled, starkly, Roger’s reaction to Nasir’s seeming inability to execute me in cold blood.

“She’s got to die, tonight,” he’d screamed. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Don’t you care?”

I swallowed, and took a leap of faith. “Much as I know Sean doesn’t want to believe it, either,” I said. “We think Roger’s to blame for Nasir’s death.”

O’Bryan shook his head. “Oh no, I’m to blame,” he said, and his tone was bleak. His glasses caught the light as he looked up at me, blanking out his eyes. “There must have been some sign I missed, been something I could have done to have prevented this tragedy. And he’s got Nasir’s bike you say? A Honda 600 wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, we saw him on it yesterday,” I admitted. “So, where do we go from here?”

O’Bryan gave another shrug, letting his hands fall back to his sides as though he’d lost nerve control over them. “There isn’t anywhere to go, apart from prison,” he said. He regarded me gravely. “Even at his age, Roger will go down for this, for a long time. You do realise that, don’t you?”

Now it was my turn to feel the weight of the world dragging at my shoulders. “I suppose so,” I said.

A big part of me knew that Roger should get what was coming to him, just as I knew I should do whatever I could to help bring him in. But, there was another part, smaller yes, but no less loud and insistent, that squirmed and twisted at the thought. At what the boy’s capture and conviction would do to Sean, to his mother, and to Ursula and her unborn child.

Besides, Roger hadn’t set out to kill me on his own account, I was sure of that. There was still someone else out there, a shadowy figure lurking in the background. One who’d set the boys on their way with a loaded gun. One who’d whispered in MacMillan’s ear that Sean was a murderer. I needed to find out who that was.

What was going to happen if you didn’t kill me, Roger? I wondered. Who was putting so much pressure on you to do it?

“So,” O’Bryan said now, nudging at a wisp of fraying carpet with his toe, “what do you plan to do next?”

A sudden thought occurred to me, and with it, a course of action. “Find Harvey Langford,” I said.

O’Bryan looked surprised. “Why would that help Roger?”

“Because the last time I saw Langford he told me he knew who was behind the crimewave on Lavender Gardens,” I said. “Or if he didn’t know, he could find out.”

“And you think he’d be prepared to tell you that?”

I gave him a cynical smile. “Let’s just say I know certain things that good old Harvey definitely does not want broadcasting.”

“Ah, I see,” O’Bryan said, looking clearly mystified. “Well, that information would be worth knowing, I suppose. I just don’t see how that’s going to help the boy.”

“Roger isn’t in this alone,” I said, my voice grim. “It’s only fair that he shouldn’t go to prison alone, don’t you think?”

***

After O’Bryan had gone, folding himself into his MG and disappearing out into the flow of traffic, I determined how best to make good on my promise to find Harvey Langford.