spot the change that came over me straight away.
“What?” he demanded a moment later, but I couldn’t immediately voice what had come into my mind. “What is it?”
“He couldn’t have moved him,” I blurted out, almost fearing that if I didn’t say something quickly I’d lose my grip on the whole idea.
“What? Who couldn’t? Charlie, you’re not making any sense.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Roger,” I started again. “Don’t you see? The police have said that Nasir wasn’t shot where he was dumped, so he had to’ve been carried there. If all Roger had was the bike,
Sean didn’t speak right away, and for a second I thought he hadn’t followed my line of reasoning. It wasn’t until I caught sight of his hands, gripping tight to the steering wheel until the knuckles stood out through the skin, that I understood.
“Don’t get too excited.” I hated having to put a dampener on his hopes, but I had to do it. “It doesn’t mean Roger didn’t shoot him,” I went on, but gently. “It just means he wasn’t alone when he did it.”
Sean unclenched his fingers slowly. His features were shaded so that there was no discernible difference between pupil and iris. His eyes just looked totally black. The single word that came out was thick with anger.
“Langford?”
I met his gaze without flinching, but couldn’t give him the reassurance he was after. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully, “it doesn’t really fit, but somebody’s trying very hard to point us in that direction.”
“Well,” Sean said, “let’s not disappoint them, shall we?”
We drove the rest of the way out to Heysham without further conversation. At my suggestion, Sean passed the open entrance to the site, and pulled into the same neglected industrial estate where I’d hidden the Suzuki on my previous visit.
Fortunately, whoever was occupying the units that weren’t standing empty there didn’t believe in working late. A quiet circuit of the place found no lights showing under the roller-shutter doors of any of them.
He nosed the Patrol to a halt under the shadow of a building, and cut the engine. Without artificial lighting, the brightness of the full moon was revealed, bathing the concrete in silver splendour. For a moment we sat there in a heavy silence. Then Sean leaned over and flipped open the glovebox lid.
Inside was the Glock semiautomatic, with a spare clip tucked in behind it.
Sean picked the gun up, slipped the magazine out and checked it anyway, almost a ritual, although he must have known it was full and ready to go.
He slotted the mag back into the pistol grip, pushed it home with his palm, just as I’d done when I’d found the Glock under the seat of the Cherokee. But this time, he pinched back the slide. I heard the twin snap of the first round loading, and shivered.
Sean shoved the gun into the back of his belt, under his jacket. The extra magazine went into his jacket pocket. He looked across at me.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to use this unless I have to, otherwise I’m definitely going to have the cops on my tail,” he said quietly, “but if Jav’s telling us the truth, and Langford
I shrugged, trying to act casual despite the adrenaline pulse. “As I’ll ever be,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
But as I made to get out Sean put his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, Charlie,” he said, “but I’m glad you’re here.”
I nodded, swallowed. “You can thank me later,” I said, throwing him a quick, hard smile. “Let’s just get this done.”
Not surprisingly, perhaps, nobody had tidied up between the units since I’d last passed that way. The loose slats in the wooden fence were still hanging loosely by their rusty nail.
Once on the other side, the moon clearly highlighted the stretch of mud in front of us. I followed Sean across the expanse of it, slithering behind him while he picked his way without seeming to miss a step. It was a relief to get on to the compacted hard-core.
We carefully circled the Portakabins where Mr Ali had his site office, but each of them was secured with bolts and padlocks. There was no way Langford could be hiding out inside, unless he was content to be locked in every night when the site closed down.
We moved on.
Then Sean jogged my arm, and pointed to the partially-completed office building itself. At one corner of the top floor, we could make out the glow of a light.
We edged closer, hugging the shadows, acutely aware that our possible enemy had the advantage of superior elevation. All the time, we kept one eye on the window above us, but there was no change in the light to suggest movement.
The building had a lot of glass which, in my opinion, was an open invitation to the local kids to throw stones. The windows made us feel vulnerable, as though we were under surveillance from every angle.
We had to search three sides of the block before we found a way in. There were fire doors on every side, but when I gave the handle of one an experimental tug, it pulled open without difficulty. Several layers of gaffer tape held the latch compressed. We moved through, easing the door quietly closed behind us.
Inside, the office block was a darkened tangle of unfinished pipework and dangling wires. Although the floors were in, it seemed that most of the internal walls had yet to be completed, and we skirted carefully round piles of thermalite blocks stacked up on yards of plastic sheeting. I wondered briefly if the wires were live, and how anybody managed to work in such a minefield.
There were two staircases leading to the upper floors, at opposite corners of the building. Sean nodded to the nearest one, and we made our way cautiously up it to the top.
The effort of keeping up with his quietly economical movements made sweat break out along my hairline. My mouth was as dry as my palms were damp. At that precise moment, if I’d had more faith in my own intuition, I would have turned and run. It was screaming at me.
The top floor was closer to completion than those below it, but not by much. It seemed that the centre of the office was going to be an open-plan layout on this level, with separate cubicles around the outside edges.
The building work had reached the stage where the side walls of the cubicles were up, but not the ends. The unfinished walls stuck out like breakwaters along a beach. We used the cover they provided to work our way closer towards the corner office until we could make out the reflected glow of a lamp bouncing off the tinted glass of the windows and the pale plasterboard ceiling.
Then Sean stopped abruptly, and I stiffened behind him as I heard the murmur of voices. It was only when a burst of music replaced them that I realised we were listening to a radio.
Sean caught my eye, and I read his meaning, wondering if he could hear my heartbeat. It was loud enough to be deafening me.
We reached the final wall that separated us from the last room. Sean paused for a moment, as if gathering himself, then we both stepped round it, into the light.
And froze.
Langford had made a comfortable nest for himself in that end office. A military surplus sleeping bag lay rumpled on a piece of camping foam against one wall. The lamp we’d seen, and the radio, were next to an overflowing ashtray on a paint-encrusted table to one side, together with a chipped mug that was striped down the outside with trails of old coffee.
To go with the table there was a single wooden chair, which was now lying on its side in the middle of the floor.
Langford’s corpse was still tied to it.
We didn’t bother checking for a pulse. It’s difficult to see how anyone could have lost the amount of blood that was pooled around his fallen body and have survived the experience.
It spread outwards around the vigilante’s torso, still liquid, but congealing so that it had the consistency of syrup. The smell of it turned my stomach. Langford’s head rested in the lake of blood. It stained his temple and matted in his short hair. His nose and mouth were caked with it.
