Clare nodded and sipped her coffee. “I could tell there was something when you brought him in here last night. I mean, I know more than anyone how far out on a limb you’ll go for your friends, Charlie. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead,” she said, and her face was grave. “But this was something more. You had this air of—” She flapped a hand while she searched for the right words. “Controlled panic. That’s the closest I can get to describing it. Are you still in love with him?”
Her eyes slid away over my shoulder and I thought she’d embarrassed herself with the question. Then I caught the suggestion of a movement behind me. When I turned it was to find Sean in the kitchen doorway, leaning heavily on the frame.
He was still wearing last night’s jeans which had dried blood sheening the left thigh, but no shirt. The square of white dressing was still taped efficiently to his shoulder. I skimmed my eyes over him as he came further into the room. He was holding himself awkwardly and was still pale, but his eyes were clear, and his gait was steady.
Clare jumped up, a faint flush lighting her cheekbones and the tips of her ears. “I’ll make fresh coffee,” she muttered.
Sean treated her to one of his brighter smiles. “I didn’t have a chance to thank you last night,” he said, “for offering me sanctuary.”
I suppressed a grumpy sigh as I formally introduced them. Sean clasped her proffered hand with enough deliberation to refresh the blush that was still lingering round Clare’s features. I took one look and knew she was smitten.
She hurriedly refilled the polished copper kettle on the top of the Aga and then, mumbling something about seeing if Jacob was up, she all but ran out of the room. The pair of us were left alone together in a silence that was deafening.
Sean eased himself into the chair my friend had just vacated. “So, Charlie,” he said quietly, “are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Still in love with me?” It was said lightly, without a hint of conceit. I saw the curve of his lips and for a moment I was tempted not to treat the question seriously, but then I took in the clenched fingers and decided against levity.
I rubbed a hand across my eyes. They felt full of grit. I was bone tired and my brain was functioning strictly on the lower levels. This was just not the time to trawl through ancient history.
Briefly, I leaned my face down towards the tabletop, resting my chin on my fist while I considered. “No, I don’t think so,” I said at last, seriously. “What we had was a long time ago, Sean.” I raised my head to meet his eyes. “Whether you intended to or not, you hurt me more than I ever could have imagined.”
As he started to speak I cut him off, keeping my voice admirably level. “But, I got over it, I moved on. We’re neither of us the same people we were then. It would be a mistake to try and go back.”
“So why the ‘controlled panic’ last night?”
I scowled. “Were you eavesdropping on the
That killer smile again. “No, just the important bits,” he said. “Now answer the question.”
I pushed back my chair and got to my feet, suddenly too restless to sit. “Because I’ve had someone die in my arms before and I didn’t like it much,” I said brutally, turning back just so I could watch his face. “Certainly not enough to want to repeat the experience if I could do a damn thing to prevent it.”
I was saved from having to elaborate much on that theme by the arrival of a bleary-eyed Jacob. He limped in, seemingly unaware of the combative silence between us.
The dogs were jostling round his ankles. Jacob didn’t say a word until he’d fed them, made a fresh pot of coffee, and had taken his first mouthful. Then he sat back and studied us with far more alert attention. “Ah, that’s better,” he said. He nodded to Sean. “How’s the shoulder this morning?”
“Stiff and sore,” Sean said easily, “but I’ll live.”
“Muscle damage is nastier than broken bones, in my opinion,” Jacob said, adding with a rueful smile, “I’ve had enough of both in my time to know.”
“I was lucky.”
Jacob treated me to one of his arresting smiles. “Hmm, she’s a useful lady to know, is our Charlie.”
“So,” I broke in, trying not to squirm, “where do we go from here?”
“Well, for a start I don’t think it would be a good idea for Sean here to go anywhere for a day or two,” Jacob said straight away, pouring coffee into our mugs. “You’re welcome to stay here, lad, keep your head down, pick up a bit of strength.”
Sean looked taken aback by this unexpected hospitality. “That’s very decent of you,” he said.
Jacob waved away his thanks as he pushed the milk and sugar bowl towards us. “It gives us a bit of time to try and work out what the hell’s going on,” he said briskly. “Clare’s just filled me in on the details. Any ideas who might have wanted to put the knife into Harvey Langford – speaking literally
“How long have you got?” I said, “I’ll make a list.”
Jacob grinned at me, and I went on, more seriously, “Whoever killed him didn’t just want Langford out of the way, though, they wanted us dead, too.”
Sean shook his head at that. “I don’t think so,” he said, “In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise they just wanted to keep us pinned down for long enough for the police to arrive.”
He shifted awkwardly in his seat, caught his breath, and waited for the biting pain to subside before he continued.
“I think finding that we were capable of shooting back at them put them off their stroke, ruined the plan. If our friendly shooter had wanted us dead he had more than enough chance to ambush us while we were inspecting the body. Anybody halfway competent could have slotted the pair of us while we were helpfully hanging around against the light. They wouldn’t have waited until we were moving across that floor in the dark.”
The terrier, Beezer, finished wolfing down her food, trotted across the kitchen and jumped for Jacob’s lap to see if there was anything interesting for dessert at table height. Jacob fondled her moth-eaten ears absently. “Surely you don’t think he was killed just as a means of getting the pair of you arrested? That seems a bit drastic.”
“Not necessarily,” Sean told him. “After all, they’ve already made one attempt on Charlie’s life, and the police have been tipped off that I was involved in Nasir’s death. From their point of view, neither of those efforts have worked too well.”
“So,” I said, “was Langford a victim, or just a pawn in somebody’s game?”
Sean shrugged, raising just his right shoulder, and reached for his coffee. “Search me. That day on Copthorne he offered to bring you information about who’s behind the crimewave on the estates, didn’t he? Next thing we know, he’s dead. What does that tell you?”
It was my turn to shrug, helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe we should be asking Mr Ali what he was doing letting Langford hide out on his site, and what exactly he was paying him to do. After all, Ali must have known he was there.”
Clare walked in just as I was speaking. “Is that Mr Ali the builder?” she asked, looking surprised. “You remember I told you he owns great chunks of Copthorne and Lavender? Apparently there are big discussions going about redeveloping the whole of that area. Lots of Euro money up for grabs and lottery funding, according to the people at work. If it all goes ahead Mr Ali’s not only going to make money on the property as the values and the rents go up, but his firm’s also right in the running for quite a chunk of the renovation work as well.”
Suddenly a whole rake of ideas started to firm up like shapes appearing out of the fog on a motorway. “How certain is all this?” I demanded.
Clare frowned. “Well, from what I understand, if the crime rate carries on rising like it has been doing, it’s getting more certain all the time. Why, Charlie, what is it?”
I sat back in my chair and a long chill settled over me. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong,” I said slowly. “Ali wasn’t paying Langford to keep the estates quiet. He was paying him to stir them up . . .”
I recounted the snatch of conversation I’d overheard between the two men the night I’d first trailed Langford to the building site as it came drifting back to me. “That’s why Ali was so worried in case anyone found out about his arrangement with Langford,” I finished. “Langford got well out of hand the night Fariman was injured, and Ali was shit-scared that if they knew about it people would blame him. They would have done, too. He’d have been lynched.”
