“It seems that the Devil’s Bridge mob have got something dodgy going on in Ireland at the end of this week, and we’ve heard that you’re mixed up in it,” Sean said baldly. He’d gone very still again but I could almost feel the air quivering between them.
“And just why would you think I’d want to be involved in something ‘dodgy’, as you so nicely put it?” Jacob said, his tone flat now.
“Because it wouldn’t be the first time, Jacob, now would it?” Sean said softly.
A dull flush had crept up the sides of the older man’s neck. I could feel the anger blossoming – on both sides. I jumped to my feet and slapped my hands down on the table top hard enough to make the coffee cups rattle. The dogs sidled nervously across the room and slunk into their beds.
“OK. Whoa. Time out,” I said. “Now just hear me out, Jacob, before you go off on one. We don’t know what’s going on. I don’t think Clare’s telling us the whole story about what she was doing, or why, but this Devil’s Bridge lot have got the police right on their tail.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the best version of it I could come up with and I was too much of a coward to tell Jacob what Clare might really have been up to.
“If Slick was taking part in some kind of road race when he died,” I went on, only too aware of Jacob’s doubtful stare, “then MacMillan’s going to go after everyone involved and that includes Clare. All we want to do is keep her out of it but we can’t do that if we don’t know what’s going on.”
Jacob slid his eyes away but I could see him making an effort at calm.
“I can’t tell you what’s going on if I don’t know what’s going on,” he said at last. “I don’t know why Clare should be trying to hide anything from you, Charlie – if she is. Until I’ve had the chance to talk to her myself, I can’t answer that.”
He drained the last of his coffee and stood up, planting his knuckles on the table top to push himself stiffly out of his seat.
“As you’re well aware,” he went on, “I was in Ireland to buy motorbikes. Two Vincents and a Brough Superior that were due under the hammer this morning.” He jerked his head towards the hired Citroen outside. “The only reason they’re not in the back of the van right now is because I dropped everything when I got that phone call. I’ve already got a buyer lined up for one of the Vincents, who’s going to be very fucking pissed off that I’ve come back empty-handed, I can tell you.”
I hardly ever heard Jacob swear seriously and now, despite the evenness of his tone, it gave the profanity an uncommon weight.
And still I had to have one last go.
“Clare’s asked me to go to Ireland and keep an eye on Jamie,” I said. “She said she’s worried about him punching out of his weight, trying to keep up with the big boys. Can you think of any other reason why she might be worried for his safety?”
“I don’t know. Jamie and I don’t see as much of each other as we probably could – or should – have done,” Jacob said, candid. “But if he’s any sense he’ll have given Slick and his bunch of nutcase mates a wide berth. I’ve certainly been doing nothing underhand with them and you either believe that or you don’t,” he added with a quiet dignity. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I went to see my other half.”
He didn’t even slam the kitchen door on his way out but the soft click it made when he pulled it shut behind him still made me flinch. He closed the front door on his way out with more force, though, and we watched him hurry across the forecourt to the Range Rover. I let out a long breath.
“Well, that went down well, I thought,” Sean said, heavy on the irony.
“Yeah, like a knackered lift.”
The elderly diesel Range Rover, ostensibly cream but long patinated with rust, started up in a cloud of black smoke. It swung round in a tight circle on the mossy cobbles, leaning precariously, and shot off up the driveway.
“So, do you believe him?” Sean asked then.
“About what?”
“That he’s nothing to do with the Devil’s Bridge brigade.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, aware of a low-level churning beneath my ribs that could have been anxiety. “When you first mentioned them, I don’t know, there was something in his face . . .” I broke off, remembering the doubt. “But when you mentioned Ireland he seemed a lot more . . . emphatic, somehow.”
“And you don’t fancy the idea of tying him to a chair and shining bright lights in his eyes until he cracks,” Sean said.
“No,” I said with a smile, “I guess I don’t.” I paused, let my breath out hard through my nose. “Why is it that it’s a hell of a lot easier asking questions of people when you don’t give a shit about them?” I muttered.
“I always make it a rule never to interrogate people I like,” Sean agreed gravely, although there was a flicker of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“So, where do we go from here?” I asked, repeating his earlier question.
“I think you just have to wait and see what story Jacob comes back with.”
I glanced up. “
He nodded. “Yeah. My gear’s already packed. I’m afraid I have to go back to work,” he said, softening the blow with a smile of his own. “There’s a diamond courier flying in to Heathrow tomorrow afternoon from Amsterdam and they want me to head the team looking after him personally.”
“Why do they need you?”
“The customer is always right.” Sean shrugged. “And if you were walking round with a briefcase chained to
