saved.'
Their eyes met in a fleeting moment, then Carpenter turned his head from the deep puzzlement of Harrison's gaze, and seemed to those who watched him to shrug his shoulders as if an episode had ended, a man had done his work and needed no praise nor thanks. Studiously Carpenter began to wipe the clinging leaves and sticks from his back and his trousers.
They moved from the clearing. Vellosi and Harrison setting the slow pace at the front, Carboni busy and bustling behind them, Carpenter trailing. Harrison did not look round for a final glimpse of Giancarlo's body, stumbled away, reliant on the help of the hand that helped him. They moved at cortege speed and the route along the path was lined with the unsmiling faces of men in uniform who held rifles and submachine-guns and did not flinch from the hurt daubed on Harrison's face. They masked their feelings, those who stared, because death was recent among the trees and the devastating speed of the violence had stripped from them the elation of victory.
' I didn't understand what he was doing, this man Carpenter.'
From behind Harrison's shoulder, Carboni spoke. 'He had to get the pistol from your back, he had to produce the pistol against himself if your danger were to be taken. That was why he taunted the boy. He gave the opportunity to Francesco.
Francesco had a half face to shoot for. That there was the chance was because of Carpenter.'
Carboni, still walking, swung his head towards Carpenter, saw only a shaded half smile, a tint of sadness.
'My God… God help us.' Harrison walked with his eyes closed, led as a blind man on a street pavement. He struggled for his words, confronting the shock and exhaustion. 'Why was another life… why was another man's life, less important than mine?'
' I don't know,' said Carboni.!
'Get me home, please, get me to my wife.'
The quick light of warning flashed between the policeman and the head of the anti-terrorist squad. Carboni stopped and grabbed surely for Carpenter's sleeve and drew him forward.
The procession had stopped. The four men were in a group, a huddle of shoulders, and those in uniform faded back, abandoning them.
'You have something to tell your man, Archie,' Carboni spoke in a whisper.
'Charlesworth can… '
'No, Archie, for you, it is your work.*
'Not here… '
Archie wriggling, sliding in the mud stream, seeking to extricate himself, and Harrison peering into him, unshaven face close, bad breath reeking. Come on, Archie, this is what you saved him for, this is the moment you preserved him for. Can't slip the buck to Charlesworth, can't push it further away. It's now it has to be said, and it's you who have to say it.
'It's about Violet, Geoffrey…' Carboni and Vellosi watched the shame driving up on Carpenter's face, realized the bewilderment creeping again into the man whose arms they held.
'What about her?'
'Violet… I'm sorry.'
'Where is she?' The shriek coming from Harrison, the embarrassment flowing into Vellosi and Carboni.
A sudden coldness from Carpenter, as if from this came his protection, as if his face could be hidden by chilled words. 'She's dead, Harrison. She piled into a lorry last night. She was alone.'
Vellosi and Carboni hurried forward, half carrying, half dragging the weight of Harrison between them. Carpenter detached himself and hung back. Nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. The speed of the group quickened, past the man who stood with the broken shotgun and the small boy, past the field hedgerows, on down to the road. They slid Harrison into the back of Carboni's car, Carboni followed him, clapped his hands and the driver accelerated away.
His arm hanging from Carpenter's shoulder, Vellosi watched the car spin round the first curve.
'You did well, my friend.'
Thank you,' said Carpenter.
