man (courtesy of www.peoplesearch.com) it had been a small matter to keep a watch on him.
Planning. Waiting for the moment.
Leary was helped in this by the fact that Mcswain was so regimented in his movements. Driven, it seemed, by routine.
He began his milk round every morning at 4.15. It took him approximately three hours. When it was finished he would return to the depot, complete his paperwork and return home to the house he shared with his wife and two children. A boy of twelve and a girl of thirteen. He usually stayed in until six in the evening when he would go out for a drink. He returned around ten.
Like fucking clockwork.
If Mcswain knew he was being watched then he’d certainly given no indication of it.
Leary finished off his Lucozade and flipped open the glove compartment of his car. The Scorpion CZ65, a twenty-round clip already jammed into it, lay there until he needed it.
He had decided that it would be best to take the Proddie bastard out during his milk round. Early in the
morning when the streets were at their most desolate.
On more than one occasion he had thought about completing the job this very morning but had finally decided against it. He could wait one more day.
Leary slipped the car into gear and, after allowing the milk float a minute’s start, he followed, overtook it, then parked up once more. Just watching.
And waiting.
CHESHAM, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, ENGLAND:
The sunset stained the sky crimson. It looked as if the clouds had been soaked in blood.
Doyle glanced across at the large garage as he made his way back to the house.
Joe Hendry was reversing the Mercedes 300SL through the doorway. Inside, Doyle could also see two other vehicles belonging to the Duncans. All would be checked before they were used the following day. Brake cables would be inspected, tyres would be looked at for faults and, as ever, the entire chassis and interior would be scrutinised for anything even vaguely resembling an explosive device. That was Hendry’s job. The cars and everything to do with them were his province.
He had brought William Duncan home safely some two hours ago and listened whiJe Helen Duncan related the news about the mutilated horse. Duncan himself had nodded as his wife had spoken then hugged her tightly.
Doyle had looked on impassively then decided on one more tour of the grounds before darkness threw its impenetrable blanket over the land.
As he had done earlier in the day, he had wandered as far as the maze. Except this time he had not ventured inside the privet-lined walkways. The hedges were fully eight feet high, immaculately trimmed and decorated with topiary animals that seemed to look down mockingly upon those who were foolish enough to enter their domain.The paths that turned left and right were gravel and Doyle had managed to find his way into the centre of the puzzle earlier that day, dropping pieces of cigarette packet to guide him out.
At its heart the maze boasted a delightful ornate centrepiece comprising two stone benches and sculptures of lions and swans. Like their topiary counterparts, these sentinels seemed to gaze upon newcomers with disdainful eyes. Doyle had sat and smoked a cigarette before making his way out again.
Hendry closed and locked the garage and wandered over to join Doyle. ‘Maybe whoever’s doing this will leave it at the horses,’ the driver offered.
‘Yeah, right,’ Doyle said dismissively. ‘No, they’re not going to be happy until Duncan’s six foot under. And his missis too.’
The two men made their way inside.
Doyle secured the front door.
Mel emerged from the sitting room and smiled at her colleagues.
‘Are they okay?’ Hendry wanted to know.
They’re just talking,’ Mel explained. ‘I left them to it.’
The grounds are clear, as far as I can tell,’ Doyle told her.
Mel looked at her watch. ‘One of us ought to keep an eye on the monitors,’ she said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Hendry offered.
‘No, you get something to eat, Joe. I’ll watch,’ said Doyle.
‘Want some company?’ Mel asked.
Doyle nodded.
The bank of monitors flickered and Doyle rubbed his eyes, his gaze moving slowly from one screen to the next. Every now and then he would press a button and alter the angle of a specific camera.
Mel reached over and turned on some of the security lights around the house.
Others were triggered by motion sensors and would be activated if anything passed before them.
Doyle yawned and sipped his coffee, wincing when he realised it was cold.
‘Boring, isn’t it?’ Mel said. ‘All this sitting around.’
‘It beats the shit out of sitting in a car,’ he replied, patting the chair he sat on.
‘Did you do a lot of that when you were in the CTU?’
‘My share.’
‘Do you still miss it?’
He nodded. ‘It was all I knew,’ he told her. ‘It was what I was best at.’
‘You seem to have taken to this kind of work very well.’
‘Needs must and all that crap.’
There was a long silence between them, finally broken by Mel. ‘What do you think of Mrs Duncan?’ she asked smiling.
‘I think you’ve got more chance with her than I have.’
Mel raised her eyebrows quizzically.
‘She likes sleeping with women,’ Doyle continued. ‘She told me. Fuck knows why. Perhaps she was trying to shock me.’
‘And did she?’
‘I couldn’t give a shit if she sleeps with donkeys, Mel. That’s the first rule of this game, isn’t it? The only thing that matters is the safety of the clients. What they get up to in their own time is their fucking business.
Right?’
Mel regarded him silently. ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ she finally murmured.
‘We’re expected to protect people we probably won’t like. Expected to risk our lives for someone we might despise.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘It’s the job, isn’t it?’
‘And the job’s all that matters?’ It was Doyle’s turn to look at her. ‘Is this how you see yourself in ten years’ time, Mel? Carrying a gun. Waiting for some mad bastard to try and kill the person you’re guarding. Wondering if you’re going to have to put your own life on the line to save them?’
‘I haven’t thought about it. What are the options? Get married? Settle down?’
‘It probably wouldn’t be so bad.’
‘Then why haven’t you done it?’
‘I told you, this kind of thing’s all I know.’
‘Even if the right woman comes along?’
Doyle swallowed hard and returned his attention to the bank of monitors. ‘I think she did, once,’ he said softly.
‘Georgie?’
Doyle nodded.
‘How did she die?’ Mel wanted to know.
‘We were working together,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t remember all the details.
It seems like a fucking eternity since it happened. She got shot. Simple as that. Occupational hazard.’
