'Whoa, Mike. I think the stress of this kidnap case you've been on's got to you. Why don't you go home and get some rest? Because I promise you, you're talking shit.'
He carried on walking, and once again Bolt kept pace, even though he was experiencing the first signs of doubt.
And then it struck him.
'You were off sick for the Lewisham job, weren't you? The one where I shot Dean Hayes.'
'I'm not talking about this, Mike. Now fuck off.'
Doyle clicked off the central locking as they reached his car, a silver Ford Mondeo, parked up against a fence round the back of the pub and out of sight of the front door.
'You were off sick, so you never knew about the ambush until afterwards. That's right, isn't it? Shit, Jack. I never had you down for corrupt, but you were involved, weren't you? You were in on it.'
Doyle's features hardened as he opened the driver's door. 'You're pissing in the wind, Mike.
And you can keep pissing as long as you like, because none of it's going to hit me.'
'There'll be evidence, Jack. You know it. I know it. So, where's the half million? Under your bed?
Safe for a rainy day? We'll find it.'
Doyle shook his head. 'Well,
And with that he got inside the car.
Bolt felt rage bubble up inside him. He looked around. The car park was empty. He had to act. Now.
'You think I'm going to let you drive away after what you've done to my daughter?'
He strode round to the driver's door and yanked it open.
'No, I don't,' said Doyle as Bolt went to grab him. 'That's why I've got this.' There was a snub nosed revolver with a scotch-taped handle in his left hand, and it was pointing up at Bolt. 'Now, step back from the car, nice and easy.'
'You won't shoot me here.'
'I wouldn't place a bet on that if I were you.'
The cold expression in Doyle's eyes told Bolt that it was best to comply, and he took a step backwards, realizing as he did so that he'd made a serious miscalculation. What the hell was he going to do now?
Doyle got out of the car, keeping the gun down by his side and glancing briefly over Bolt's shoulder to check that the car park was still clear. Then he threw his car keys on the driver's seat.
'OK, Mike, you're driving. Get in or I'll put a bullet in you right now.'
'Don't do this, Jack. It's over, can't you see that?'
'Get in.'
Bolt took a deep breath and complied, while Jack got in the back. He pointed the gun through the gap in the seats.
'All right, let's get moving.'
'Where are we going?'
'Just start driving and turn right out of here.'
Bolt started the car and pulled out, heading slowly through the car park, hoping that one of the Flying Squad boys would come out of the front door and ask for a lift.
'Go on, get moving,' Doyle snapped, shoving the gun in Bolt's ribs.
There was a big gap in the traffic and, knowing he had no choice, he pulled out on to the Finchley Road and started driving north, trying hard to figure out his options. He was certain Doyle wouldn't pull the trigger while he was driving, and pretty sure he wouldn't even if he stopped and jumped out – not in such a public place with pedestrians and other traffic about – but pretty sure wasn't good enough. Jack Doyle was both a killer and a desperate man. It was a bad combination.
It struck Bolt that Doyle was almost certainly trying to work out his own options, and he decided that his best policy was to distract him. He needed to keep Doyle talking.
'Why the hell did you have to do this, Jack?' he asked, his voice laced with disappointment.
'It's not like you think, and I didn't know she was your daughter. I just wanted my money back.'
'What do you mean?'
'That Lewisham job was going to be my retirement fund. Instead, the whole thing went tits up and almost cost me everything. If I hadn't got Galante out of the country he'd have definitely grassed me up. For years I never knew who'd fucked things up for us. You never named your source, remember?'
'Yeah, I remember.'
'Very chivalrous of you. Except the problem was one day you did tell me.'
Bolt frowned. 'When?'
'Remember that fishing trip you and me went on to Ireland a couple of years back, the last time you got yourself suspended? Well, it was then. We got pissed one night in that pub near Kilrush, the one with the big log fire. I asked you about the job then. I wasn't even that bothered about it. I just wanted to know.'
