‘Reeds,’ Tattoo Boy said, looking over his shoulder. ‘Reeds, man. Is that them tall grass things you get beside rivers, like?’
‘That’s right,’ Tony said. ‘Well done, you’re going to get the hang of this when we get proper books to work with. Because you’re dyslexic, there’s a little work-around we can use to begin with. I’ll work on one particular book with you, and you can learn the story well enough to tell it to your lad. So when you get out, you can get a copy of that particular book and read it together. And it’ll help you develop your reading skills.’
He fiddled with his beard and nodded acknowledgement at Tony. He went to pass the book to Gordo, but he slapped it away. ‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers,’ he said. ‘We’re not fucking babies.’ Tony’s scalp tightened with anxiety.
Gordo turned to the Lithuanian. ‘It’s a bloody insult, giving us kids’ books like this to read. He comes in here, treating us like we’re too fucking thick for proper books. Condescending cunt.’ He was on his feet now, his face plum with rage. ‘I’m not going to sit here and let him treat you like you’re a fucking retard.’
‘These are the books you’ll be reading to your kids. That’s why we’re working with them.’ Tony was also on his feet now, trying to keep eye contact with the furious man.
‘You’re supposed to be teaching us, not making fucking fools out of us.’ He waved a hand at Wispy Beard. ‘Farmy. Reds,’ he mocked. ‘Come on, boss, you’ve got more important things to do.’
The Lithuanian leaned back in his chair and laughed. ‘Clever bastard doctor,’ he said. ‘Six months this cunt is my muscle and I never knew. You cannot read, Gordo. You are the retard, not me.’
The man roared in fury and tipped the table over, sending it crashing to the floor. He took a step forward and grabbed Tony by the throat. ‘Don’t come the cunt with me,’ he yelled, slapping the side of Tony’s head with his free hand. It felt like an explosion inside his brain. The hand on his throat was tightening, the other hand had become a fist heading for his face. A bedlam of noise filled his head.
Then nothing.
47
Everybody thinks their view of the world is civilised and appropriate. They cleave to their taboos, they know their limits. What’s amazing is how quickly we find reasons to cross those red lines.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Carol had found a spot in the dunes where she could keep obs on Harrison Gardner’s cottage. There was no exit from the back yard apart from climbing the wall, and she didn’t anticipate him choosing that as a means of leaving his property. But just in case, she’d set herself up opposite the end of the alley so she had a view along most of its length. Now she knew he was in residence, there was nothing to stop her confronting him. But she wanted to wait until darkness fell.
There were practical reasons for that. If there was any kind of showdown on the doorstep, it would be less likely to be witnessed after nightfall. Fewer people would be around and it would be harder to see anything from a distance. But there were also psychological reasons. Daylight held few threats. But everyone knew that bad things happened after dark. And she needed all the help she could get.
There was no escaping that what she planned was fraught with risk. Gardner hadn’t looked like a man used to physical confrontation, but people found unsuspected reserves when they were under threat. Nobody knew that better than her. And she had no backup. No team covering her, nobody who’d come running if she called.
She’d had to fly solo in the past, but she’d been younger then. More significantly, she’d had no direct experience of what violence and violation felt like. She’d never be that gung-ho again. Not after what she’d gone through over the years.
Carol understood intellectually that PTSD had turned her into a risk-taker. But knowing it and combatting it were two very different things. She’d come some distance thanks to Melissa, but she had no idea how fronting up Harrison Gardner would feel. The only way to find out was to do it.
And do it unarmed, just in case.
The afternoon wore into evening and she remained undisturbed except for the startled intervention of a labradoodle bounding through the dunes. He leapt backwards with a bark of surprise then took off in a different direction. She moved on from podcasts to an audio book to keep boredom at bay. Lee Child was the perfect choice. Improbable but somehow plausible, lots of action and an interesting setup. Carol thought that if his hero was real, after what he’d been through in twenty-odd books, he’d be in dire need of Melissa Rintoul’s services. Which reminded her to run through a set of exercises.
Just before nine, she judged it was time. There was no sign of life on the main street. Even the dog walkers were home in front of the TV or their computer screens. A tell-tale thin line of light ran along the top of the left-hand window in Cove Cottage. Harrison Gardner was home. Settled in for the evening, doing whatever he did to pass the time in his self-imposed exile behind closed curtains.
Carol stood up and stretched, shaking sand out of the creases in her trousers. She walked calmly out of the dunes, across the grass and paused on the edge of the road. Time to put on her old self, the one who instinctively knew how to find the weak spots in a defensive wall and barge through them. She wasn’t sure whether she could
