I lit a cigarette, thinking there was nothing to hold me back from running. This whole thing wasn’t just going to go away. Not now. The investigating officers were going to keep sniffing around until they had the information they wanted. Then, one way or another, they were going to pull me in. And if Jean Ashcroft heard about any of this, she was likely to tell the cops about Danny, and then the shit really would hit the fan.
Danny. I’d tried his mobile again when I’d left the hospital, hoping he’d pick it up and tell me he was sitting on the beach sipping a pina colada, but it had still been switched off. I tried it again now, dragging on my cigarette as I waited vainly for a response. The longer he didn’t respond to calls, the more I was forced to conclude that something bad had happened, and this left another problem. Raymond and his associates didn’t need to keep me alive either. If they too got wind of what was going on they would definitely come for me – if they weren’t coming already. Either way, my future looked grim so long as I stayed put.
But running away from everything – my career, my life: it was a big step. And then there was Carla Graham. Maybe she didn’t want anything serious, but it was just possible that I could change that. Amid all this, she was the only positive thing keeping me going.
I picked up my mobile and thought about calling her. I was aware I might piss her off, but events were moving too rapidly for me to sit back and be patient. If she rejected me now it wasn’t actually going to make a great deal of difference. I stared at the phone for maybe ten seconds, then put it down. I’d wait until tomorrow.
I finished my cigarette, then went up to the bar to get another drink. Joan was still chatting to the middle-aged man, and they were laughing like old friends, though you could tell from the way she excused herself from the conversation that they didn’t actually know each other.
‘What can I get you, Dennis?’ she asked, before turning back to the guy. ‘You see this bloke here?’ she said, meaning me. ‘Changes his drink all the time. You can never tell what he’s going to have. Isn’t that right, Dennis?’
‘A man should never be too predictable,’ I told her, and ordered a bottle of Pils, as if to prove the point.
As she turned away to get it, I gave the guy a brief smile. He smiled back awkwardly, then looked away. I noticed he was drinking Coke. Suspicious in a place like this, but not unheard of.
Another youngish couple came in and I found myself eyeing them closely. She sat down at a table near the bar and removed her hat and scarf, appearing not to notice me. Her boyfriend/colleague approached the bar and I turned away and paid for my drink, careful not to draw attention to myself. Jean asked me if I was dealing with the case of the old lady who was mugged. She told me that the victim was the mother of one of her former regulars. I told her I wasn’t, but that I thought there might be arrests soon. ‘It was kids who did it, and kids always end up giving themselves away. They can never keep their mouths shut.’
‘Little bastards,’ she said. ‘They should bloody hang ’em.’
Which were probably the sentiments of 80 per cent of the population, not that it would ever make any difference. Usually, at this point, I’d have put on my police hat and tried to convince both myself and my audience that the perpetrators would end up receiving their just punishments, but this time I didn’t bother. They wouldn’t.
‘Don’t ever rely on the courts for justice, Joan,’ I told her. ‘They’re afraid of it.’ I turned to Coke Drinker. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘I never talk politics,’ he answered, without looking me in the eye. ‘It’s too easy to make enemies.’
‘Well, someone should do something about it,’ Joan grumbled, and went off to serve the guy who’d just come to the bar.
I didn’t bother returning to my seat but drank my beer quickly and in silence. When I’d finished I looked for Joan but she’d disappeared out the back. I nodded to Coke Drinker, who nodded vaguely back in my direction, and walked out.
The cold spell from Siberia had well and truly arrived, and an icy wind ripped through the narrow street. I pulled my coat tight around me and started walking, occasionally looking back. The parked cars lining both sides were empty and no-one came out of the Chinaman behind me.
After about fifty yards I turned into a side street and waited in the shadows, shivering against the cold, telling myself I was a fool because if they were following me it would only confirm what I already suspected, and would make no difference to my predicament.
But still I stood there. Five minutes passed. Then ten. A car came by slowly with two men in it, but I couldn’t make them out properly. It carried on and accelerated away
