Binici was silent, uncertain.
‘They’ll want to know if we saw anything,’ said Hari. ‘If we know anything. And when the answer is no, they’ll go away.’
Binici had a neck muscle twitching and felt a sudden need to rub his scalp.
The body is still here, thought Hari. Somewhere. No wonder you’re scared.
Their two-tone doorbell rang.
And now the police are at the door.
43
‘I’LL GO,’ SAID Collins.
Binici grabbed her arm. ‘You’ll stay.’
She pulled away. ‘I’m white. I’ll go.’
He hesitated. The doorbell rang again.
Collins persisted: ‘I’m the only white British here.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Be the only one here, period. Quick as you can. Get rid.’
She nodded.
‘Coming!’ she shouted in a voice Hari hadn’t heard before – higher-pitched, overtly feminine. She ruffled up her hair, rearranged her T-shirt, then switched the hall lights on.
Binici pulled Hari from his chair, unlocked the door into the yard and they stepped outside. The air was fresher, cooler now, but Hari barely noticed. The leader pulled the door shut as the front door opened. Both men pressed their ears against the glass.
‘Oh! Sorry, I was asleep. Shit. Is everything OK? What’s happened?’ Collins sounded surprised, flustered.
The police officers identified themselves.
‘There’s been a road traffic accident outside number seventy-eight. A woman has been knocked down and four vehicles are involved.’
Not a local accent, more like Yorkshire, thought Hari. Mid-thirties. Maybe older.
‘Did you hear or see anything?’
‘Sorry,’ said Collins, ‘I took a sleeping pill. I was crashed out upstairs. I only just heard you ringing the bell. Who was hurt?’
‘A young woman has gone to hospital. Mid-twenties, white, black hair. She doesn’t live here then?’
‘No.’
‘Does anyone else live here?’
Binici tensed.
‘No, just me.’
Spoken with conviction, Hari thought.
‘Really?’ said the other officer. Hari assumed he was now checking some notes. ‘We have a Tom Jarrod listed here.’ Local accent, a friendly enquiry. Very dangerous.
‘We had an argument. He moved out.’
‘How long ago?’
‘It’ll be six weeks now,’ said Collins. ‘Looking for new lodgers if you’re interested. Trying to avoid students. Bloody unreliable they are.’
‘So there’s no one else living here.’ Copper number one getting to the heart of it.
‘Just one person paying double rent,’ said Collins. ‘That’s me. Fucking nightmare, if you’ll pardon my French.’
There was a pause in the conversation. Hari imagined two sceptical officers peering past Collins into the hall. Binici’s spartan aesthetic would guarantee they’d see no shoes, no coats, no post. No embarrassing give-aways. But they weren’t leaving.
‘Three parked cars were damaged,’ said the local copper. He read their number plates. ‘They belong to …’ His voice dropped away slightly: Hari assumed he was reading. ‘Alfred Graham, Asmira La and Hari Roy.’ He left the names hanging.
In the yard, neither man breathed. Hari felt fresh sweat run down his back.
‘Do those names mean anything to you? We’re trying to locate them – their cars are pretty messed up.’
Hari didn’t know what he wanted Collins to say. When she spoke, it was with an audible shrug.
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Asmira I know – she’s OK, right? It’s not her in hospital?’
‘Is she white?’
‘No. Of course. Sorry.’ A small embarrassed laugh. ‘And Hari I know, I think. Did a class at the university once. I’m a martial arts instructor there. He was terrible. The other guy you mentioned – Alfred someone? – I can’t help you with, I’m sorry. I wish I could be more use.’
‘So this Hari Roy is parked in the road, he was a client, but you haven’t seen him?’
‘Correct. There’s lots of student accommodation in these streets. Any uni kid will know people around here. I’ll look out for him though.’
Thanks and farewells. The door closed. Hari exhaled deeply, Binici touched his arm, mouthed ‘wait’. Collins went back upstairs. Hari stood motionless, still listening. She’d be watching from the bay window again, tracking where the police went next. If it was next door, he and Binici would hear them from the yard. It was no more than twenty metres away. Sure enough the rattle of the door knocker at number 24 was answered and the same questions asked of their neighbour. Binici’s shoulders relaxed. He opened the back door and they slipped back inside. The kitchen was still dark.
‘She did well,’ said Hari.
‘Your car is a problem,’ said Binici.
‘It is,’ agreed Hari. ‘We need to go.’
‘We can’t. The citizens arrive at eight tomorrow morning.’
‘Shit.’ Hari stared at Binici. ‘And what if the police are still outside?’
Binici didn’t reply.
Collins returned, switched the lights on. She glanced between Binici and Hari. ‘I think it’s a straight-up accident – they’re knocking up the whole street – but we’ve got a whole load of heat at exactly the wrong time. Our new arrivals won’t like it.’
‘Agreed,’ said Binici. ‘The fash will have to be moved.’
Hari frowned. ‘And how is that going to happen?’
‘I’m sure Sara can manage something,’ Binici said.
His tone was flat, but Collins bridled.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you’ll think of something,’ said Binici. ‘You were getting on fine with the fash who just called. You can do that whole flirty dumb routine you did again.’
Hari could see the anger in Collins’ face. She moved to stand face to face with Binici, shifting her balance from foot to foot as she talked. ‘You’re the leader, Abi, we know that. We’re on operations, we know that, and we have a job to do. We know all of that.’ She leant closer. There was barely a centimetre between them now. ‘But if you talk like you’re my fucking pimp again, I swear I’ll kick your bollocks so hard you’ll be limping till Christmas.’ She waited a beat then stepped back.
Hari held his breath. Collins’ words hung between all three of them. Behind the browline glasses, eyebrows raised, Binici’s eyes didn’t blink. When his left hand slipped into his trouser pocket, Hari tensed. He knew what that meant. The leader was wired. Every muscle
