“Two deaths in a field and possibly one inside then?” That made three—and definitely a good excuse not to get involved.
“Nope, just two. Colin was shot inside then killed outside.”
What? “Oh, right. So the bodies have been disposed of?”
“You’ll see.”
Langham didn’t press for more. If he were honest, he didn’t want to know the ins and outs. He headed towards the house in the distance, frowning as a set of headlights outside it cut through the darkness about a mile away. Without having to ask, he knew the car belonged to the killers.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “Get my phone out of my pocket, will you? Ring Fairbrother. He’s going to be well and truly hacked off. He’s got enough on his plate back in Marsh Vines.”
Oliver reached across and fumbled for Langham’s phone in his pocket. “The men who have been killed—I get the sense they deserved it, or at the very least that they were bad men themselves.”
“Brilliant, just what we need. Probably a pair of burglars who got caught.”
Oliver dialled Fairbrother’s number. “It’s more complex than that. And those men in that car… Well, one of them is bad, but at the same time I don’t think he likes being bad. Not anymore anyway. I can see what he’s thinking, clear as bloody day. He wants to start again, to pretend what he’s done never happened. And he’s done a lot.”
“Many killers think that, Oliver. Feel remorse. Doesn’t mean they should be allowed to get away with it, though.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
The killers’ car had come to the end of the driveway. The headlights spilled out onto the tarmac, cone-shaped slashes of brightness. While Oliver spoke to Fairbrother, Langham battled with feeling sick. Butterflies flapped about in his belly, and adrenaline had seeped out, on the verge of racing through him. The car ahead shot onto the main road, and Langham put his foot down.
“Fairbrother has sent someone out to intercept,” Oliver said.
“Good. If backup get there first, we’ll be able to go home. If not…possibly a long night ahead. And to be honest, we’re so close it’s bound to be us who pulls this one over.”
Langham concentrated on the car, keeping a decent distance behind yet wanting to make sure he didn’t lose sight of it. Mind you, out here in the middle of the night, he wasn’t likely to—
“What the fuck?” he said.
Another vehicle had appeared at a T-junction at the end. A large black van. The car in front swerved and parked side-on, the screech of tyres setting Langham’s teeth on edge. As Langham drew up to it then slowed to a stop, two men got out. One had long hair that flowed in the breeze, and the other was bald. The bald one turned, stared straight at Langham’s car, the headlights illuminating him.
“Fucking Hiscock.” Langham jabbed at his seat belt release button. “I knew he was up to something out here. I bloody—”
“Don’t get out.” Oliver flung his arm across to press his hand to Langham’s belly. “If you get out, he’ll shoot you.”
“Shit. Shit!” Dread filled Langham, giving him that terrible weightless sensation he’d experienced so many times before, where he thought he’d either spew or shit himself.
“Let them go. He’s got a gun in his waistband.”
Langham toyed with getting out anyway, but Hiscock’s face held a warning, one Langham didn’t intend to ignore. He was going against his instinct—to apprehend.
“Fuck it!”
Hiscock and the long-haired man ran towards the van then got inside. It drove away, and Langham swore he caught sight of another familiar face.
“That sodding Sid Mondon!” He whacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Didn’t I say, on the way here, that they were up to something?”
“You did.”
“I knew. I bloody well knew.”
“You did.”
Langham took his phone from Oliver then rang Fairbrother. Their conversation was brief, with Langham relating what had happened, that their progress had been cut off by the car blocking the road and a van appearing to collect Hiscock and a man he’d never seen before.
“I didn’t get a glimpse of the number plate of the van. We could go back to the house—mansion, more like,” he said to Fairbrother, “but Oliver thinks there isn’t any point. Whoever was killed there is long gone. So we’ll stay here until someone else arrives—the car’s parked across the turning, blocking us in, and I don’t want anyone coming along and crashing into it.”
“Right,” Fairbrother said. “The thing is, as you know, I’m up to my armpits in it here. I’ve got Villier on her way out to you. She’ll have to deal with it, because you need to get the hell home then fuck off on holiday. Like I said to you earlier, crime follows you, so all I can say is that wherever you’re going, you’d better be prepared.”
“Pack it in. I don’t even want to think about it. Catch you soon.”
Langham cut the call then got out of the car. He walked to the other one. The door was open from Hiscock’s hasty exit, and the interior light showed nothing out of the ordinary inside. No blood.
Oliver joined him.
“I can’t even begin to understand what’s been going on at that house,” Oliver said, “because from what this Colin is telling me, it’s weird, like space-age stuff, and nothing is going to be found on the grounds.”
“Shit. I’ll let Villier know when she gets here, although what time that’ll be is anyone’s bloody guess.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at the house. Lights were now on in the top floor windows—bright-orange
