Langham smiled, at a loss for something to say. Normally, he had no trouble getting into conversations with other people—it was part of his job—but in here, with her? Nice as she seemed, he just wasn’t feeling it.
Oliver slid the notebook towards her. “Thank you.”
“Very welcome.” She hefted her tits up with folded arms. “Will you be needing any dinner, or are you going out to Simmons’ Café later?” She stared at them—hard.
Oliver’s face brightened. “That would be nic—”
“We’ll be going elsewhere,” Langham said. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Righty ho.” She gave them a tight smile, trotted off to the end of the bar, then disappeared.
“It isn’t just me, is it?” Langham asked quietly.
They walked away from the bar towards the stairs tucked away in the shadows to their left, ones he assumed led to the rooms.
“What, this place?” Oliver hefted his bag onto his back, holding the strap at his shoulder. “I told you. People died here.” He went up first.
“Not recently, I hope.” The steps curved around a corner, the walls uneven and covered in some kind of gritty plaster that had been painted magnolia. “Or in the future, for that matter.”
“Why the future?” Oliver turned the corner and continued upwards.
“It’s probably nothing, but I saw a couple of men earlier, while we were on the way here. It’s pissed me off, that, because I keep wondering what they’re doing around here.”
“Got form, have they?” Oliver reached the top and waited for Langham on the landing.
“No, but they should have.” Langham glanced up and down the landing, checking the numbers on the doors. “This way.” He went left, towards two doors on either side and another, slimmer staircase at the end. “Hired killers. That’s what I think they are anyway. Just bothered me a bit that they’re where we are.”
He stopped outside room number three and slid the key in the lock. He pushed the door open and held his hand out for Oliver to go in first. They’d opted to share a room to save money.
Oliver put his bag on one of the single beds. Langham dumped his on the other one, unzipped it, then took some clothes out. He glanced around for the wardrobe and, not seeing one, let out a sigh of frustration.
“Might be one of the doors over there.” Oliver nodded to the right of the beds. “Old place like this, bound to be a built-in cupboard.” He walked across and opened the doors. “Yep, like I said. Bathroom, too. Anyway, why would them being where we are bother you? Worried they’ll kill someone and you’ll be called out to assist?”
“I should be, but that’s not it, and if I tell you, you’ll think I’m mental.”
Oliver pulled a toiletry holdall out of his bag, the loops of the cords hooked over one finger. “Well, if you don’t tell me, I can’t think anything, can I?”
Langham went over to the window. He looked out, down at the pub sign that was right there, the hare’s eyes seeming to shift on the sign’s upswing so the animal glared at him. “Fucking thing.” He faced Oliver. “In my line of business, right, there are times when a criminal has the urge to get you back, know what I mean? We always have to be on the lookout for shit like that. I don’t know, seeing them, and the way one of them stared at me and didn’t turn away—really bothered me.”
Oliver closed his eyes for a second or two then opened them. “Nope, nothing to do with you, them being here. I don’t want to probe further because we’re not meant to be working. But there isn’t anything for you to worry about.”
Hating himself for it, Langham said, “I’m going to ring it in anyway. Them out here—it isn’t right. There’s nothing for them to go and see, nothing for them to visit.”
“How do you know? Maybe they have relatives out here. Maybe—and wouldn’t this just be so amazing?—they were on their way to somewhere else, like the next city. Sorry for sounding sarcastic, but I really don’t want this kind of shit while we’re meant to be on holiday.”
“I’m sorry,” Langham said. “But I can’t shake the feeling that they’re up to no good. If I call it in—send Fairbrother a text at least—if something goes down, he’ll have probable cause to visit them and ask what they were doing around here. D’you see my point? I’ve been after those two for years and—”
He took his phone from his pocket, fired off a quick text, then waited for a reply.
Fairbrother returned with: OKAY, NOW FUCK OFF.
Now maybe Langham could relax.
“That’s that,” he said, going back to the bed. He gestured to a sign on the back of their door.
NONE OF THAT NASTY SEX IS PERMITTED IN THESE ROOMS.
“What the fuck?” he said.
“Bloody weird. See what that Simmons’ place is that woman mentioned. Can’t see it being much, what with the village being so small, but you never know.”
“I hope it’s cleaner than this place,” Langham said.
Oliver went into the bathroom then came back out, face pale. “Something’s up.”
“Shit, didn’t the channelling work? Are the dead still getting through?”
“I can still feel them. Like they’re waiting. Feels like there’s three of them.”
“We’ll go for that walk then, shall we? Might take your mind off things. Might make whoever it is trying to get hold of you go away.”
“We could try, but I don’t hold out much hope. They’re strong—stronger than me—and I’d bet you my last quid that when I’m falling asleep, they’ll sneak in.”
“If you do get anything, I’ll text the information in and we’ll keep well out of it, all
