Jackson shook his head and stared at the ceiling. “Fuck me sideways.” He dialled Sid, walking to the far end of the lounge, coat tails flapping.
“Jackson boy! Ringing so soon?” Sid bellowed. “Good job I’ve got the old earpiece in because there’s a copper driving right behind me. Have me nicked if I had my phone to my ear, wouldn’t he.”
Jackson’s stomach lurched. “What copper?”
“I don’t know, do I. Some turd in a uniform.”
“Where are you?”
“Nearly in the city, why?”
“And you weren’t followed from here when you left?” Why is a pig out here?
“No. What’s the bloody matter with you?”
“Nothing. It’s all right.”
“So what did you want?”
Jackson forced himself to forget about the police. “Listen… Randall didn’t fully take in our conversation earlier. Didn’t quite get what you meant when you asked if the person who wanted him removed should be removed as well.”
“Ah, didn’t think he did. So I’m taking it another job needs doing tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Consider it sorted, but Randall needs to make another payment. Same amount. Money needs to have cleared before we progress. The usual.” A police siren screeched. “Buggering hell. That copper’s off. Probably just late for his tea. Using the old blue lights to cheat the traffic jams, the little sod.”
Thank Christ for that…
“I can’t see the money transfer being a problem,” Jackson said. “You said the last one cleared immediately.”
“That it did, but just make sure he does it within the hour, otherwise we’ll have to sort this for another night.”
“I will.”
“Hmm. Who shall I pick to help you out? Harry’s got a drug thing to deal with, and Gail… No, she won’t do.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Dean. Righty ho.” Jackson burped. “Damn lemonade. Text me when the dosh goes through. Laters.”
Jackson ended the call and turned to find Randall right behind him again.
“There should be no more problems after tonight,” Jackson said. “Payment needs sending as soon as possible, though.”
Randall smiled tightly. “I see. Good. So, would you like a tour before I make the transaction?”
“Not really. You probably weren’t listening when Sid explained the way we work either. From the plans you provided, I know where the assassin will enter, what his route through the house will be. Mind you, he won’t even manage to get in. I take it you have an office?”
“Of course.”
“On you go then. Money first, chat later.”
Chapter Six
Langham held the pub door open for Oliver and waited for him to exit. Outside, he glanced up at the sign, shivered again at the sight of the hare, then surveyed the street.
“Nice little village, this,” Oliver said.
“If you say so.” Langham shoved his hands into his pockets.
His phone seemed to burn his palm, and he itched to get it out, have a look to see if Fairbrother had texted him. He’d switched it to silent, and not having it either buzzing or ringing every few minutes was an odd thing to get used to. And how could Oliver not sense what he did about The Running Hare? Yes, Oliver knew people had died there, but something else was going on, just that Langham couldn’t put his finger on it.
“What’s up with it?” Oliver asked. “Seems a nice, quiet place to me. Just what we need. Come on.”
He walked off, and Langham didn’t need any encouragement to follow.
They strode past the shop.
“Yep, nice and quiet.” Langham observed the street out of habit, imprinting on his mind the buildings and where they stood, where alleyways were, and how many cars were parked on drives or beside the kerb of the main road.
A bike was propped against someone’s high hedge, lurching haphazardly, as if it had been left there in a hurry. He gave the garden the once-over—as well as he could, given that the hedge obscured most of it. Splashes of white, blue, and a yellowy, lime-green were visible through the hedge, and Langham held his breath. A police car, it had to be. Parked on the drive.
“What’s the matter?” Oliver stared over there. “Ah, fuck. Keep walking, man. None of our business, all right?”
“Nope, none of our business.” But it was hard not to go and see if he could be of some help.
It’ll just be a routine job, nothing major. Someone having a squabble or something and it got out of hand.
The thing was, Langham knew full well what the outcome of some squabbles could be. A woman slaughtered because her husband had seen red. A man stabbed because his wife had caught him out in an affair. Students, having come home from being out on the lash, getting into a fight that had turned into manslaughter. Things like that happened in villages, too.
Look at the Queer Rites case. A man strung up in a barn…
To stop images of that forming, Langham turned away from the sight of those familiar colours peeking through the hedge and continued walking. Fairbrother could come out here and deal with it if a detective was needed. Just because Langham was already here, surely they wouldn’t expect him to do it.
They would and you know it.
He forced one foot in front of the other. Oliver walked with his head bent, probably waiting for Langham to say he couldn’t stand it, that they had to go back and investigate. Or maybe, if something bad had happened in the house, he was fighting off the spirit who wanted to tell him all about it.
“Before you ask,” Oliver said, “someone’s dead in that cottage. It’s one of the spirits who wanted to speak to me earlier, but I’m ignoring them. I don’t want to hear it. Won’t be helping them. Not this time.”
“But you want to?” Langham held his breath.
“Yep, I want to. Just like you want
