‘What’s the problem now?’
Ty regarded the interior of Lock’s Toyota with a look of repulsion. ‘Someone might think this piece of shit’s mine.’
A familiar face greeted Lock as he started up the hill. The sergeant voted ‘most likely to be high on cholesterol but low on patience’ lifted a fillet o’ fish with extra cheese in greeting. Who the hell puts cheese on a fillet o’ fish? Lock wondered.
‘If it ain’t Jack Bauer,’ said Caffrey, swiping at a smear of mayonnaise, which slicked under one of his chins.
Lock was as pleased to see some variation in Caffrey’s diet as he was to hear that the cardiac time bomb’s sarcastic repartee extended to both sides.
‘How’s that sandwich?’
‘Food from the gods,’ Caffrey mumbled, mid mouthful.
‘You really get around, don’t you?’
‘JTTF seconded me,’ spat Caffrey.
‘That a new tactic? Al-Qaeda attack, we Spurlock them till their livers burst.’
‘Spurlock?’ Caffrey asked, missing the reference.
‘Guy who made the movie about eating nothing but burgers for a month.’
‘A month?’
‘Yup.’
‘Lucky bastard.’
‘Well, it’s been nice chatting.’
Lock started past, but Caffrey blocked him. ‘Don’t go upsetting any of these folks, Lock. I’ll be lucky to finish the last set of paperwork you generated by the time I retire.’
‘I’m just here to pay my respects.’
Caffrey stepped out of his way, and took a sloppy bite of mystery fish. To a man who’d missed breakfast, it looked pretty damn good.
Lock carried on up the slope towards a spot where he could see a couple of blacked-out SUVs. As subtle as a brick, the decals on the numberplate might as well have read ‘FBI Surveillance’. Then again, maybe that was the point: the FBI letting the stragglers of the animal rights campaign know they were being watched.
As he passed the FBI vehicle, Lock narrowly resisted a juvenile temptation to tap on the windows. He stopped fifty yards back from the funeral party as it gathered around the plot. Two graves. Side by side.
As Lock got closer he realized that he shouldn’t have worried about his attire. He was about the best-dressed person there. The mourners were a rag-tag mixture of decaying hippies and twenty-something New Agers. One kid in his early twenties had turned up in blue jeans and a brown faux-leather jacket, presumably hand-crafted from tofu. Lock would have forgiven him black, but
A few of the mourners turned their heads at Lock’s approach but no one said anything. At the centre of the group he glimpsed Janice sitting in her wheelchair, staring into the void as the two coffins were simultaneously lowered into the earth.
A man in his sixties with an ashen pallor and long greasy hair stood, hands clasped and head bowed, and said a few words. As Lock stepped closer, he caught the last of it.
‘Gray Stokes goes to his grave a hero. A martyr for the cause of animal rights. He was a man who saw genocide where others chose to look away. A man who chose to confront those who ran the death camps. A man who chose to speak up for those who have no voice. But his death will not be in vain. The movement to liberate animals from suffering and torture will go on. And his spirit will travel with us on our journey.’
Martyrdom, sacrifice, struggle. Lock wondered where he’d heard all those words before. Maybe John Lewis, the FBI’s deputy assistant director for counterterrorism, had it right when he’d warned a Senate committee a few years back that animal rights extremists were becoming a real threat. But then al-Qaeda had leapt straight to the top of the terror charts with a boxcutter rather than a bullet, and most everyone had forgotten that terrorism wasn’t restricted to guys with a penchant for virgins in the hereafter.
People on the fringes of the group began to drift away back down the slope once the man had finished his eulogy. Lock approached Janice, a couple of the remaining mourners shooting him a dirty look as they passed him. The younger man in the brown jacket was speaking now, head tilted in defiance. ‘They’re gonna pay for this. You’ll see. They’ll be filling whole graveyards by the time we’re through.’ His dire predictions were aimed at everyone and no one. Janice shushed him as Lock came closer.
Lock reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ The words seemed inadequate. He braced himself for another outburst from the uber-casual hothead, maybe even a punch, but the young man drifted off as well.
Janice kept her eyes on the two coffins. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘To pay my respects.’ Lock flicked his head in the direction of the hothead. ‘Who’s he?’
Janice’s eyes flicked from Lock to the two hulking JTTF SUVs. ‘Why don’t you ask your friends?’
‘Don’t you think things have gotten too serious for us to be playing any more games?’
‘Why are you really here?’
‘Answer my question and I’ll tell you.’
‘That’s Don,’ Janice said. ‘He wasn’t really part of our group. He didn’t agree with our way of protesting.’
‘More of a direct action kind of a guy?’
‘He’s been involved in some liberations.’
‘Liberations’ was the term used by the activists to describe their forcible entry into labs that used animals, in order to free those animals. Occasionally they’d hit farms as well, usually ones with vast sheds of battery chickens.
‘So what’s he doing here?’
‘Same as you.’
‘This guy bothering you?’ said someone, tapping Lock’s shoulder for emphasis.
Lock half turned to see the guy in the brown tofu jacket. He was tall, but he struggled to be imposing. Lock ignored him.
He tapped again. Harder this time. ‘Why don’t you leave her alone?’
‘Don, it’s OK. This is Ryan Lock — you know, the guy who saved me.’
Don looked awkward and studied the ground. ‘Guess I owe you a thank you.’
As apologies went it settled somewhere on the wrong side of grudging.
‘Sure you would have done the same,’ Lock said.
‘Yeah, I would have.’
‘So, what do you know about Josh Hulme?’
Don blinked at Lock’s sudden shift of direction. ‘I know what his father does. You live by the sword, you-’
Lock moved in quickly on Don, making sure he had eye contact and didn’t break it. ‘We’re talking about a young boy here. I’d appreciate it if you gave my question some proper consideration.’
Janice edged her chair up between the two men. ‘There’s no need for this. Especially not here. And not today.’
‘Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But as long as Josh Hulme’s missing, I’d argue that normal rules no longer apply. Especially as I think you, and your buddies, might know where he is.’ Lock grabbed Don’s wrist and twisted, just enough to make it interesting. ‘Now, Don, maybe we could start with your full name.’
No one moved from either of the two blacked-out SUVs, although Lock would have bet the farm that they had shotgun mikes catching every word of the exchange. Their decision not to intervene didn’t surprise him, even though he’d just committed assault. Government agencies were big on outsourcing these days and Lock would do as well as any Syrian jailer with a cattle prod and some time on his hands. Plus he wasn’t quite as restricted by the niceties.
‘Why the hell should I tell you anything? You’re not a cop.’
‘That’s right, Don, I’m not. Which means I’m not bound by proper procedure.’
Don glared at Lock, his eyes full of hatred.
