“Why?”
“I’m thinking about ringing the guy to ask for Susan’s money back.”
“I haven’t got his number. He was just some bloke I played darts with a couple of times. It’s been over a year since I last saw him.”
“There’s no need to talk to Martin,” said Susan, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she was wondering whether there was more to Harlan’s question than the surface of his words indicated. “Like I said, he did the roof on the cheap. I’m lucky it’s lasted as long as it has.”
“Well maybe he can do the job cheaper than we were quoted today.”
The narrowness left Susan’s eyes. Harlan knew that she knew him well enough by now to know that he couldn’t care less about the spending or saving of a few quid. And he saw that, even if she didn’t understand his game, she was playing along, as she said, “Um, well, I suppose it makes sense to ask. It’s not as though any of us is flush with cash.” She turned to Neil. “Where did you meet Martin?”
Again, Neil hesitated. Again, a frown gathered on his face, deeper this time. Again, Harlan couldn’t tell whether he was troubled or simply struggling to remember. “The Railway Hotel on Bramall Lane.”
Harlan knew The Railway well — as did any copper who’d ever policed a Sheffield United match. “Come on then.” He reached for Eve’s car keys. “Let’s go see if we can find Martin.”
Neil’s eyebrows lifted. “What? Now? Can’t it wait?”
Harlan shook his head. “It was like Niagara Falls in Kane’s room this afternoon. If the roof goes again, it won’t only be a few tiles that need replacing. The plaster will need stripping back, a new ceiling will have to be put in, the carpet and floorboards will have to be ripped-”
“Okay, okay, I get the point,” sighed Neil. He looked concernedly at Susan. “Will you be okay on your own?”
She nodded. Neil leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face so that his lips brushed her cheek. A small tick of hurt pulled at his face, but he managed a smile. “This shouldn’t take long.”
They headed to the car. As Neil got into the passenger seat, Susan pulled Harlan back by the arm and hissed in his ear, “What’s going on?”
“I just want to check something out. It’s probably nothing.”
“You don’t think Neil’s-”
“We’ll talk later.”
Harlan ducked into the car. Neil waved at Susan as they pulled away. She didn’t wave back. Neil released another sighing breath. “This is going to be a complete waste of time. Chances are, Martin won’t even be there.”
“If he isn’t, we’ll ask around, see if anyone knows how to get hold of him.” As he spoke, Harlan watched Neil from the sides of his eyes, taking in every movement, examining every detail of his face. Was his complexion a shade paler than usual? It was difficult to tell in the unnatural glow of the streetlamps. His hands were clenched on his thighs, the veins showing unusually prominent on the backs of them. A sign of anxiety, perhaps. A few silent minutes passed. Neil’s right hand crept into his coat pocket. What’s he got in there? wondered Harlan. A knife? A phone? Is he trying to send someone a text to warn them? Is it possible to send a text blind? He resisted an urge to yank Neil’s hand out of his pocket. He was glad he’d done so a second later, when Neil took out his glasses and put them on.
Sheffield United’s stadium loomed up from the city skyline as Harlan turned onto Bramall Lane. Across the road from the south-west corner of the stadium stood The Railway Hotel. They pulled over and got out of the car. Neil hurried towards the pub’s entrance. As with his hesitant reaction to Susan’s questions, there was no way of telling whether his feet were quickened by nerves or impatience to return to her. “Slow down,” Harlan said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep up.
“Sorry, I forgot about your injury. It’s just I don’t like leaving Susan alone.”
It wasn’t a match-day, and the pub was empty, except for a scattering of early evening drinkers hunched over their drinks — mostly glazed-eyed men with nowhere better to be, or hiding from their families and themselves. Harlan recognised them well from the years between Tom and Robert Reed’s deaths. He watched Neil scan the bar, wondering whether he’d told the truth about meeting Yates here. A dartboard in one corner at least partially suggested he had done.
“He’s not here,” said Neil, his voice flat, expressing neither disappointment nor relief.
They approached the barman and Harlan asked if he knew Yates. “Sorry, mate, never heard of him,” came the reply. They made their way around the bar’s patrons and got the same response from all of them. Harlan saw no flicker of recognition in any of their eyes to suggest they were lying.
“He’s obviously not a regular here,” he said, frowning in thought. “We could check out some of the other pubs around here.”
Neil expelled a breath of irritation. “What’s the big deal about finding this guy? He didn’t even do a good job. Surely it’s better to spend a few quid extra and get the job done properly.”
As Neil spoke, a man came out of the toilets. “Excuse me, mate,” said Harlan. “I’m looking for Martin Yates. Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I know Martin, but I’ve not seen him in months.”
“Any idea how I can get hold of him?”
“He used to drink in The Cricketers sometimes.”
Harlan thanked the man, and they headed for the car. The Cricketers Arms was a few hundred yards further along Bramall Lane. As they drove past the stadium, Neil sat with his arms crossed, hunched forward in his seat. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Susan-”
“Will be fine,” interjected Harlan. He’s getting panicky, he thought. Keep pushing his buttons, see how he responds. If he’s truly involved in Ethan’s abduction, maybe you can nudge him into sticking his neck out. “Don’t worry, I’ll find Yates. That’s what I’m good at. Jim — that’s my ex-partner — he used to say I was like a sniffer dog on a trail. Once I get the scent, I never give up.”
Neil gazed at the approaching pub, seemingly brooding over Harlan’s words. As they pulled over, he turned to Harlan and said, “This isn’t only about the roof, is it?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just don’t believe you’d go to all this trouble over a few quid. I know you’ve got money. Susan told me you tried to give her thousands.”
Straight as a dart, Harlan looked Neil in the eyes. Offer him just enough rope to hang himself with, said his cop’s brain. “I have reason to believe Martin Yates abducted Ethan.”
Neil’s eyes widened. “What reason?”
“A good reason,” said Harlan, trying to judge whether or not Neil’s surprise was genuine. “That’s all you need to know for now.”
“But I thought Jones and that other guy took Ethan.”
“They did as far as the police are concerned.”
“You mean you’ve told them and they don’t believe you.”
Harlan nodded.
Neil shook his head in indignant amazement. “How can they doubt you after what you’ve done?”
“They have procedures to follow.”
“Bollocks to their procedures.” Neil’s eyes flashed with uncharacteristic fierceness. “If you say Martin Yates took Ethan, that’s good enough for me.” He jerked open the car door. “We’ll find him, if we have to look in every pub in this city.”
Harlan could detect no false note in Neil’s voice, no trace of insincerity in his expression. If he was acting, it was a convincing performance. He recalled what Neil had shouted to Susan the first night he’d come banging at the door. I’d rather die than lose you! If those words were true, surely they marked him out as innocent. Looking at Neil’s nervous but determined boy-man face, part of Harlan couldn’t help but want to believe they were. He wanted to believe love meant more than money, more than life itself even. But if all those years on the force had taught him anything it was to view the world with the eyes of a cynic. He motioned for Neil to enter the pub first. He didn’t want to take his eyes off him. Not for a second. He realised that might prove difficult when he saw how busy the pub was. There was a band playing, and the barroom was wall-to-wall with bodies that reluctantly parted as the two men approached the bar. Someone swayed against Harlan, knocking him off balance. Someone else’s elbow
