Back at Fallowfields Alec was on the phone to ex-DI Billy Pierce. He had the approximate address of Rupert’s flat from his parents. They had been uncertain of the number and Alec wasn’t even convinced it was relevant.

‘It’s a bit of a wild goose chase,’ he told Billy Pierce. ‘My dad is certain he didn’t sell the flat, but their contact with Rupert was sketchy at best for the past twenty or so years.’

‘Oh, it’ll give me something to do,’ Pierce told him. ‘Keep my hand in. Anything else happening your end?’

Alec told him what had been going on. ‘So, it’s now wait and see time,’ he finished. ‘Something tells me we won’t be waiting long.’

Twenty-Eight

‘We’ve got trouble,’

Kinnear looked up from the television. He liked to watch the morning news on the BBC. It was very informative, he thought.

‘We’ve always got trouble.’

Reid dropped the first edition of the paper in his lap. It was folded so that Sam Kinnear’s picture stared out on the front page. Kinnear picked it up and studied it as though it was unfamiliar. He read the brief paragraphs beneath and then tossed the paper aside.

‘And?’

‘And they put you on the front page. Every man and his dog is going to be looking for you. Sam, we’ve got enough, let’s get out of here now.’

Kinnear studied him with much the same expression as he’d studied the picture in the paper. Reid swallowed nervously and took an involuntary step back.

‘This changes nothing,’ Kinnear said. ‘Just speeds things up.’

‘We’ve got enough, Sam,’ Reid said again. ‘Enough to make a start somewhere else. Sam, I want my share. I want out. Now.’

Kinnear got up from his chair and crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed Reid by the shirt front and hoisted him clear of the ground. ‘Since when did I give you permission to want anything,’ he said, his voice no more than a soft, threatening growl. ‘I want the rest of my money. My money. You’re along for the ride, don’t forget that.’

‘You need me,’ Reid squeaked. ‘Need me to do the business. You don’t know how …’

‘But like as not Marcus does. Don’t forget that. Like as not that bloody accountant they’ve got out at Fallowfields knows. You are not my only option. Don’t forget that.’

He dropped Reid letting him fall to the floor. Reid lay there, curled into a ball like a dog expecting a final kick. Risking a look, he saw Kinnear had picked up the phone. He’s calling Marcus, Reid guessed. The threat Kinnear had just made gripped his belly, cramped it tight so that Reid thought he might be sick. He’d got himself into this even though he knew what Kinnear was. He’d shared a six by ten space with the man for three straight months. Reid tried to remember just when and how he’d agreed to do this, agreed to help Kinnear, and found he could no longer remember. He recalled getting out of jail, then a few weeks after, remembered the familiar hand heavy on his shoulder and the voice in his ear, ‘I’ve got a job for you, Jimmy boy.’

He couldn’t recall ever having agreed. Men like Sam Kinnear didn’t ask, they just assumed you’d go along with what they had in mind.

Across the room Kinnear slammed the phone down. ‘Bastard’s not answering his phone,’ he said. ‘Get over there and tell him I want to see him. Now.’

‘Bring him here?’ Reid was anxious. With Marcus, Kinnear would not need him. He’d made that plain.

‘Yes here.’ He frowned at Reid. ‘Thought you were watching him.’

Reid didn’t think he could draw attention to the illogic of this statement. I’m here, he thought, getting you your frigging paper and your groceries and your fags. How can I be watching Marcus if you want me here?

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and stumbled back down the stairs and across the yard. He could feel Kinnear’s gaze burning into his back as he ran towards his car.

I could run, Reid thought. Get in the car and drive and not stop until he’d put the miles between himself and Sam. He pushed the idea aside almost as soon as it formed in his head. He had witnessed what happened to the last person who had run from Kinnear and she, so far as Reid could see, had only mildly pissed him off. Sam would find him if he ran. As a matter of principle, Sam would hunt him down and Reid, superstitious fear taking place of anything resembling common sense, was sure that there would never be enough places in which to hide.

The sight of Kinnear’s face stopped him dead. Marcus stared at the rack, hand hovering over his usual choice of daily paper but his eyes fixed on the local rag he rarely bought. He bought it now though, clutching it in his hand so hard that his sweat leeched print on to his palm even before he was halfway back to the shop.

A thought struck him and he stopped dead in the middle of the pavement.

‘Watch it, won’t you,’ someone said as they crashed into him with their pushchair.

‘Sorry.’ The apology so automatic he didn’t even think what he might be apologizing for.

He read the text beneath, the words leering at him. ‘Vicious attack. Dangerous man. Do not approach.’

‘Do not approach,’ Marcus said. ‘How very funny. Do not approach.’ He realized that he had spoken out loud and that a woman turned to look his way. He heard too the hysterical edge to his voice.

‘I can’t go on like this,’ Marcus told no one in particular. ‘This just can’t go on.’

He slipped into the shop by the back way, relocked the door and let himself into his little office. The shop was open, his part-time girl setting out new stock. Marcus positioned himself so he could see the front shop door and then dialled. Alec answered the phone.

‘I’ve got to talk,’ he said. ‘Alec, I’m in big trouble and I have to talk to you.’

‘Where are you? The shop? I’ll—’

‘No,’ Marcus almost shouted down the phone. ‘I think they’re watching me, Alec. I’m coming out there. I can’t stay here, I …’

He dropped the phone back on to the desk as Alec’s voice continued to call his name. Staring out through the glass door of his office he saw that other man come into his shop, the small, dark-haired creature he had spotted with Kinnear.

A second later and the man had seen him too.

Marcus leapt round the desk and turned the key in the office door, then let himself back out through the rear of the shop. He ran to his car and slid the key into the ignition with hands that shook so much they flapped around the hole before managing to slot it in.

‘Please start?’ His car was temperamental, sometimes taking a second or so to catch. This morning it felt like an eternity.

He turned out of the yard and into the busy street beyond. Where would the man have gone? Did he have a car? Would he guess where Marcus could be going? Marcus glanced sideways at the shop front as he pulled into the main road but saw no one there that resembled the dark-haired man. He sank down in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible as if that would help. No, the man was not in the shop either. He must have seen Marcus escaping and run back outside.

Marcus turned left at the end of the road and then right, cutting through side roads only a local might use. He reached the junction with the main road and peered out both ways. Clear. Marcus pulled out on to the main road. He put his foot down and accelerated away, relief coursing through his body.

He would drive to Fallowfields, tell them everything. They would call the police, Marcus supposed, but he didn’t care about that any more. He just knew he had to get away from Kinnear and from the man who had come to the shop.

Glancing in his rear-view mirror he saw a small red car accelerating fast. His first thought was that kids always drove too fast on these narrow winding roads. He inched across, keeping close to the verge, assuming that they would pass him by if he gave them room and then, as the car pulled closer still Marcus’s heart came close to stopping.