‘Leave the country in a few days? Mick, I can’t just hop on a plane. This was supposed to be six months, remember?’
Was Mick’s memory bad, or did he just not care? Brad had agreed to hit Grafton, in part, for a share of whatever money they found in the cottage, but mostly because he wouldn’t get the chance again. In six months he’d be living in Thailand with Ian, who was transferring to a branch of his company out there. The Ramirez angle, he’d been promised, would muddy the murder investigation long enough to let it go cold. But now the cops were on the cusp of getting Brad’s name. And when they learned of his plans to emigrate, their suspicions would increase and they’d lob a spanner in the works. It was all set for six months from now, not a couple of bloody days.
Mick’s great plan was: ‘So you fly out in a couple of days, and then your bloke goes on the sick for six months.’
Brad cursed. ‘Christ, Mick, there’s visas to get, a house to sell. Ian’s going caravanning with his brother in April. It can’t happen, it ain’t possible. And even if everything was ready to go, and the sickness thing was possible, I’d have to tell him what’s going on, wouldn’t I? How’s that going to work? He thinks I gave all that crime shit up way back. If he even thought I nicked a Twix from the corner shop, he’d leave me. Now I’m supposed to tell him I’m on the run from the cops for triple murder and we’ve got to escape the country right now? No, you’ve got to sort this out.’
‘How? The Ramirez plan was good, but now it’s out the window and we deal with it. The cops want you, Brad. Like it or not, you don’t have six months to sign forms, show people around a house and look at fucking holiday photos of some caravan park.’
‘Well, you’ve got to do something. I can’t hide from the cops. And even if Ian never found out I’m on the run, what about the cash? I was supposed to have some magical luck on the horses each week to explain earning ninety grand in six months. I whip out that much dough in a few days’ time, he’ll know it’s nicked. No, Mick. You’re supposed to be smarter than everyone else, so prove it. Fucking sort this out.’
Silence, as Mick thought. For a moment he worried that Mick would abandon him because he already had his escape plan ready to go. But he had to trust that their history guaranteed loyalty. Brad was the one who had made everything possible up until this point. Without Brad, Grafton would be walking around still, untouched and untouchable. Mick had to respect that.
‘I’m working on a plan,’ he said. ‘Then that’ll just leave the bitch. If she can tell the police who you are, the solution is to make sure she can’t tell anyone anything, right? So, go do what I said. You can have Seabury. But you save her for me, right?’
A pause from Brad as he thought about this. There was nothing he could do, so he had to leave it up to Mick. This relaxed him somewhat. ‘That tosspot Ramirez really call me a Nancy-boy?’
Mick started laughing again.
Twenty-Seven
Karl
Karl let out a breath, and that was when he realised that he’d been holding it. His chest was heaving as if he’d been running. He heard Liz’s ragged breathing a couple of feet away. Saw the shape of her chest rising and falling. Same story. Nervous energy oozing out of both of them.
She stumbled. His anxiety exploded, and he grabbed her, fearful that the noise would bring the gunman pounding down upon them.
‘I’m okay,’ she said. She struggled out of his grasp, and her black shape bent and sat on one of the rails. He didn’t want to stop, was desperate to get out of here and back to Katie, but he sat opposite her, facing her. He knew the gunman was far behind.
‘Let’s hope a train doesn’t come,’ she said, repeating her joke from earlier.
‘We could do with the light.’
‘Nah, you don’t want to see my face. Make-up all messy.’
‘I think with all this dirt around we probably look like coal miners by now.’
They sat for a few moments. Back down the tunnel, the darkness seemed to pulse and shift. He stared until he was sure the kaleidoscopic swirl didn’t camouflage a man crawling towards them.
‘What was that thing with the smoke, that grenade thing you threw?’
She was rubbing her hands across her face, trying to remove the grime. His coal miner joke must have set that off.
‘The grenade that let off all the smoke? Smoke grenade.’
She laughed. ‘Very funny. Where did you get that?’
‘Internet. Two hundred quid, up in smoke.’
‘Who’d need one of those for personal defence?’
He said: ‘People on the run, apparently.’
She laughed. ‘I’m guessing that stuff’s not legal to sell.’
She was just killing time, talking to make the minutes fly by. Time was not something he could spare, though. He stood. ‘No. That’s why I had it upstairs.’
He watched her straighten her dress and could tell she was thinking of something else to say. He looked at the way ahead. How far until the station? A mile, or was it thirty feet away? He wanted to get moving.
What she decided upon was: ‘How did you meet your wife?’
He sighed. ‘Let’s go. We can’t waste time.’
They started walking again. After a minute, he answered her question.
‘Like you. Childhood sweethearts. She was the neighbour’s kid. We were the only children on that street. Just friends until she was thirteen, and I was twelve. She wanted to practise kissing, and there was no one else around.’
‘So you having a loving wife and a baby on the way. I guess you feel you’re a lucky man.’
‘I never won the lottery, but never got stabbed to death in a piss-stained alleyway, either. I’m happy with the middle ground.’
More silence. Thirty seconds in, she stumbled over something and he turned, caught her as she crashed into him. In his arms, she said: ‘What’s your plan?’
He made sure she was balanced, then turned and started walking again. ‘Get to a phone. Tell the damn police what happened. And tell my wife she’s got to run from our family home because of all this shit.’ His anxiety was rising again.
After another minute or so of silence, she said: ‘It’s morning now. They shouldn’t still be after us. Something’s wrong. We need to find my husband.’
‘I’m going home. You do what you want.’ He could feel his anger welling up.
‘He might still be tied up at the cottage. Maybe they tied everyone up. We have to go there and release him. Then he can get to work sorting out this problem. You have to take me there.’
Knowing he was so irritated that he would only say something she wouldn’t like, he refused to respond. Was the gunman approaching his house right now? Closing in on his wife and child?
‘Ron can fix all this. He’ll know what to do. But he’ll be worried about me. We’ll find a taxi and get straight there. They won’t still be there, not if they’re out chasing us.’
He wanted to believe that Katie would be safe. The gunman and his cronies hadn’t gone to the house this morning, had they? They’d chosen the shop. The hunt was for Karl and Liz, after all. Hopefully Katie would be ignored. Safe. Hopefully, when he hadn’t called her, she had packed a bag and got out of there.
‘Are you listening? I need to get to my husband.’
‘Fuck him,’ Karl snapped.
‘No, fuck you.’
He heard her stop, but he continued walking. Faster now, with bigger steps. If she wanted to stay down here, so be it. But he was going.
He stopped, and turned.