Stegs cursed himself as he watched Tina Boyd. He’d recognized her the minute he’d come out of Carroll’s. It was the way her arse waggled effortlessly as she walked, plus he remembered the cream trouser suit. She’d been wearing it the day he first met her. He was observant like that. Particularly with good-looking women, and ones who dressed well. You wouldn’t have caught Boyd in a sock-and-clog combination. He’d followed her down to the bottom of the road, then crossed it, heading away from her, before stopping in the doorway of a forlorn-looking antique shop and watching her as she continued up the road. She’d turned round and lit a cigarette, and he’d got his confirmation, as if he’d needed it. Then, after a few seconds, she looked at her watch, took a couple of rapid puffs on the cigarette, and hailed a passing cab.
He really had fucked up here. He’d known they were suspicious of his role in the hotel killings and the O’Brien murder, but hadn’t expected them to put him under surveillance. They were always going on about lack of resources, and he honestly didn’t think he was up there at the top of the list of suspects. Still, that was no excuse. He should have prepared for the worst and kept more of an eye out. Now he was in a difficult situation, and one that might have to involve some sort of evasive action.
But one thing about Stegs was that he didn’t panic. Yes, he’d made a mistake, but the situation was redeemable. It was always redeemable. He got a momentary twinge of doubt again about his course of action, but forced it back down. This was no time for weakness. This was a time for men with steel in their veins, and whatever else you said about Stegs Jenner, he had plenty of that.