‘Probably. Yes.’
‘So either I’m going to see you kill a man, or I’m going to see you killed. That’s not much of a choice, is it? Either way, I’m going to have a man’s death on my hands.’
‘We’re doing this to save your boss’s life, Su-ming, and the rest of the people this maniac could end up killing. This man has never failed. If we don’t stop him, there’s nowhere that your boss can hide, nowhere he can go where he’ll be safe. We have to take him out.’ Su-ming shuddered as if she was standing in a draught. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. She shrugged. ‘Didn’t the Colonel explain what was going to happen?’
‘I was told that I was to accompany you, that we were to follow Mr Vander Mayer’s itinerary.’
‘You must have realised what was being planned?’ He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she edged away from him.
‘I suppose so. But I don’t think anyone actually said the words. No one actually said that we were setting up a man to be killed.’
Cramer rubbed his stomach softly. He wasn’t sure whether she meant that he, or the assassin, was the one being set up, or whether she cared either way. ‘We’ll make sure that you don’t get hurt,’ he said as soothingly as he could. ‘Allan and Martin will do everything they can to keep you out of it. And it’s me that he’ll be after. Not you.’
‘That’s not the point,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘What do you mean?’
She narrowed her eyes and shivered again, then quickly turned her back to him and picked up the knife. She chopped the asparagus spears with slow, precise movements. Cramer watched, not sure what to say. Su-ming continued to cut the asparagus into small chunks, the knife making a soft crunching sound. Cramer stood watching her in silence, but realised that the conversation was over. She’d shut him out, like a clam closing itself up for protection.
Sandra Worthington looked at her watch for the hundredth time and pursed her lips, wondering if Philip would be at the office yet. She couldn’t call him at home, the last time she’d done that he’d hit the roof and made her promise not to do it again. It had been a stupid thing to do. They were both married and both had a lot to lose if their affair was discovered, but there were times when she just had to hear his voice. A hurried ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’ was all she wanted. She checked her watch again.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’ asked her husband. He was sprawled across the sofa in front of the television set, watching Sky Sports and scratching himself.
‘Sure,’ she said and went into the kitchen. Their liver and white cocker spaniel followed her, wagging his stub of a tail good-naturedly. Her husband was nothing like Philip. Philip was tall and well-muscled, Philip was good-looking and kind, Philip made her laugh. Her husband just bored her, and had done for the past five years. If it wasn’t for the children, she’d have left him long ago, but her own parents had split up when she was eight and she’d promised herself that she would never put her two children through the same emotional roller-coaster.
Philip had children too, three boys, and he’d made it clear that his wife would never give him a divorce, and that even if she did the alimony and child support would consign him to a dingy bedsit for the rest of his life. They had to settle for what they had: hurried couplings in the back of his Volvo, lunchtime walks in the park, the occasional luxury of a hotel room, stolen moments when her children were at school. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Now even what little she had was under threat. Her husband had been made redundant and had spent the last three weeks lying about the house, watching television and only leaving to visit the pub or the betting shop. He was driving her crazy.
Sandra poured him a mug of tea and spooned in two sugars on autopilot. Philip didn’t take sugar. He looked after his body. She glanced at her watch again. She had to hear Philip’s voice, just to know that he cared, that he was thinking about her. The dog whined and put his head on one side. ‘Stop trying to look cute, Robbie,’ she said. The dog wagged his tail faster and made a soft growling noise. ‘Ah, I get it,’ Sandra whispered, and she winked conspiratorially at the dog.
She put the mug of tea down on the coffee table next to her husband. He grunted his thanks, his eyes fixed on the screen. ‘I think I’ll take Robbie for a walk,’ she said.
‘No need, I’ll take him to the pub with me,’ said her husband.
‘It’s a walk he needs, not a pint of lager,’ said Sandra, picking Robbie’s lead off the sideboard. Robbie rushed over, barking.
‘Shush!’ shouted her husband. ‘Can’t you do something about that damn dog?’
‘I’ll take him out,’ said Sandra, grabbing her coat. She checked that she had change in her pocket and hurried to the door. ‘See you later.’ Her husband grunted again and she slipped out, clipping the lead to Robbie’s collar as she walked down the stairs to the ground floor. Her heart was racing. There was a telephone box a hundred yards down the road but she decided against using it as it could be seen from their sitting room window. Robbie headed towards the park but Sandra pulled him back with a jerk. ‘Let me call Philip first, then you can play to your heart’s content,’ she said.
As she walked along the pavement, Sandra wondered what she’d say to Philip. Until her husband got off his damned sofa and went looking for a job, it was going to be practically impossible for her to slip away for a few hours. Perhaps he could come around in his car and she could take Robbie for another walk in the evening? It wouldn’t be the first time that the dog had sat on the front seat of Philip’s Volvo while they made love in the back. She smiled at the thought.
Robbie began pulling to the gutter. ‘Oh, Robbie, wait, can’t you?’ The dog pulled harder and Sandra relented. She let him step off the pavement. His nose was down and his tail was twitching. His feet scrabbled on the tarmac as he tried to pull away from her. ‘Oh come on, Robbie, don’t give me a hard time,’ Sandra moaned. The dog headed towards a blue Ford Sierra. Sandra yanked on the lead but Robbie wasn’t in the least deterred. He began to sniff the Sierra’s bumper and his tail started to wag even faster. Sandra knelt down by his side and stroked the back of his head. ‘Shit or get off the pot, Robbie,’ she said testily. ‘I’ve got a telephone call to make.’
She grabbed Robbie’s collar and pulled him away. As she did so she noticed a red smear on the black bumper. She frowned. It wasn’t glossy enough to be paint. She rubbed her finger on it and stared at the rusty stain on her skin. Robbie licked her finger then went back to sniffing the boot. That was when Sandra noticed the smell for the first time. She’d brought up two children and the smell immediately brought back memories of soiled nappies and filled potties. She hurriedly rubbed her finger on the tarmac, trying to get rid of the stain. She knew what it was now. Blood.
Lynch poured boiling hot water into the teapot and swirled it around, then tipped it into the sink. He knew how important it was to warm the pot first, though in an age of teabags it was something that fewer people seemed to insist on. He opened Marie’s stainless steel caddy and spooned tea into the pot.
‘Dermott?’ Marie called from the sitting room.
‘What?’ he replied, as he poured water into the pot and stirred it quickly.
‘Your car? Is it a blue one?’
Lynch dropped the spoon and rushed into the sitting room. Marie was standing at the window, looking out. He stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Down below in the street a police car had stopped behind the Ford Sierra. A uniformed policewoman was talking to a dark-haired woman with a dog while her colleague was bending down and examining the boot. ‘Shit,’ cursed Lynch.
‘Is it yours?’ asked Marie. ‘What’s he looking for?’
Lynch didn’t reply. He turned away from the window and went to the spare room. He retrieved the handgun from under the bed and pulled out the magazine. He checked the firing mechanism, then slotted the magazine back in and made sure that the safety was on. Marie walked into the room and stopped dead when she saw the gun. ‘You brought a gun into my house?’ she asked.
‘Marie, love, I didn’t have any choice.’ He slid the gun down the back of his trousers, then pulled on his jacket, so that it covered the weapon.
‘Is the car stolen?’ she asked.
Lynch walked past her and back into the sitting room. He stood at the side of the window and looked down. The policeman was peering through the rear window of the car, the policewoman was talking into her radio as the woman with the dog stood behind her, looking at her wristwatch. He wasn’t sure how much to tell Marie. She’d offered to help and she knew that he was an IRA volunteer, but he didn’t know how she’d react to the news that he’d killed five men and that one of them was in the boot of the Ford Sierra. ‘Yeah, it’s stolen. And my prints are all over it.’ He pounded the wall with the flat of his hand. ‘Hell, I shouldn’t have left the car there. I shouldn’t have hung around here, I should have legged it.’
‘Thanks, Dermott. Thanks a bunch.’
Lynch turned and went over to Marie and put his arms around her. ‘Hey now, love, that’s not what I meant. I’m just angry at myself, that’s all.’ He rested his chin on top of her head, his mind racing. The Russian gun was also in the boot of the car, next to Foley’s body. How could he have been so bloody stupid? He’d left the clean gun in the car and was carrying just about the hottest weapon in the country shoved down the back of his pants. The police would match the bullet that killed Foley to the bullets that had killed the IRA hit team. Then they’d go through Foley’s place and his own prints would be all over the back bedroom. ‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said.
‘I’ll come with you.’ She said the words urgently, and she held him close as if afraid that he’d push her away.
‘This is going to get really messy, love,’ he said.
‘Are you still going after Cramer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let me come with you.’
Lynch closed his eyes. He could smell the apple fragrance of her shampoo and something that reminded him of a field in summer. She was so fresh, so young. She didn’t realise what she was asking. ‘No, love. I can’t. It’s too dangerous.’ He unpeeled her arms from around his waist and went back to the window. The policeman was down on his knees, sniffing at the boot. Lynch wondered if he’d try to force it open or if they’d call out a locksmith. Either way, he didn’t have long. ‘I have to go,’ he repeated. He patted down his pockets, checking that he had the two wallets and the money that Marie had given him.
‘You won’t stand a chance on your own,’ she said. ‘They’ll be looking for you. But if I was with you. .’
‘They’d miss you at work.’
‘I can call in sick.’
‘They’ll be starting a house-to-house search soon.’
‘All the more reason for me not to be here. We can use my car.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘No, I’m not crazy, Dermott. This man Cramer destroyed my family, and I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.’ She stood before him, her hands defiantly on her hips, her chin up like a boxer at a weigh-in.
Lynch smiled.