Dance of Ghosts

29

Bridget had the radio on when I got back to the car, and as I opened the door and got in, I recognised the quiet sadness of an old Nat King Cole song.

Since you went away the days grow long,

and soon I’ll hear old winter’s song.

But I miss you most of all my darling,

when autumn leaves start to fall.

‘Nice,’ I said.

Bridget smiled. ‘Radio Two … I must be getting old.’ She leaned down and turned off the radio. ‘How’s Cal?’

‘Not too good.’

‘Did he tell you anything about what happened?’

I shook my head. ‘He’s barely conscious.’

She looked at me. ‘Any trouble in there?’

‘Not really,’ I said, glancing through the window, checking the main entrance. ‘But I think we’d better get going.’

She started the car. ‘Where to?’

‘Let’s just get out of here first.’

We drove in silence for a while — away from the hospital, back towards town — and although I kept a close eye on the road behind us, trying to make sure we weren’t being followed, I didn’t have much faith in my abilities any more. I’d got Cal mixed up in all this, and I hadn’t managed to look after him, and now — because of me — Bridget was involved. And if I couldn’t make sure that Cal didn’t get hurt …

‘What’s on your mind, John?’ Bridget asked quietly.

I looked at her. ‘I think we need to stay in a hotel tonight.’

‘What about Walter? Hotels don’t take dogs, do they?’

‘Oh, yeah …’ I turned round and patted Walter. ‘Sorry, Walt,’ I told him. ‘I forgot about you.’

He wagged his tail.

I turned back to Bridget. ‘Can you stay at Sarah’s?’

She nodded. ‘She’d be happy to put all of us up. She’s got plenty of room — ’

I shook my head. ‘I’m not putting anyone else at risk. I’ll find a hotel, you and Walter go to Sarah’s — ’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m staying with you, John.’

I looked at her. ‘Bishop and his brother are looking for me … maybe not together, but they’re both after me. And if they find me with you … well, the least Mick Bishop’s going to do is cause you all kinds of shit. But Ray Bishop …’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t let him get anywhere near you, Bridget.’

‘All right, but you can’t just keep running away from him either, can you? You have to do something about him, tell someone what he’s done. He needs locking up.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘And I’m working on it. I just need to think things through a bit more. And right now I’m too tired to think clearly.’

‘Why don’t we all go back to the flat over the shop?’ Bridget suggested. ‘It should be safe enough there, shouldn’t it?’

‘Yeah, maybe …’ I said, thinking about it. ‘Mick Bishop knows that we know each other, but I’d be surprised if he’s actually in contact with his brother at the moment — ’

‘So Ray Bishop won’t know about the shop.’

‘Probably not, but Mick will. He’ll have had you checked out as soon as he saw you at the house. He’ll know what you do, where you work, how much money the shop makes — ’

‘Yeah, but he won’t know there’s a flat above it, because the flat’s not officially part of the shop.’

‘Isn’t it?’

She shook her head. ‘Sarah set it up like that for tax purposes … I’ve never really understood it. All I know is that, legally, the flat has nothing to do with the shop. So, if you want, we could go back there, get something to eat, get some rest … and you’d have as much time as you need to think things through.’ She smiled at me. ‘What do you think?’

I looked at her. ‘I think that sounds pretty good.’

I told Bridget that I needed to stop off at my office on the way back, so she headed for the old market square and parked the van there.

‘I won’t be long,’ I said to her, unbuckling my seat belt. ‘I just need to pick something up.’

She looked at me. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, if Bishop is after you, he’s bound to have someone watching your office, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, probably …’

‘Do you really need whatever it is you’re picking up?’

I nodded. ‘It’s all right, I know what I’m doing. But if I’m not back in fifteen minutes — ’

‘Yeah, I know. I’ll call Leon Mercer.’

‘And — ’

‘Keep the doors locked,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘And, yes, I’ll call you if I need you.’

I didn’t see anyone as I walked up Wyre Street towards my office. The street was deserted, the air cold and damp, and the only sound I could hear was the dull slap of my footsteps echoing into the night. But just because I didn’t see anyone, that didn’t mean that I was alone. There were plenty of hiding places along the street — shop doorways, shadowed alleys, piles of rubbish bags, extra-large wheelie bins. For all I knew, there could be dozens of Bishop’s men watching me.

It was an unnerving experience, and as I approached the office building and opened the front door, I kept expecting someone to jump out at me or something … but nothing happened. I went inside, closed the door behind me, took out my penlight, and went upstairs.

The office door was locked. I opened it up, paused for a moment, then went through into the office. I paused again, sweeping the beam of the penlight around the darkened room and listening out for any signs of life … but I neither saw nor heard anything that shouldn’t be there. I crossed over to my private office, opened the door, and made straight for the wall safe. It only took a moment to open it up. I removed the 9mm pistol, checked there was a round in the chamber, clicked off the safety, and put the gun in my pocket.

I saw the two men across the street as soon as I left the building. They were standing in the shadows of a shop doorway, their faces obscured by the darkness, so I couldn’t tell who they were at first. But as I closed the door and stepped down onto the pavement, they both moved out of the shadows and began crossing the street towards me, and as they passed under the sodium-orange glow of a streetlight, I could see their faces quite clearly. The man on the right was about the same age as me. Stocky, dark, wearing a black knitted cap … I’d never seen him before. But I recognised the other one. I remembered his hard-bitten face from the grainy video that Leon Mercer had shown me, and when I glanced down at his hand and saw the silver skull ring on his index finger, I knew I wasn’t mistaken. It was Les Gillard. The man who’d beaten me up, the man who’d beaten Cal to within an inch of his life …

I put my hand in my pocket and took hold of the pistol.

Gillard and the other man had almost reached me now. The other man was looking around as they walked, glancing up and down the street, checking to make sure there were no witnesses, but Gillard was keeping his eyes fixed firmly on me. There was no sense of bravado about him. He wasn’t trying to look hard or scary or threatening, he was simply intent on doing what he was about to do. But whatever his intention was — to arrest me, to hurt me, to kill me — I had no intention of letting it happen.

I waited until both men were about three paces away from me, then I pulled the gun from my pocket, aimed it at Gillard’s left knee, and pulled the trigger.

The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed dully around the empty streets, and I saw Gillard’s leg jerk backwards. He lurched to one side with a strange hopping motion, let out a low pained breath, and fell to the ground clutching his shattered knee.

As he lay there moaning and cursing, the other man stayed where he was, frozen to the spot, his eyes darting frantically between Gillard and me.

‘Hey,’ I said, looking at him.

He stared wide-eyed at me.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Fuck off.’

He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at Gillard again, and then he took off, running as fast as he could up the street.

I waited until he was out of sight, then I put the pistol back in my pocket, stepped around Gillard, and headed back to the van.