From the Dead

FORTY-FOUR

Langford sipped his beer and wondered what Brand's game was. He'd always been able to sniff out anything iffy, had prided himself on the fact, and though he couldn't be sure exactly what was happening, something was definitely starting to stink.

All the same, he had to tread carefully.

'What happened to that girl you were seeing?' Brand asked.

'I see a lot of girls.'

'Yeah, but one was a bit special, wasn't she?'

'I chucked her,' Langford said.

Worst possible scenario, the arsehole had grassed him up to save himself and was wearing a microphone. All that shit about not being much for swimming. But dealing with it would be tricky to say the least. There were consequences to be considered whichever way it went, and until then he just needed to watch his temper, to keep his wits about him. There was not a great deal he could do for the time being, other than mind his Ps and Qs and let things play out.

What else could he do? Rip the sneaky little fucker's shirt off then and there?

If he was wrong, he'd risk losing someone who had been a valuable source of information for over ten years. Brand was very useful, no question about it, and Langford didn't particularly want to piss him off by coming on like some paranoid nutcase. If he was right, though, things might get even more complicated. He'd been kidding himself, thinking he could play this whole thing like Clint Eastwood or whatever and stay calm. He should have seen that back when he was slapping that silly fucker in the club who'd used his real name. He was still capable of losing his rag, same as anyone else… same as he'd done the last time he'd seen Candela… and if he did find out that Brand was having him over, he could easily end up having to push a bottle into the mongrel's face or seeing how long he could stay underwater.

It would feel good, course it would. It would feel merited. But if the conversation was being monitored, if his new friend from Ronda was listening in, it might not turn out to be the smartest thing he'd ever done.

He needed to keep on his toes, simple as that.

He'd always loved that line from The Godfather, the one about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Something the Pacino character had been taught by his old man. Loads of good stuff in that movie of course, but that bit was right on the money.

If Brand was no longer a friend, Langford needed to keep him as close as possible.

'How long you planning on staying, Gary?'

'I'll go back tomorrow,' Brand said. 'In and out.'

'That's good. Presumably you can't just waltz off to Spain without your bosses getting suspicious, can you?'

'I had some holiday owing, so…'

'That's a bit of luck.'

Brand took a long swig of beer. Then another to empty the bottle.

'Got yourself a decent hotel?'

Brand swallowed fast. 'A place in Malaga. In the old town.'

'What's it called?'

'The hotel?'

'Yeah, I've stayed in quite a few places down there, might be able to recommend a couple of decent restaurants.'

'It's one of those boutique-type places,' Brand said. 'There's a chain of them, I think. Room Mate? Something like that, anyway. Nice enough.'

No real hesitation. Well briefed or on the level, it was hard to tell the difference…

A young girl stepped on to the deck from inside the house. She wore a thin, pale blue sarong over a white bikini and a sullen expression. Brand turned to look at her.

'You remember Ellie?' Langford asked.

'Course I do.'

'Last time you saw her she'd have been what, seven or eight?'

Brand said hello. The girl mumbled it back at him.

'Go and get us another couple of beers,' Langford said. 'There's a good girl. Actually, make it four, will you? I reckon we're on for a heavy session here.' He pointed at Brand. 'You hungry, mate? We could rustle up a sandwich or something…'

'I ate on the plane,' Brand said.

The girl turned and went back into the house without another word. Langford watched her go, then grinned at Brand.

'She's grown up,' Brand said.

'She looks so much like her mother did at that age it's not true.'

Brand nodded. Langford finished his beer. They both looked out across the swimming pool for a minute or more.

'Listen… we really need to talk about what we're going to do,' Brand said. 'That police liaison officer – Murray… she's been getting far too cosy with Andy Boyle and it's starting to look like they've got some serious ammunition to use on Grover, you know? Organising something at Wakefield is obviously going to be trickier now that Howard Cook's gone, but-'

Langford cut him off. 'Of course, I would have been happy to put you up here, but I don't think that's a clever idea.'

Brand took a few seconds, and Langford saw frustration on his face that was every bit as obvious as the sweat patches under his arms. He had few doubts now about what was happening; fewer still that disposing of Brand would be even easier than getting rid of Candela had been.

Another one he would happily handle himself.

'The hotel's fine, honestly.'

Laughing, Langford nodded towards the house. 'Some of the locals are already wondering what I'm doing shacked up with a girl who's young enough to be my daughter. Last thing I need is them thinking I'm on the bloody turn!' He laughed again, louder. 'So, we probably shouldn't spend too much time together.'

'No.'

'Especially now that we've got the Met's finest running around the place.'