Newton’s Fire

THIRTEEN
I

Walters could sense Kieran growing uneasy in the back as they sped towards Cherry Hinton Science Park. He met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

Kieran scratched his beard. ‘It’s just, what are we going to do with them once we’ve found them?’

‘We’re going to make sure they can’t blab, of course,’ said Walters.

‘Yes. But what does that mean exactly?’

‘What do you think it means?’

‘Fuck,’ said Kieran, looking a little sick. ‘Is that really necessary?’

Walters glared at him. ‘You’d rather they put you inside for the rest of your life?’

‘But they can’t,’ said Kieran. ‘They can maybe do us for arson. That’s about it.’

‘What about the old bat?’

‘That was an accident. She fell.’

‘Sure. And you think that’s what Luke what’s-his-name will tell the filth, do you? Bollocks. He’ll say we pushed her.’

‘He’ll say you pushed her,’ muttered Pete.

‘You think that will save you?’ scoffed Walters. ‘They’ll charge us with being there in commission of a crime, meaning we’ll all be equally liable for her death. And who was it that actually set the fire?’

‘Only because you told us to!’ Kieran protested.

‘Yeah. And that worked wonders at Nuremberg.’

‘Shit,’ muttered Pete. He looked almost as unhappy as Kieran.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ said Walters, turning into the science park. ‘It’s going to be fine, trust me. I’ve done this sort of shit before. I know what I’m doing. We just need to find them, that’s all.’

He pulled up in front of Goldstone Laboratories, got out before they could argue, jogged up the front steps and through the sliding glass doors into reception, where an old granddad with watery eyes was sitting behind the desk. ‘Listen, mate,’ he said, striding up to him. ‘Wonder if you can help me. You’re not going to believe this, but my wife lent her Renault to my arse of a son last Friday. Little bastard only comes home with a dent in the front bumper. Thought we wouldn’t notice. Bloody eighteen year olds, eh?’

Granddad grunted. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘Anyway, I ask him where he did it, he spins me this load of old cobblers like you wouldn’t believe. So I ground him, tell him he’s not leaving his room until he comes clean. Takes him until this afternoon to talk. Got to give him credit for that, I suppose. He came here sometime last week, apparently, to pick up some new bird of his. But he managed to ding the back of this red Beemer soft-top in your car park while he was at it. Swears blind he didn’t do it any damage, and also that he left a note. My arse. Why leave a note if you didn’t do any damage, I ask. Didn’t have an answer to that, did he? Anyway, I just wanted to check. If this Beemer needs any repairs, I’ll make sure the little runt pays for every penny. You know anyone who drives a car like that?’

‘A red BMW convertible?’ frowned granddad. ‘Mr Redfern is driving one at the moment. But I haven’t heard anything about any damage.’

‘Mr Redfern. That wouldn’t be old Ronnie Redfern, would it? Is he working here now?’

‘No. Pelham. Pelham Redfern.’

‘He’s not here now, is he?’

‘He left a couple of hours ago.’

‘But he’ll be in tomorrow, yeah?’

Granddad shrugged. ‘I’d imagine,’ he said.

‘Great. I’ll give him a bell in the morning, maybe drop by. Thanks for the help.’ He went back out, climbed back in the SUV. ‘Name’s Pelham Redfern,’ he said.

Kieran tapped keys on his laptop. ‘Got him,’ he said. ‘Apartment Two, the Old Maltings, Horningsea. That’s just a couple of miles north of here.’

‘Good. Then let’s go finish this.’