The Thing Itself

FORTY-FIVE

Watts was huddled over a mug of black coffee in his father’s wingback when his phone rang. He recognized the number.

‘Hello, Sarah.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered how easy it would be for you to go back to France.’

‘Varengeville-sur-mer?’

‘No. Carcassonne.’

‘Cathar country.’

‘You know it?’

‘I know the history books. The Templars-’

‘Don’t. My mind freezes when I hear that word. I used to go out with a SOCO who kept trying to force-feed me thrillers that involved the Templars.’ Simpson realized she was blathering from nerves. ‘I never read any, on principle. .’

She trailed off.

‘You don’t like being force-fed?’

‘That would be me, Bob.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’ve located Bernie Grimes in a place near Carcassonne.’

‘Bernie Grimes?’ Watts thought for a moment. ‘The armed robber supposed to be holed up in Milldean?’

‘Maybe he can give us a way in to the Milldean Massacre. A way in to Charlie Laker and William Simpson.’

‘You want me to go and see him?’

Gilchrist swallowed.

‘With me.’

Watts frowned.

‘I don’t quite understand. Officially? How would that work for Karen Hewitt?’

Gilchrist explained her status.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Watts said. He pondered a moment. ‘What do you think we can achieve unofficially? Why would he even talk to us?’

‘I haven’t thought that far ahead,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We might need to overstep the mark.’

Watts considered. Quite aside from anything else, how would it feel to be alone with Sarah for such a length of time? Their brief passion had long faded. Hadn’t it?

‘What about Kate?’ he said. ‘Do you think we can leave her on her own?’

‘She’s safe enough, if that’s what you mean,’ Gilchrist said. ‘What do you think, Bob?’

‘I was thinking of Kate’s emotional state rather than any immediate physical danger.’

‘We could always take her with us,’ Gilchrist said.

Watts thought for a few more moments.

‘OK. You’re on.’

In the movies, brains and blood always splatter everywhere with a head shot. But a bullet from a small calibre gun funnelled through a silencer just rattles around the brain then lodges there.

Tingley cradled Kadire’s head for a moment before straightening him in his chair. He put the newspaper down on the table.

‘Ciao,’ he said, for anybody who might be listening, patting Kadire’s shoulder for anyone who might be watching.

He walked over to join the small queue of people waiting to go back down the mountain. He shuffled forward as a couple and their two children went out on to the platform. Tingley could see Kadire now, slumped in his seat. Blood was coming out of his ear.

A fat curly-haired man in drooping jeans and a short-sleeved yellow shirt was regulating the funivia. Sweat glistened on his face and had begun to stain the back of his shirt.

Tingley was next but one.

He willed himself not to look back at Kadire. The man was dead and Tingley was the Invisible Man. He always had been. Nobody had seen him kill Kadire.

Another couple went on to the platform, leaving Tingley exposed at the gate. The fat man led him to a point where he was standing directly opposite Kadire. He kept his eyes lowered and for what seemed an age willed himself invisible, always expecting someone to cry out and point the finger at him.

A cage appeared over the rim of the platform. The three young girls inside were laughing. The man on the other side reached forward and unhooked the door. The cage bobbed as he slowed it down slightly with his right arm. The first girl — tall and elegant in shorts, tights and flat pumps — dropped out. The man was walking alongside to help the second girl. She jumped and stumbled slightly, but he steadied her with his right arm whilst keeping hold of the cage with his left.

The cage was between Tingley and Kadire’s slumped body when the third girl jumped out. The cage jerked and continued round. The first two girls joined the third and the man on that side cracked a joke with them. They laughed, forming a group with him between Tingley and Kadire.

Within a second the cage was in front of Tingley. Gripping the iron rim, he swung himself in. The gate clanged closed behind him and with a lurch he swung towards the edge of the platform. Just before he dropped over the line, Tingley looked back. Kadire was slumped exactly as before. A waiter was ambling towards him.

Gubbio approached slowly. As the cage made its steady progression, Tingley was strung tight.

The couple in front were larking about. The man shifted his weight to frighten the girl as their cage wobbled. She gave a little scream of pleasure and fright.

The cages coming up were empty. Tingley reached the first pylon and the cage jerked. There were speakers on the pylon and a metallic voice had begun to comment on a football match. Tingley heard the sullen roar of the crowd. The girl in the cage in front shrieked again.

A large insect landed on Tingley’s neck. He lightly wafted it away. Two brightly coloured birds chased each other between the pine trees below him. Tingley was acutely aware of bird songs, the faint thrum of traffic, a car changing gear. He looked across at the nearest tree, tempted to reach out and brush the branches with his open palm.

His nerves were screaming. In the bright sunlight the trees were etched sharply against the deep blue sky. He had an intense sensation of now-ness. He was pondering this when he saw Miladin Radislav coming up in a cage thirty or forty yards below him.