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Twenty-Two

Wednesday 5.30am

“You can sit up now,” Murphy said.

Charlie wasn’t sure he could. He had wedged himself in the footwell behind the front seats. The carpet smelt of dust and disinfectant and, if possible, the seats smelled worse. The space under the passenger seat was filled with crumpled fast-food wrappers, some of which had been there long enough to breed new life forms. To get into the space, he’d had to crunch his sore and bruised stomach and he suspected that un-crunching it was going to hurt even more. He could sense his hair lying in all that filth and it made his skin crawl. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was wearing one of his last sets of clean clothes, but it did. If he’d been convinced of the necessity for any of this, he could have ignored all the dirt and discomfort. But things were becoming more surreal by the minute. He struggled onto his hands and knees, resenting the foul carpet under his scraped hands. By wrapping his arms around the passenger seat, he dragged himself upward. Out of the window, he saw the familiar entrance to his apartment building.

“Is this Groundhog Day ?” Charlie asked. “I go into the flat in the hope of a shower and a coffee and some bastard turns up to arrest me?”

Murphy turned round to look at Charlie. “You’ll be safe for an hour or two at least. Long enough for a shower.”

“Long enough for you to tell me what’s going on?”

In answer, Murphy got out of the car, and held the door open for Charlie. “I’m assuming you’ve still got the key?”

He had, and he let them into the building. They stood silently as the lift wheezed its way to the top floor. Once in the flat, Murphy said he’d make coffee while Charlie showered.

“Look for food and painkillers,” Charlie instructed. Murphy nodded.

* * *

Charlie got himself clean at the price of too much pain. His knees were almost too stiff to climb into the tub, and the hot water on his scrapes and bruises was almost too much to bear. A shave was out of the question. He didn’t even want to look at his face let alone scrape a razor over it. Cleaning his teeth was a delicate operation, but he managed not to re-open the tear on the inside of his cheek. He patted himself dry enough to get dressed before following the smell of coffee to the living room. Murphy was pacing from end to end of the room. Their coffee, plus a plate of cold pizza slices and a bag of doughnuts sat on one of the side tables. Tom’s jacket and messenger bag lay on the sofa. Charlie put them both on his lap, taking comfort from the smell of Old Spice and pencil shavings.

“Now. I need to know what’s going on. Like who you are for a start.” Charlie helped himself to food and took a slurp of his coffee.

“It’s … complicated,” Murphy said. “But I’m on your side. That’s as much as I can say.”

“You weren’t on my side when Dwyer and his cohorts were kidnapping me,” Charlie said. “And I have to wonder how they knew where to find me. Sorry, mate, but it’s complicated doesn’t cut it.”

Murphy put his coffee down. “I didn’t tell them where to find you. I was as surprised as you.”

“Why am I having trouble believing that? No one else knew where we were going.”

“All I can do is ask you to trust me. I got you out of the police station before Special Agent Mead turned up with his warrant, and believe me, you do not want to be arrested for suspected murder. Because that’s what the warrant says.”

Charlie leapt to his feet and immediately felt as if he’d taken another blow to the stomach. His head swam and he fell back into the chair.

“Who the fuck am I supposed to have murdered?”

By contrast, Murphy was calm. “Kaylan Sully. No one thinks you actually murdered him, but better not to be arrested for it.”

“There are a dozen witnesses to say I didn’t murder anyone. Two people thanked me for saving them after Kaylan was killed right before their eyes.”

“But that’s not the evidence the FBI are relying on. They are relying on the fact that they found a gun in this apartment.” Murphy held up his hand to forestall another explosion from Charlie. “Of course, you didn’t have a gun. But a gun was found here. That doesn’t make it yours. It could equally belong to Orianna. Or Tom. And there’s nothing to connect this gun to the bookstore — yet. But it’s enough for the warrant, and if you’re arrested you won’t be getting bail because anyone can see you’re a flight risk.” Murphy shrugged. “So, better not be anywhere you can be arrested.”

“Like here,” Charlie said flatly. He wasn’t sure he believed Murphy, or that he trusted him, but was it a risk he was willing to take? Probably not.

“Like here, or the hospital where Tom is. I think they’re serious, so I’d suggest not using your cell phone either.”

“They’d track my phone?”

“Not only could they track your phone, they could involve the US Marshals.”

Charlie had only the sketchiest idea of who the US Marshals were but what he did know was that they had almost unlimited powers. He felt sick. He’d been in the city for just over a week. Tom was in a coma in hospital, and he, Charlie, was wanted for a crime he patently hadn’t committed. The only way he could get the FBI off his back for good was to find who had killed Kaylan and the other man. And he couldn’t do that with the FBI tracking his every move, not to mention Andrew Dwyer and his minions… who seemed to know how to find him more easily even than law enforcement.

“I’m fucked.”

“Pretty much,” Murphy said, walking over to the window and looking out. “Actually, you’re totally fucked. The Feds are getting out of their cars downstairs.”

It looked like Murphy had set Charlie up once more. Here we go again. He kicked Murphy in the balls, snatched up his coat, Tom’s things and ran.