Page 37

Thirty-Seven

Thursday 5.30pm

The construction site hadn’t changed since Charlie’s first visit, except there was no delivery van, and so far, no thugs. He was prepared to go the whole evening without the thugs. The bruises on his face had begun to fade, but his stomach was still a million shades of dismal rainbow colours and hurt like a bitch. The bulletproof vest Murphy had loaned him dug into the bruises on his stomach every time he moved, but Charlie had promised himself and by extension, Tom, that he would be careful. Which meant that he had to come back from whatever happened tonight.

Dusk was beginning to fall when Charlie climbed on to the roof of the mobile office. He wasn’t expecting anyone until much later and he wanted to be ready. Dwyer’s heavies had taken him by surprise once, and it wasn’t something he wanted to risk for a second time. They were an order of magnitude stronger than him, there were two of them and they had guns. If they showed up, he needed Special Agents Mead and Bart to be available to take them on.

If it all worked, the FBI would get Dwyer and Charlie would be off the hook. He cared less about justice for Kaylan. It seemed to Charlie that Kaylan had brought his troubles on himself, although even so, he hadn’t deserved to die. More importantly, nor had the two innocents who had died with him. That was Kaylan all over — he had an idea and other people suffered in the execution.

The rain continued to hold off, but the car park still smelled of mud and wet cement. The top of the office was flat, studded with rivets and painted bright yellow. Charlie’s old red padded coat was unlikely to survive for much longer. It had been shredded and muddied against too many surfaces, and he was glad he had a new one waiting for him back at the hotel. But for now, it helped keep him a little bit warmer as he lay on the cold metal. He had the oddest sense that he was not alone on the construction site, even though rationally he knew he must be. He’d reconnoitered earlier and the place was deserted. Dwyer seemed to depend on the high fences and cameras to keep the area secure. The cement plant was too big to steal easily, and there were no other machines in evidence. Charlie had scrambled to look over the high wooden fence, expecting to see a building in progress. Instead, there was a large hole, half filled with dirty water. Foundation? Charlie didn’t know. But he was surprised there were no machines to either make the hole bigger, or to fill it in. There were no workers or building materials either. According to Unwin, the site was going to become a modest residential tower block. Had Kaylan’s thefts affected Dwyer’s building programme too? He would find out when Dwyer showed up.

There were lights on tall poles around the site. They came on automatically as it got darker, illuminating the front of the offices, the cement plant and the gate. Kaylan hadn’t stolen enough to get the electricity cut off at least.

First to arrive were Special Agents Mead and Bart, in a nondescript muddy-coloured van. He could just make out Mead’s features through the windscreen as they passed under one of the lights and then they parked behind the cement plant.

Charlie lay on the roof as the sky darkened. Rivets stuck into his skin and the cold seeped through his clothes but he could hear every car that passed down the street, and the voices of the pedestrians. He knew from his earlier observations that the top of the office was invisible from below.

At last, he heard the jangle of the padlock and chain and the sound of a car door opening and closing. Charlie lifted his head, knowing no one could see him in the deep shadow cast by the floodlights but still feeling as exposed as if he were naked in Times Square. He wasn’t surprised to see the black SUV with the chrome fittings parked in the middle of the yard. Nor was he surprised to see Sabrina Sully climb out of it. He kept watching, expecting Dwyer to get out of the car, but Sabrina was alone. She stood in the middle of the lot peering into the dark corners. She went to the office door and rattled the handle. Charlie used the noise to cover the sound of his wriggle down from the roof. He walked round the side of the office.

“Mrs Sully. Why are you here?”

Sabrina started in alarm. “Jesus. Where did you spring from?”

“I was half expecting your brother,” Charlie said.

Sabrina looked puzzled. “I don’t know why. The money is all mine now.” As if that was an answer to anything.

“I don’t understand,” Charlie said. “Did Kaylan steal from you too?”

“I don’t know where my son got his money,” Sabrina said with a sigh. “But as his closest relative, the money is mine. He shouldn’t have been living it up in that big apartment while I depended on Andrew’s charity. You told me the bank details were here, so I’ve come to get them. To get what’s mine. Not Andrew’s, mine. Because he was my son.” She gave a half shrug, as if this was self-evident.

Sabrina’s blonde hair shone in the overhead lights, contrasting with her black clothes. She turned and looked at Charlie from the corner of her eyes. His blood ran cold as she produced the gun from her pocket and pointed it at him with a steady hand.

However wild her talk about money, Sabrina was a cool as a cucumber when it came to wielding a gun. “It was you, in the bookshop,” he said, aiming for a similar appearance of calm. “You shot them.” He could see the black-clad figure in front of him, looking at him as she looked at him now. Making the decision not to shoot him because she’d done what she came for, which was to kill her own son. He’d assumed, as everyone had, that the shooter was male. But Sabrina was tall, with wide shoulders and slim hips. Her face had been covered with a mask. All most people in the bookshop had registered was the gun in her hand.

“I should have shot you when I had the chance,” she said. “But how was I supposed to know who you were?” She sounded genuinely aggrieved. She sounded like Kaylan.