Riot Act (17 page)

We left trails of footprints as we moved into the main gym area. I noticed that the weight I’d chucked at the boys had splintered part of the wood panelling that Attila had used to line the lower half of the brick walls. I swore under my breath.

Sean bent and picked up the extinguisher. “This your idea?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It seemed like a good one at the time. No doubt I’ll have to get the damn thing refilled.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sean said, and something in his voice made me turn. He was staring at the cylinder in his hands. When I looked, I saw a big raw gouge out of the side, slicing through the paint like skin to the metal underneath. “You were lucky, Charlie,” he said, voice sober. “The round glanced off it rather than penetrated the steel. If this thing had gone up it would have taken your arms off.”

No, I thought, I had it on my shoulder at the time. It would have blown my damned head off instead . . .

I swallowed and didn’t comment on that one. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could say. But my legs suddenly felt a lot less steady than they had done, before Sean had pointed it out.

I glanced round, pulling a face, distracting myself with the practical. “I suppose I’d better call the police,” I said wearily.

“No.”

The denial was too instant, too emphatic. It stilled me, brought my head up. Sean put the extinguisher down, moved in. I had to fight the temptation not to back away from him. I remembered what had happened the last time I’d let him get too close, even after four years. God, he even smelt the same.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me why the hell I shouldn’t?” I inquired, my voice low with resentment.

I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. Liquid black eyes, deep enough to drown in. “He may be your kid brother, but he and his mate have just tried to kill me. That’s not something you can just sweet-talk your way out of, you know.”

He sighed, hunching his shoulders. “I realise that, Charlie, but I’d like some time to find out why.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that,” I said. “Does Roger think
I
got him beaten up, is that it?” The last time I’d spoken with Nasir in the back garden he’d certainly seemed to think I was responsible, however indirectly.

Sean shook his head. “He didn’t say so, but he was in a pretty bad way when we got him home.” His face closed in for a moment, cold and hard at the memory. “He says he doesn’t remember much, and he certainly isn’t aware that you tried to help him.”

“If I’d known who he was at the time,” I said bitterly, “I might not have done.”

Sean cast me a searching gaze. “Why? Because he hurt one of your neighbours?” he asked, still grim. “Or because he’s my brother?”

“Well now,” I said softly, “there’s a loaded question.”

I tired of the stare-out contest first, breaking away to do another sweep of the gym. “Besides, it’s out of my hands whether the police are involved or not. I’ll have to call Attila about this, and then it’ll be up to him.”

To my surprise, Sean broke into a smile. “This place belongs to Attila, does it?” he said. “Me and him go way back. I think I can persuade him to give me a few days to try and straighten things out.”

I shrugged and turned away. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Sean was acting on his own motives, without any regard for me. Running true to form.

I moved to the phone on the counter and dialled Attila’s home number. He agreed to come at once when I gave him the outlines of what had happened, then he asked to speak to Sean. I held the receiver out to him without speaking, and left them to their man-to-man chat while I went to shower and change out of my dirty clothes.

When I came back, in my bike leather jeans and the fresh shirt I always kept in my locker, Sean had finished the call, and was sitting on one of the cleaner benches, surveying the mess. “Attila’s on his way over to secure the place,” he told me. “He says no police.”

“There’s a surprise,” I said dryly, plonking my helmet and jacket down on the counter.

Sean paused for a moment. “I assume you got my message the other night, Charlie,” he said carefully. “I meant what I said. We’ve unfinished business you and I.”

“Oh, I think things are well finished between us, don’t you, Sean?” I said, keeping my voice brisk. “There’s nothing more to be said or done. It was a mistake. A big mistake that cost me dear, and it’s not one I intend making again.”

Sean regarded me sadly, his head on one side, suddenly looking older.

“I thought I knew you, Charlie,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t even close, was I?”

“Yeah, well, people change,” I bit back, fatigued. I was in no mood for some clever verbal fencing.

“I never would have believed you’d change so far, or so fast,” he said. “What happened to make you so bitter?”

I stared. How could he ask that when he knew damn well what had gone on? What game was he playing now? He may not have started events rolling, but he’d sure as hell given them a push on their way down hill. Old resentment surfaced unexpectedly.

“What happened?” I struggled to keep my voice level. “I got thrown out of training, Returned To Unit in disgrace, and muscled out of my career. What the hell do you think happened?”

“And you think I’m to blame for you being RTU’d?” My God, he even sounded affronted. “You think that justifies you crying rape?”

Crying rape?
Did he really think none of it happened? That I’d made the whole thing up? Suddenly I was tired of all this side-stepping, this careful dodging round the point without ever getting right down to it.

“Get out, Sean,” I said, quiet and flat, not meeting his eyes.

He stood up, moved to come past me, then changed his mind, whirling fast, angry, and catching hold of my upper arms. “Talk to me, Charlie,” he demanded. “I need answers from you and I can’t deal with your silence.”

Instinctively, I brought my forearms up to break his grip. His hands slid off my shoulders, but his fingers stayed wrapped in my shirt, stretching it back away from my throat.

He stiffened abruptly, and I knew he’d seen the scar. That close he’d have to have been blind not to have noticed something that looked like an Ordnance Survey map of a railway line running halfway round the side of my neck.

“Christ. Jesus,” he whispered. “What happened to you?” He reached out tentatively to touch it, as though it might have been a trick of the light.

I should have told him then that the scar was much more recent. That it had nothing to do with my getting thrown out of the army, but the fake sincerity in his voice choked my words.

I jerked back, shrugging his hands away, and pulled the shirt collar back into place. All the while I was blinking back the tears that were rising unbidden and unwelcome to my eyes. “What the hell does it matter to you?” I growled. “Just go.”

For a long time Sean just stood there, hands clenched tight by his sides. Then he turned on his heel, and walked out.

Physical pain would have been a relief at that point. The urge to smack my fist into something solid and unyielding, and to keep doing it, was uppermost in my mind. I barely resisted the temptation.

***

I admit I slept in the next morning. It wasn’t until Friday started howling his protest downstairs in the living room that I finally hauled myself out of bed.

Feeling muzzy, I went down and let him out into the back garden, then headed for the shower. By the time he’d finished sniffing at tree trunks and doing whatever else it is that dogs do in gardens, I was dressed and much closer to being human again.

Friday seemed overjoyed when I got his lead out. It had been so late when I’d got back the night before, taking him out for a walk had been the last thing on my mind. Besides, with both Nasir and Roger still roaming around, I’d been more than a little nervous about wandering round at night in the open.

So, this morning I knew I owed Friday more than a quick turn around the block. I pulled on my jacket and gloves, and unlocked the front door, patting my pockets to check I’d got my keys. The dog pranced out onto the path almost skipping with delight. He did his best to sabotage my efforts to secure the door behind me, yanking the lead in my hands.

I took him the long way, crossing the wasteground and letting him nose around in the piles of rubble and fallen bricks that surrounded the derelict terrace of houses between the Lavender and Copthorne estates. But, as the dog dragged me along the home stretch of Kirby Street, I found that we hadn’t been away nearly long enough.

There was a man walking down the short drive towards the police cruiser that was parked by the kerb. At first, I thought he must have been knocking at Pauline’s door, but as I drew closer I realised he’d been calling on Mrs Gadatra instead. The man was in late middle-age, and his dark hair was longer than I recalled, worn brushed back from his face.

My feet slowed, despite Friday’s insistent pulling. Was he here because of the gunfight at the gym last night? How had he pieced that one together so fast? For a moment I debated on making a tactical withdrawal before he noticed me.

I should have known I wouldn’t be that lucky.

As if I’d spoken out loud, the man turned and then stilled, waiting for me to close the gap between us. Reluctantly, I complied.

I’d run in to Superintendent MacMillan before, and not in the happiest of circumstances. Only the winter before, I’d helped him stop a killer, but had damned near become another victim in the process. He hadn’t liked my methods much, and the whole affair hadn’t exactly endeared me to the man.

Which brought me round to a sudden realisation. MacMillan was too high-powered to be running round investigating unconfirmed reports of gunfire. He was strictly a murder and mayhem kind of bloke. So what was he doing outside my door on a Saturday morning?

“Charlie.” He greeted me now in that familiar clipped tone. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you living here.”

“Superintendent.” I nodded shortly in turn. “It’s temporary. I’m house-sitting for a friend.”

“I see,” MacMillan said. He glanced at Friday, then held out his hand for the dog to sniff. To my great disappointment the Ridgeback didn’t sink his teeth into the proffered flesh up to the gum line. Instead, while the Superintendent rubbed him absently behind his ears, he stood quite happily with a soppy look of animal bliss on his face. I threw him a reproachful glance. Traitor.

“I suppose you noticed us calling on your neighbour,” the policeman went on casually. “I’d like to have a word with you about her son, if you have a moment?”

“Of course,” I said. “You’d better come in.” I unlocked the front door with my mind clicking over furiously. MacMillan was as canny as they came, and he had a sixth sense for lies. If I could avoid having to tell him any, then so much the better.
I know nothing,
I reminded myself.
Let him tell you everything.

I nearly blew it almost as soon as we’d sat down on Pauline’s flowery cotton loose covers. “So, what’s Nasir been up to?” I asked brightly.

“Why should you think he’s been up to anything?” MacMillan asked with a slight frown. “I know the lad had a record of juvenile delinquency, but from what I understand, he’s been out of trouble for the last couple of years.”

“Oh,” I faltered, cursing inwardly. “I just assumed that you weren’t making a social call, and—”

“The boy’s dead,” MacMillan told me bluntly, never taking his eyes off my face while he said it. Unless you play poker professionally, it’s really hard to keep that sort of news from leaving its mark. I could feel my eyebrows lifting as my jaw fell.

“Dead?” I repeated stupidly. “Dead – how?”
Let it be an accident
, I prayed.
Car crash, heart attack, fell in front of a train – anything would do except . . .

“I’m afraid Nasir received a single gunshot wound to the chest some time late yesterday evening,” MacMillan informed me in his best official tone. “It wasn’t instantly fatal, but it would appear that he died as a result of it shortly afterwards, and I now find myself in the middle of a murder inquiry.”

For a few moments I sat without speaking. Nasir was dead. I remembered that shot I’d heard while I was tackling Roger. Sean had told me Nasir had managed to clear the gun and so he’d given up the pursuit.

But what if Sean
had
caught up with Nas? When it came to hand-to-hand Sean was outstanding. Brutally effective. He wouldn’t have hesitated for a second before taking down an armed opponent. Particularly an unskilled teenager, running scared, and with a jammed weapon.

What if he’d taken control of the gun and shot Nasir, leaving him dying before calmly returning to the gym to wait for me. He was certainly cold-blooded enough.

But why? It was a damned stupid way to try and protect his brother, if that was his motive. None of it made any sense.

I raised my head and found the Superintendent still watching me closely with the calm deliberation that made his company so uncomfortable. On the mantelpiece Pauline’s dark wood-cased clock ticked loudly into the silence. All of a sudden my mouth was dry, and I had to swallow before I could speak.