‘She was unreliable. We’re trying to protect you. Or have you forgotten?’
‘She trusted me,’ Sam said. ‘She came and rescued me.’
‘You used her, Sam. Let’s not get all sentimental. Sooner or later she would have realised her folly and she would have betrayed you. She would have betrayed Bowman too.’
Elgar closed his eyes momentarily. In an ideal world, he would have sided with Sam. But Bridget’s brutal logic was compelling. After all, this was the world they had all chosen to live in. He hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger, but that didn’t make him innocent. He had known that it was bound to happen. If he had really wanted to, he could have tried to stop it.
* * *
‘Left here.’
Bridget had paused briefly at a crossroads. There was a large piece of stone set on a grass-covered mound. Elgar noticed it and marked it in his head. Might be useful if Bowman needed directions.
Elgar was directing them courtesy of the tablet he had on his lap. The tracker was embedded in a piece of jewellery which the unfortunate Sinead had given to the little girl. And it was leading them unerringly to their destination. ‘Couple of miles at most,’ he said, trying to put Sinead out of his mind.
Two miles later they were in and almost immediately through the village, the only building of interest being a pub.
‘That’s the car,’ Sam said. They were the first words he had spoken for some time.
‘Are you sure?’
Bridget stopped the car and got out. Sam followed her over to the car and they peered in. ‘She’s changed the plates,’ he said, ‘but that’s definitely the car.’
Bridget walked back and opened the door of their car. Elgar sat squinting at the tiny screen. ‘So where are they?’ she said.
‘Out there somewhere.’ He flicked a finger towards the moors beyond the end of the road.
‘Right,’ Bridget said. ‘Let’s go and get it done.’ She walked to the boot and removed a small carry-bag which she slung over her shoulder. ‘Come on, Arthur. We’re going for a walk.’
Arthur was already out of the car. He had walked over to the house and was touching the blue front door as if he was a ghost hunter trying to locate a presence.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Sam said, pulling on a jacket. ‘Just so as I know.’
Bridget looked into his face. ‘You stay here, Samuel. That’s the plan.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Orders,’ Bridget said. ‘The boss should be here very soon. You can bring him up to date. Make him a cup of tea.’
Elgar watched Sam and wondered if he was going to dig in his heels and if so how they were going to deal with it. It was a small place, but people lived here. You kill someone in a place like this and people see and remember. It was much easier operating in a large anonymous city.
‘If you harm even a single hair on the kid’s head,’ Sam was saying, ‘I’ll kill you.’
For a few moments the two of them became animals facing off. Bridget was the attack dog and Sam the stag. Elgar watched without a flicker of an eyelid. His eyes were trained on Sam, poised to intervene if he reacted. He knew Sam only by reputation and from reading the files, but that didn’t cover a situation like this. He lifted his hand, ready to pull his gun if he needed to.
Bridget gave the shortest of laughs. ‘Jesus, Sam, I’m a Catholic. What do you take me for?’
Sam didn’t answer. He chewed on his lower lip for several more moments before giving a sudden shrug. He stuck his hands into his pockets. ‘OK.’
‘We shouldn’t be too long. Anyway, you hold the fort here.’ Bridget gestured towards Arthur, who had started plodding off up the track which led into the hills. ‘I reckon the old man knows the cottage, and it looks like he knows the way to the quarry too. We’ll see you later.’
She headed off after Arthur. Elgar followed. He felt exposed. He had a horror of being shot in the back and he didn’t feel comfortable until they were some distance from Sam. They had frisked him earlier, after Sinead’s death. They had apologised as they did it, because he was meant to be on the same side as them, but neither of them had wanted to take any chances. One thing Elgar and Bridget were agreed on was that you never know what people are capable of until they have done it. And then it’s too late.
* * *
Despite her best efforts to keep up with Beth, Maggie trailed in a distant second in their race to the quarry. She arrived panting like an overweight labrador. Beth was sitting cool and unconcerned against the circular stone archway of the old lime kiln. She was chewing on an apple while she surveyed the contents of her rucksack, which she had laid out on a slab of stone in front of her.
From what Maggie’s father had told her, the quarry had fallen out of use during the Second World War. Too far away from any railway lines or proper roads, it had never been resurrected, despite the influx of returning soldiers who needed employment. Instead, Mother Nature had reclaimed the area for herself. The single row of miners’ cottages had lost their long slate roof. The working innards of the kilns and other industrial buildings had been ripped out during the war and transported away, the metal being recycled into munitions for the military. For some reason, a single gantry had been left standing.