we
thought he would. I'll concede I didn't expect him to walk
out, but I've had psychometric reports done by three of
our top analysts. He'll come round. He wants to find Ahmed
just as much as we do; he just doesn't know it yet. If I'm
wrong, you can bring in your people. You'll have my full
support. But I'm not wrong, Don. You'll see.'
Priestley looked unconvinced. 'I sure hope so, Lowther,'
he said with a sigh. 'I sure hope so.'
*
The afternoon passed in a blur of booze and self-loathing.
Will swallowed pint after pint, but the more he drank, the
more the images from the morning flashed before his eyes.
His wife and daughter, cold, dead. Faisal Ahmed, his unfeeling
eyes staring confidently out. Part of Will wanted to hunt
the guy down, to look him in the face, then put a bullet
in his head. But another part of him - the greater part -
wanted to run away back to Hereford. Back to the graveyard,
where he could weep and be alone with his grief.
The pub started to fill up. He was on his fifth pint - or
was it his sixth? - when he noticed the woman who had
taken the bar stool next to him. She wore a smart grey
business suit, had a drink in front of her and was toying
nervously with a cigarette.
'Bloody smoking ban,' she smiled at him.
Will grunted and took another sip from his pint.
'Just been stood-up,' she said, before adding, rather quickly,
'Not by a boyfriend. I was meant to be interviewing
someone. I'm a journalist.'
'Right,' Will replied, a bit ungraciously.
She smiled at him again. A pretty smile. 'I'm Catherine,
by the way,' she blurted out. 'Kate. My friends call me Kate.'
Her hair, Will noticed, was cut into an attractive brown bob
and it flickered appealingly over her cheek as she put her
head to one side. Nice, but his instinct was to keep himself
to himself. It was almost inbuilt in him to be immediately
suspicious of anyone talking to him without a reason.
'Look,' he said, 'I don't want to sound rude, but I've had
a bit of a weird day and I don't really feel like shooting
the shit.' He gulped at his drink.
'Weird day?' Kate gabbled. 'Tell me about it. I woke up
this morning, and -' She faltered. 'It's no good,' she said.
'I've got to have a cigarette. Fancy one?'
Will looked at the packet of fags on the bar. He hadn't
smoked for years, but all of a sudden he found he had a
craving for it. 'Yeah, all right,' he murmured.
A small smile of satisfaction flickered over Kate's face and
it didn't go unnoticed by Will. She put her coat on and he
escorted her to the door.
They stood outside in silence, tobacco fumes billowing from
their nostrils in great clouds. Kate stamped her feet against
the cold and she finished her cigarette long before Will. They
were just turning to go inside when there was a shout. The
alcohol had made him woozy, and Will didn't catch what it
was, but he certainly understood its implication. Before he
knew it, three men in their twenties - brash young city types,
clearly drunk, still wearing their suits, but with their ties loosened
as much as their tongues - were jostling around Kate,
laughing lewdly. All the confidence Kate had shown in the
pub seemed to disappear, and she shrank away.
Will acted almost instinctively. He stepped in front of
Kate, putting his bulk between her and the three men.
'Leave her alone, lads,' he told them.
The men looked at her and laughed. 'Who are you?' one
of them goaded him. 'Her pimp?' The three of them creased
with laughter once more, just as the repressed anger Will
had been feeling all afternoon welled up in him.
The man who had insulted him didn't even see Will's fist
as it flew through the air with such speed and force. But
he knew when he had been hit. His cheek cracked and his
nose exploded in a shower of blood. He hit the ground
with a thump.
'Jesus, you fucking psycho!' one of his friends exclaimed
as they bent down to see if he was OK. 'What the hell did
you do that for?'
Will looked at the smear of blood on his fist, disgusted
with
thought he would. I'll concede I didn't expect him to walk
out, but I've had psychometric reports done by three of
our top analysts. He'll come round. He wants to find Ahmed
just as much as we do; he just doesn't know it yet. If I'm
wrong, you can bring in your people. You'll have my full
support. But I'm not wrong, Don. You'll see.'
Priestley looked unconvinced. 'I sure hope so, Lowther,'
he said with a sigh. 'I sure hope so.'
*
The afternoon passed in a blur of booze and self-loathing.
Will swallowed pint after pint, but the more he drank, the
more the images from the morning flashed before his eyes.
His wife and daughter, cold, dead. Faisal Ahmed, his unfeeling
eyes staring confidently out. Part of Will wanted to hunt
the guy down, to look him in the face, then put a bullet
in his head. But another part of him - the greater part -
wanted to run away back to Hereford. Back to the graveyard,
where he could weep and be alone with his grief.
The pub started to fill up. He was on his fifth pint - or
was it his sixth? - when he noticed the woman who had
taken the bar stool next to him. She wore a smart grey
business suit, had a drink in front of her and was toying
nervously with a cigarette.
'Bloody smoking ban,' she smiled at him.
Will grunted and took another sip from his pint.
'Just been stood-up,' she said, before adding, rather quickly,
'Not by a boyfriend. I was meant to be interviewing
someone. I'm a journalist.'
'Right,' Will replied, a bit ungraciously.
She smiled at him again. A pretty smile. 'I'm Catherine,
by the way,' she blurted out. 'Kate. My friends call me Kate.'
Her hair, Will noticed, was cut into an attractive brown bob
and it flickered appealingly over her cheek as she put her
head to one side. Nice, but his instinct was to keep himself
to himself. It was almost inbuilt in him to be immediately
suspicious of anyone talking to him without a reason.
'Look,' he said, 'I don't want to sound rude, but I've had
a bit of a weird day and I don't really feel like shooting
the shit.' He gulped at his drink.
'Weird day?' Kate gabbled. 'Tell me about it. I woke up
this morning, and -' She faltered. 'It's no good,' she said.
'I've got to have a cigarette. Fancy one?'
Will looked at the packet of fags on the bar. He hadn't
smoked for years, but all of a sudden he found he had a
craving for it. 'Yeah, all right,' he murmured.
A small smile of satisfaction flickered over Kate's face and
it didn't go unnoticed by Will. She put her coat on and he
escorted her to the door.
They stood outside in silence, tobacco fumes billowing from
their nostrils in great clouds. Kate stamped her feet against
the cold and she finished her cigarette long before Will. They
were just turning to go inside when there was a shout. The
alcohol had made him woozy, and Will didn't catch what it
was, but he certainly understood its implication. Before he
knew it, three men in their twenties - brash young city types,
clearly drunk, still wearing their suits, but with their ties loosened
as much as their tongues - were jostling around Kate,
laughing lewdly. All the confidence Kate had shown in the
pub seemed to disappear, and she shrank away.
Will acted almost instinctively. He stepped in front of
Kate, putting his bulk between her and the three men.
'Leave her alone, lads,' he told them.
The men looked at her and laughed. 'Who are you?' one
of them goaded him. 'Her pimp?' The three of them creased
with laughter once more, just as the repressed anger Will
had been feeling all afternoon welled up in him.
The man who had insulted him didn't even see Will's fist
as it flew through the air with such speed and force. But
he knew when he had been hit. His cheek cracked and his
nose exploded in a shower of blood. He hit the ground
with a thump.
'Jesus, you fucking psycho!' one of his friends exclaimed
as they bent down to see if he was OK. 'What the hell did
you do that for?'
Will looked at the smear of blood on his fist, disgusted
with
Similar Books
