‘I’m not, you know, a professional. That’s just my opinion.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re the one from Pysch Eval, come to think of it. What do you reckon?’
‘Not sure. I might be.’
‘You’re certainly a lot more talkative lately.’
‘That’s not necessarily an indicator.’
‘Suppose not.’ She felt a bit awkward holding a gun during this conversation. He might think she felt the need to defend herself.
It fitted unhappily into her jacket pocket. She was going to need a bag or something.
‘You haven’t asked where I think they’ll show up.’
‘Where do you think they’ll show up?’
‘Abbotsfield,’ Coe said.
‘… Seriously?’
‘There’s a memorial service there today. Same time as the Abbey. There’ll be a security presence, I expect, but nothing like London’s. And there’ll be media.’
‘Hit it
He said, ‘I’m not sure anyone’s done that before.’
‘Christ on a bike!’
‘Probably a tri—’
‘You need to tell someone!’
‘Nobody’s listening to me.’ He rubbed his nose, then said, ‘On account of what happened in Slough.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘And I might be wrong.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘So what I thought I’d do is head that way myself.’
‘… Seriously?’
‘It’s about three hours by car. Bit more than.’
He tossed keys in the air and caught them. Ho’s, she guessed.
‘And what if you’re right? What if they’re up there?’
‘You’ve got a gun now, haven’t you?’
She should stick to plan A, she thought. Everyone else was doing plan A. She didn’t want to be doing plan B if everyone else was having fun.
‘Or you could head for the Abbey. Join the crowds.’ He tossed the keys again. ‘Your choice.’
‘Why do you want me with you?’
‘Sidekick?’
He didn’t need a sidekick, she thought. He needed a dick whisperer. But same difference.
What would Marcus do? Abbey or Abbotsfield? Everyone was at the Abbey. Which meant, if there was glory going round, the shares would be measly, and no one would notice.
‘You coming, then?’
Marcus, she thought, would make sure all exits were covered.
‘… Yeah, all right.’
And now they were there.
They’d spent three and a half hours in the car. Not a lot of conversation involved. They’d swapped at the two-hour mark, and Shirley had driven the second leg, satnav chirping occasionally. The gun was still an awkward bulge in her pocket. In another pocket was the wrap of coke. It occurred to her that if they were stopped and searched, that combination wouldn’t make for much of a character reference. So it would be best, she decided, if they weren’t stopped and searched. Some problems were more easily solved than others.
The blood on Coe’s chin had dried, but he hadn’t wiped it away. Her ear felt unpleasantly warm, but the Sellotape ensured no dripping.
Every hour on the hour, they checked the news: nothing much. Dennis Gimball was still making headlines, his last-gasp bid for attention. And reports filtered in from round Westminster Abbey, where the streets were thronged with mourners.
‘This better not be a waste of time, dipshit,’ Shirley said, but not out loud. Not because Coe might be a psychopath, but in case he wasn’t. If he did have feelings, his future looked grim enough without Shirley hurting them.
In Derbyshire, they’d entered a different world. Hills rose all around, and trees shaded the roads. Hedgerows sprang up, sometimes giving way to ditches, and there were sheep and cows in all directions.
Last time she’d been in the country, she’d seen a peacock. It was one of the few living things she encountered there that probably hadn’t been a Russian spy.
Where the road took a dip, a signpost appeared: ABBOTSFIELD. ‘You have reached your destination,’ the satnav chipped in. Nice to have a consensus.
‘Hey,’ she said. She didn’t know what to call him: Coe? J. K.? You’d think that would have been settled one way or the other during the previous year. Whichever he preferred, he was asleep right now, or as good as. Shirley punched his shoulder: lightly, but not so lightly he could pretend to sleep through it, and he opened his eyes. ‘We’re here.’
Coe removed his earbuds and looked around.
There were police officers, quite a few of them; not armed, it didn’t appear, but flagging down traffic. Coe flashed his Service card, which earned him a pair of raised eyebrows. Cars were parked along one side of the main street, and on the other side two news crews were shooting to-camera pieces. More cars were parked along the three side streets, each of which puttered into nothingness after a hundred yards or so. The main street, meanwhile, looped around the church, squeezing between what Shirley wanted to call its back garden, though was full of headstones, and a high wall which probably guarded a manor house or something. The country had its own rules, and she wasn’t sure she understood them. But whatever they were, they originated behind that wall, or one like it.
