herself and started to eat. She’d swallowed two spoonfuls before she said anything.
‘I want to go.’
Max started to protest.
‘A few days, Max,’ I broke in, ‘that’s all. Look, I need help this time. Who else can I turn to?’
‘I can think of a dozen people better qualified than Bel, and always keen to make money.’
‘Well, thanks very much,’ she said. ‘Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me.’
‘I just don’t want you — ’
She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I know, I know. But Michael needs help. Are we supposed to turn our backs? Pretend we’ve never known him? Who else do we know?’
It hit me then for the first time. They lived out here in the wilds through necessity not choice. You couldn’t run a gun shop like Max’s in the middle of a town. But out here they were also lonely, cut off from the world. There were twice-weekly runs into the village or the nearest large town, but those hardly constituted a social life. It wasn’t Max, it was Bel. She was twenty-two. She’d sacrificed a lot to move out here. I saw why Max was scared: he wasn’t scared she’d get hurt, he was scared she’d get to like it. He was scared she’d leave for good.
‘A few days, Max,’ I repeated. ‘Then I’ll bring Bel back.’
He didn’t say anything, just blinked his watery eyes and looked down at the table where his hands lay, nicked and scarred from metal-shop accidents. Bel touched his shoulder.
‘I’ll go pack a few things.’ She gave me another smile and ran from the room. Only now did I wonder why she was so keen to go with me.
We were awkward after she’d gone. I rinsed out the mugs at the sink, and heard Max’s chair scrape on the floor as he stood up. He came to the draining board and picked up the revolver.
‘Do you need anything?’ he asked.
‘Maybe a pistol.’
‘I think I’ve got something better than a pistol. Not cheap though.’
‘Money’s no object this time, Max.’
‘Mark ... Sorry, I mean Michael. Funny, I’d just got used to calling you Mark.’
‘I’ll be another name soon enough.’
‘Michael, I know you’ll take care of her. But I wouldn’t like ... I mean, I don’t want ...’
‘This is strictly business, Max. Separate rooms, I promise. And besides, Bel can look after herself. She’s had a good teacher.’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ he said with a smile, putting down the Magnum and reaching for a dishtowel.
7
‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’
It was first thing Monday morning and Hoffer wasn’t in the mood. The ambulance was parked in a special unloading bay directly outside Casualty, and the ambulanceman was in the back, tidying and checking.
Hoffer stood outside, one hand resting on the vehicle’s back door. He had a sudden image of himself slamming the ambulanceman’s head repeatedly against it.
‘I’ve told you, I’m a private investigator.’
‘Only I told the police everything I know, and then the bleeding newspapers start hassling me.’
‘Look, Mr Hughes, I’ve shown you my ID.’
‘Yeah, anyone can fake an identity card.’
This was true, but Hoffer wasn’t in a mood for discussion. He had a head like a St Patrick’s Day parade in Boston. Plus his ears still weren’t back to normal. Every time he breathed in through his nose, it was like he was going to suck his eardrums into his throat.
‘Talk to me and I’ll go away,’ he said. That usually worked. Hughes turned and studied him.
‘You don’t look like a reporter.’
Hoffer nodded at this wisdom.
‘You look like a cardiac arrest waiting to happen.’
Hoffer stopped nodding and started a serious scowl.
‘All right, sorry about that. So, what do you want me to tell you?’
‘I’ve seen the transcript of your police interview, Mr Hughes. Basically, I’d just like to ask a few follow-up questions, maybe rephrase a couple of questions you’ve already been asked.’
‘Well, hurry up, I’m on duty.’
Hoffer refrained from
‘I want to go.’
Max started to protest.
‘A few days, Max,’ I broke in, ‘that’s all. Look, I need help this time. Who else can I turn to?’
‘I can think of a dozen people better qualified than Bel, and always keen to make money.’
‘Well, thanks very much,’ she said. ‘Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me.’
‘I just don’t want you — ’
She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I know, I know. But Michael needs help. Are we supposed to turn our backs? Pretend we’ve never known him? Who else do we know?’
It hit me then for the first time. They lived out here in the wilds through necessity not choice. You couldn’t run a gun shop like Max’s in the middle of a town. But out here they were also lonely, cut off from the world. There were twice-weekly runs into the village or the nearest large town, but those hardly constituted a social life. It wasn’t Max, it was Bel. She was twenty-two. She’d sacrificed a lot to move out here. I saw why Max was scared: he wasn’t scared she’d get hurt, he was scared she’d get to like it. He was scared she’d leave for good.
‘A few days, Max,’ I repeated. ‘Then I’ll bring Bel back.’
He didn’t say anything, just blinked his watery eyes and looked down at the table where his hands lay, nicked and scarred from metal-shop accidents. Bel touched his shoulder.
‘I’ll go pack a few things.’ She gave me another smile and ran from the room. Only now did I wonder why she was so keen to go with me.
We were awkward after she’d gone. I rinsed out the mugs at the sink, and heard Max’s chair scrape on the floor as he stood up. He came to the draining board and picked up the revolver.
‘Do you need anything?’ he asked.
‘Maybe a pistol.’
‘I think I’ve got something better than a pistol. Not cheap though.’
‘Money’s no object this time, Max.’
‘Mark ... Sorry, I mean Michael. Funny, I’d just got used to calling you Mark.’
‘I’ll be another name soon enough.’
‘Michael, I know you’ll take care of her. But I wouldn’t like ... I mean, I don’t want ...’
‘This is strictly business, Max. Separate rooms, I promise. And besides, Bel can look after herself. She’s had a good teacher.’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ he said with a smile, putting down the Magnum and reaching for a dishtowel.
7
‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’
It was first thing Monday morning and Hoffer wasn’t in the mood. The ambulance was parked in a special unloading bay directly outside Casualty, and the ambulanceman was in the back, tidying and checking.
Hoffer stood outside, one hand resting on the vehicle’s back door. He had a sudden image of himself slamming the ambulanceman’s head repeatedly against it.
‘I’ve told you, I’m a private investigator.’
‘Only I told the police everything I know, and then the bleeding newspapers start hassling me.’
‘Look, Mr Hughes, I’ve shown you my ID.’
‘Yeah, anyone can fake an identity card.’
This was true, but Hoffer wasn’t in a mood for discussion. He had a head like a St Patrick’s Day parade in Boston. Plus his ears still weren’t back to normal. Every time he breathed in through his nose, it was like he was going to suck his eardrums into his throat.
‘Talk to me and I’ll go away,’ he said. That usually worked. Hughes turned and studied him.
‘You don’t look like a reporter.’
Hoffer nodded at this wisdom.
‘You look like a cardiac arrest waiting to happen.’
Hoffer stopped nodding and started a serious scowl.
‘All right, sorry about that. So, what do you want me to tell you?’
‘I’ve seen the transcript of your police interview, Mr Hughes. Basically, I’d just like to ask a few follow-up questions, maybe rephrase a couple of questions you’ve already been asked.’
‘Well, hurry up, I’m on duty.’
Hoffer refrained from
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