Read Online CAUSE & EFFECT by DEREK THOMPSON - Free Book Online Page B

pair of headlights swallowed the street by degrees. He slipped down in his seat, slowly and casually, waiting until the stream of light had passed. Sure enough it was a police car, the rear reflective chevrons shrinking into the distance. He was beginning to join the dots and he didn’t like the emerging picture. He trawled through his phone and brought up the image of the Ingersoll key from the gents at Victoria Station.
    Time ticked down so he turned the ignition, startled by how loud the engine sounded in the darkness. He flicked the wipers sporadically, clearing the view for trespassers.
    Karl cut it fine. He walked quickly, carrying a long case. Thomas craned the passenger door open as he approached and Karl hefted the case behind him with some difficulty.
    “Drive.” Karl stared ahead. “Take a left up here and then the second right.” He was back to map-reading again.
    Thomas’s brain was already slotting pieces together. The key, the size of the case and the last minute job offer all pointed in one direction. He needed to be sure though.
    “Why don’t we go back to my flat?”
    “Good idea, I’m bushed.” Karl was only half-listening.
    Once he’d crossed back over the Thames there was no further need for directions so he tried to fill the void. “How long did you and Ken serve together?”
    “Two years, give or take. Look, can we change the subject?”
    * * *
    Walthamstow was its pretty self, even in the early hours. Vagrants slumped together at Bell Corner, waiting for something to happen. Lloyd Park stood silent, the trees swaying gently in the wind and rain. He thought it could make an interesting composition, lit from one side and with a fog filter. But he wasn’t that type of photographer.
    “Listen, Thomas, I appreciate your help. I know we’ve gone a little off-piste.”
    He didn’t answer. All he could think about was getting the cargo inside.
    Karl laid the case down on the coffee table and finally took his gloves off. “A cup of sweet tea before bedtime would be nice.”
    Thomas played mother, leaving the kitchen door ajar. When he returned with two mugs of the brown stuff, Karl was dozing on the sofa. He gave him a shove.
    “Huh? Thanks pal. I must have dropped off. Shall we give the lock a try?”
    Thomas sat beside him for the big reveal.
    Karl flicked the catches and lifted the lid. For a moment they both stared silently at the weapon. Thomas sank back into the sofa.
    “Did you know . . ?”
    “You think I’d willingly bring this into your home? Say the word and I’ll take it away tonight.”
    “It’s late.” His eyes stayed anchored on the rifle. “It’s leaving here tomorrow anyway.”
    Karl announced he was off to the loo, leaving Thomas with a dilemma. He wanted to photograph the case and the gun, and get a look at Karl’s key again. Sure, he could ask him, but why show his hand so soon? He listened to the revolving wheels of circular thoughts and paranoia. Something else the counsellor had picked up on — his inability to trust people.
    Decision time. He went to a drawer and took out a pill from a plastic container. “Sorry, Karl,” he whispered, stirring it into Karl’s tea.
    By the time he brought out a spare duvet and blankets for the sofa sleepover, Karl was already groggy. Thomas stared at the keys and change piled up on the table; he figured he’d give Karl an hour to be on the safe side.
    At four-thirty he couldn’t stand it any longer. All roads led to the same nightmare conclusion. Sir Peter Carroll had set him up — the fucker — and Karl was the recovery man. He got up, listening hard for Karl’s heavy snoring.
    The streetlight cast a silvery glow in the front room. Nothing looked real, which about summed up the situation. He checked the empty mug first then took the Ingersoll key into the kitchen to photograph it. He went back for the case, amused at the sight of himself in surgical gloves. If Karl woke up right now this could look very suss