‘I’ll call the vet,’ she said.‘He’ll have to look at them. Just to be sure.
They could have been given poison or anything.’
‘You’re lucky they didn’t kill them,’ Mel offered.
They did it to show how close they can get if they want to,’ Doyle said. ‘How far’s the stable from the house? Two hundred yards? Less? This was a warning.’
Helen Duncan glared at Doyle then stalked out of the stable and headed back towards the house.
Mel hesitated a moment then hurried after her.
Doyle remained in the stable, walking slowly back and forth between the stalls, peering intermittently at the bay. Or, more specifically at the bloodied stumps of torn flesh where its ears used to be.
He waited a moment longer then left the stable and walked slowly around the red-brick house. Beyond, the fields and hills stretched away into the distance. He could also see the maze towards the bottom of the long garden. As he looked, his eyes narrowed.
‘Mel,’ he said into his microphone.
There was a crackle of static. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice clear in his earpiece.
‘I’m going to walk around the grounds again.There’s something I want to check out.’
He lit up a cigarette and began to stroll towards the maze.
BELFAST:
Declan Leary slid down in the driver’s seat and turned up the heater, blowing more warm air into the car. The clock on the dashboard showed 5.09 a.m.
The sky was grey and smeared with banks of grubby clouds that promised more of the drizzle that had been falling since dawn first hauled itself reluctantly into the sky.
Leary watched as George Mcswain stopped the milk float, got out and took two bottles from the back of the vehicle. Mcswain hurried up the short path to the front step of the house and left the bottles then returned. He wrote something on a notepad then clambered back into the float and drove on, the engine making its familiar droning sound.
Glass clinked against glass as the float moved over several speed bumps.
Mcswain stopped the vehicle again and placed the required number of pints at the doors of each house.
Leary reached towards the passenger seat and picked up a bottle of his own. It was Lucozade. He
swigged and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
One or two people were on the streets. On their way to work at this ungodly
hour of the morning, Leary imagined. But, for the most part, Mcswain was alone as he manoeuvred along the narrow streets of the Woodvale area of the city.
Leary had been tracking him for the last two days. It had been easier than he’d thought. Once he’d found his man (courtesy of www.peoplesearch.com) it had been a small matter to keep a watch on him.
Planning. Waiting for the moment.
Leary was helped in this by the fact that Mcswain was so regimented in his movements. Driven, it seemed, by routine.
He began his milk round every morning at 4.15. It took him approximately three hours. When it was finished he would return to the depot, complete his paperwork and return home to the house he shared with his wife and two children. A boy of twelve and a girl of thirteen. He usually stayed in until six in the evening when he would go out for a drink. He returned around ten.
Like fucking clockwork.
If Mcswain knew he was being watched then he’d certainly given no indication of it.
Leary finished off his Lucozade and flipped open the glove compartment of his car. The Scorpion CZ65, a twenty-round clip already jammed into it, lay there until he needed it.
He had decided that it would be best to take the Proddie bastard out during his milk round. Early in the
morning when the streets were at their most desolate.
On more than one occasion he had thought about completing the job this very morning but had finally decided against it. He could wait one more day.
Leary slipped the car into gear and, after allowing the milk float a minute’s start, he followed, overtook it, then parked up once more. Just watching.
And waiting.
CHESHAM, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, ENGLAND:
The sunset stained the sky crimson. It looked as if the clouds had been soaked in blood.
Doyle glanced across at the large garage as he made his way back to the house.
Joe Hendry was reversing the Mercedes 300SL through the doorway. Inside, Doyle could also see two other vehicles belonging to the Duncans. All would be checked before they were used the following day. Brake cables would be inspected, tyres would be looked at for faults and, as ever, the entire chassis and interior would be scrutinised for anything even vaguely resembling an explosive device. That was Hendry’s job. The cars and everything to do with them were his province.
He had brought William Duncan home safely some two hours ago and listened whiJe Helen Duncan related the news about the mutilated horse. Duncan himself had nodded as his wife had spoken then hugged her tightly.
Doyle had looked on impassively then decided on one more tour of the grounds before darkness threw its impenetrable blanket over the land.
As he had done earlier in the day, he had wandered as far as the maze. Except this time he had not ventured inside the privet-lined walkways. The hedges were fully eight feet high, immaculately trimmed and decorated with topiary animals that seemed to look down mockingly upon those who were foolish enough to enter their domain.The paths that turned left and right were gravel and Doyle had managed to find his way into the centre of the puzzle earlier that day, dropping pieces of cigarette packet to guide him out.
At its heart the maze boasted a delightful ornate centrepiece comprising two stone benches and sculptures of lions and swans. Like their topiary counterparts, these sentinels seemed to gaze upon newcomers with disdainful eyes. Doyle had sat and smoked a cigarette before making his way out again.
Hendry closed and locked the garage and wandered over to join Doyle. ‘Maybe whoever’s doing this will leave it at the horses,’ the driver offered.
‘Yeah, right,’ Doyle said dismissively. ‘No, they’re not going to be happy until Duncan’s six foot under. And his missis too.’
The two men made their way inside.
Doyle secured the front door.
Mel emerged from the sitting room and smiled at her colleagues.
‘Are they okay?’ Hendry wanted to know.
They’re just talking,’ Mel explained. ‘I left them to it.’
The grounds are clear, as far as I can tell,’ Doyle told her.
Mel looked at her watch. ‘One of us ought to keep an eye on the monitors,’ she said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Hendry offered.
‘No, you get something to eat, Joe. I’ll watch,’ said Doyle.
‘Want some company?’ Mel asked.
Doyle nodded.
The bank of monitors flickered and Doyle rubbed his eyes, his gaze moving slowly from one screen to the next. Every now and then he would press a button and alter the angle of a specific camera.
Mel reached over and turned on some of the security lights around the house.
Others were triggered by motion sensors and would be activated if anything passed before them.
Doyle yawned and sipped his coffee, wincing when he realised it was cold.
‘Boring, isn’t it?’ Mel said. ‘All this sitting around.’
‘It beats the shit out of sitting in a car,’ he replied, patting the chair he sat on.
‘Did you do a lot of that when you were in the CTU?’
‘My share.’
‘Do you still miss it?’
He nodded. ‘It was all I knew,’ he told her. ‘It was what I was best at.’
‘You seem to have taken to this kind of work very well.’
‘Needs must and all that crap.’
There was a long silence between them, finally broken by Mel. ‘What do you think of Mrs Duncan?’ she asked smiling.