“He could be back in London by now. Or at a police station.”
“Saying what? That some people he tried to blackmail didn’t like it? No, he’s a kid and he’ll do what kids do. He’ll hide under the bed and hope we’ve gone away.”
“Staging an accident,” Lars said, “is a lot more complicated after last night.”
“Which is why, for one day only, I’m Father Christmas.” Frank walked through the open barn door, into the snow flurry. His car was a smooth-angled sculpture already. He destroyed the effect by opening the boot and pulling out a black holdall, from which he produced two handguns: Sig Sauers. One he handed to Anton; the other to Lars.
“What about me?” said Cyril.
“You made the naughty list. State you’re in, I wouldn’t trust you with an electric toothbrush,” said Frank. “Stay here. And try not to get hit by any more wrenches.”
Anton did what he always did when handed a gun: he checked its load and its moving parts. Lars did the same. The sound made the barn a war zone, briefly.
“Spare magazines?”
“You’re in Wales, for god’s sake. Unless they’ve weaponised sheep, you’re already outgunning everyone you’ll meet.”
“Farmers have guns,” Lars pointed out.
“So avoid farmers.”
“What are your plans?” Anton said. “If you don’t mind us asking.”
“I’ll check out Caerwyss Hall,” said Frank. “Which is the other place we know the kid’s familiar with. That all right with you?”
Anton shrugged.
“Okay, let’s roll. If we’re going to go noisy, you’ll need to clear the decks afterward. So torch this place when we’re done. Capisce?”
“We’ll manage.”
“Try not to screw up this time.”
With Frank gone, they slipped into German.
“We have one car,” said Lars.
“I know. I’ve counted it.”
“So—”
“So we drive into town, park, and do the rest on foot. Meet back at the car afterwards. Shall I write that down?”
“You’re the same kind of prick he is.”
“But thirty years younger,” said Anton. “Imagine my future.” He looked at Cyril. “You all right on your own? You want a night-light?”
“If you find the woman,” said Cyril, still blurring his words, “bring her back here. I’ve a tool of my own to knock her round with.”
“If we find the woman, we’ll waste her,” said Anton, meaning it. His balls still ached from her knee. “And you can save your tool for a rainy day.”
He tucked the gun into his belt, beneath his coat. Lars did likewise.
When they left the barn Cyril was trying to light the stove, but kept breaking matches.
It didn’t look like torching the place was going to be an issue.
Louisa removed her hand from Lucas’s mouth, slipped past him, and pressed her eye to the peephole.
On the doorstep stood Emma Flyte.
She opened the door, pulled Emma in and closed it again. “They sent you?”
Emma unbuttoned her coat and shook her head vigorously. Droplets flew. “Nice to see you too.”
“Emma!”
“Nobody sent me. I came looking for your phone.”
“But how—”
“Trains,” said Emma patiently. “They’re still running. Or were. And only taking twice as long as usual.” She looked at Lucas. “You’re Lucas Harper, right?”
The boy nodded, unable to speak.
“Well, looks like she found you.” She turned back to Louisa. “You were meant to call.”
“You came all this way because I didn’t phone?”
“A lot of cases, that would be passive-aggressive behaviour,” Emma admitted. “But, you know. Our line of work.” She was surveying the open-plan room. Lights off, no heating. An attempt at vacancy. “You’re hiding.”
“Could we move away from the windows?”
Which proved Emma’s point.
She followed Louisa into the room. It was warmer than outside, but you needed a stopwatch.
Louisa was nursing her left arm. Lucas Harper had scratches across his cheek.
“What happened?”
“Like you said. I found him.”
“I am still here, you know!”
Both women looked at Lucas.
Emma said, “This is going to work best if only one of you tells it.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend of the woman who hurt her arm helping you.” She turned back to Louisa. “Is that broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Accident?”
“Well, I think he planned to break it. So in that sense, yes.”
“I sometimes wonder if Lamb gives you all lessons in smart-arsery. How bad does it hurt?”
Louisa said, “It’s still in its socket. I might have damaged a tendon.”
Because when she’d slipped in the snow, the second man—not the one she’d copped with the wrench—had dropped and straddled her. Nine times out of ten that would have been it, but with her free hand she’d scooped snow and mashed it into his face, making him rear back; making him, more crucially, open his legs wide enough for her to ram her knee into his crotch. Ten times out of ten, that was always it. Then he was sprawled in the snow and she was scrambling for the wrench, her fingers just making contact when the third man, who’d been driving, leaped on her from behind, pulling her arm back almost to breaking point. Instead of resisting she’d rolled with it, using his momentum against him, and suddenly he was on his back, Louisa on top, and she raised her head and butted his face. He let go of her arm and she pulled free, tasting blood, her legs not wanting to work, though she forced them. Then she was heading down the dark road, haring after Lucas.
“We were out all night,” she said. “Hiding in the wood.”
“Where you ditched your phone.”
“And Lucas’s Fitbit. I wasn’t taking chances.”
“And yet here you are.” Emma looked at the boy. “You okay?”
He nodded.
“Glad to hear it. How much trouble are you in?”
“It’s not my fault.”
“It never is.” She turned back to Louisa. “Where’s your car?”
“They slashed the tyres.”
“Yeah, well, probably doesn’t matter. The roads are a mess. But get your coats on anyway. Where’s the nearest police station?”
“We can’t go to the police,” said Lucas.
“He’s right,” Louisa said. “Besides, I called it in. The Park will respond.”
“Well, they’re taking their time. And meanwhile, we can’t stay here. Because it was the first place I came looking.”
“Yeah, how did you—”
“I used to be a cop, remember?”
“And they let you keep your crystal ball?”
“Cartwright told me who Min Harper was. So I had Devon access his personnel file. Turns out he called the Park from here once, so the address was on his contact list. That took me literally three minutes. Even the guy you clocked with a wrench probably isn’t going to take much longer. So, like I say . . .”
“Except they don’t know who Lucas is.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Lucas said, “He knew my name. The guy at the crossroads.”
Louisa said, “You told them who you were?”
“No.”
“But they found out anyway. Christ . . . We shouldn’t be here.”
“As I said.”
Louisa was already grabbing her coat from the back of a chair.
“It’s dark,” Lucas said. “And we don’t have a car. Where are we going?”
He looked, thought Emma, about twelve.
She said, “They’re not looking for three of us. We’ll check into a hotel, a B&B, whatever, and make a plan.” She looked at Louisa. “Which will involve telling me exactly what’s going on.”