‘Is being a spy always this boring?’ he asks Elizabeth. She has been unusually quiet today.
‘It’s 90 per cent this, 5 per cent paperwork and 5 per cent killing people,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Ibrahim, is this article going to take much longer?’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ says Joyce.
‘Joyce is enjoying it,’ says Ibrahim, and continues with a paragraph about the pressures felt by the tech sector in Quito.
A black Range Rover pulls up in front of them in the lay-by, blocking them in.
‘Aye, aye,’ says Ron, putting down his binoculars. Elizabeth’s hand moves instinctively to her bag. In front of them a man steps from the driver’s seat of the Range Rover and approaches the Daihatsu. He knocks on Ibrahim’s window. Ibrahim winds it down.
The man pokes his head across the threshold, and takes in the four figures, one by one.
‘Day out, is it?’ A Scouse accent.
‘Birdwatching,’ says Ron, holding up his binoculars.
‘That’s a lovely overcoat,’ says Joyce. ‘Would you like a Percy Pig?’
She holds out a bag of sweets to the man; he takes one, and talks as he chews.
‘You’ve been looking at my warehouse for an hour,’ he says. ‘Seen anything?’
‘Not a thing, Mr Holt,’ says Elizabeth.
Dominic Holt pauses for a moment at the sound of his name.
‘Call me Dom,’ says Dom.
‘Not a thing, Dom, not even a hint of heroin,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Commendable on your part. Though I suppose shipments are few and far between?’
‘Most days it’s just admin?’ asks Joyce.
‘I run a legitimate logistics company,’ says Dom.
‘And I’m a harmless pensioner,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Me too,’ says Joyce. ‘Another Percy Pig? I can never have just one.’
Dom Holt holds up his hand to decline. ‘May I ask how you know my name?’
‘One doesn’t have to scratch very far under the surface of the South Coast heroin trade before your name crops up,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Right,’ says Dom, contemplating. Ron has seen the effect that the Thursday Murder Club has on people before.
‘Don’t know what to make of us, do you, son?’ says Ron.
Dom gives them another look, and seems to make up his mind.
‘I’ll tell you what I make of you,’ says Dom. He points at Ron. ‘You’re Jason Ritchie’s old man. Roy?’
‘Ron,’ says Ron.
‘Seen you with him before. He’s a wrong ’un, so I’m guessing you are too.’ Dom points at Ibrahim. ‘I don’t know your name, but you’re the guy who goes to see Connie Johnson at Darwell Prison. Word is you’re a Moroccan cocaine importer. That true?’
‘No comment,’ says Ibrahim. Has Ron ever seen him look so proud?
‘You,’ says Dom, nodding his head towards Elizabeth. ‘No idea who you are, but you’ve got a gun in your bag. Badly hidden.’
‘I’m not hiding it,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Now do me,’ says Joyce.
Dom looks at Joyce. ‘You look like you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd.’
Joyce nods. Dom beckons to them all. ‘Come on, out. All of you.’
The gang exit the car. Ron thinks it’s nice to be able to stretch his legs. Dom appraises them as a group.
‘So I’ve got a dodgy cockney, a coke dealer, some old bird with a shooter, and …’ He looks at Joyce again.
‘Joyce,’ says Joyce.
‘And Joyce,’ says Dom. ‘Staking out my warehouse on a January morning. You see that a reasonable man might have questions?’
‘Quite right,’ says Elizabeth. ‘And we have questions of our own. So why not invite us in? We can have a good old chinwag, and clear everything up.’
‘You ever used that gun?’ asks Dom, pointing at Elizabeth’s handbag.
‘This particular one, no, it’s clean,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’m not an amateur.’
‘You work for Connie Johnson, is that it?’ asks Dom. ‘You her gran or something? What does she want?’
‘Connie is simply our friend,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Not mine,’ says Ron. ‘To be fair.’
‘She wants to kill Ron,’ says Joyce.
Dom looks at Ron and nods. ‘Yeah, I can see that. So what is it? What are you after? Do I need to worry about you, or can I go about my day?’
‘You’ll be relieved to hear it’s very simple,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We’re looking for the man who murdered our friend.’
‘OK,’ says Dom. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘Kuldesh Sharma.’
Dom shakes his head now. ‘Never heard of him.’
‘But you were in his shop just after Christmas,’ says Joyce. ‘Perhaps it slipped your mind? Antiques shop. In Brighton?’
‘Nope,’ says Dom.
‘He was murdered late on the 27th,’ says Elizabeth. ‘So you see why we thought you might be involved?’
Dom shakes his head again. ‘Never heard of him, never been in his shop, didn’t kill him. Sorry for your loss though.’
‘Did you find the heroin?’ asks Ibrahim. ‘When you ransacked his shop? Perhaps you have it in your warehouse this very moment?’
‘You’ve an active imagination,’ says Dom. ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly heard of Kuldesh,’ says Elizabeth. ‘A fool could see that as soon as we mentioned his name. And we have fairly solid proof you’ve been in his shop.’
‘Proof?’
‘Nothing that would hold up in court,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Don’t panic.’
‘So the only question we have left,’ says Ron, ‘is did you kill him?’
‘And that’s why we’re here,’ says Joyce.
‘Just to see what we can see,’ adds Ibrahim. ‘And a day out also.’
‘Wait here,’ says Dom, and returns to his car.
Joyce watches Dom Holt root around in the boot of the Range Rover. ‘He seems very nice. For a heroin dealer.’
‘Uh-oh,’ says Ron, looking past Joyce. Dom Holt has returned with a golf club, and is now pulling a large knife from his perfectly tailored overcoat. He nods to the friends.
‘Just checking youse lot have got AA membership?’
‘Never bothered,’ says Ron. ‘They rip you off.’
‘Ron, I don’t know how you can live on such a tightrope,’ says Ibrahim, and Ron shrugs. ‘How on earth do you sleep?’
‘Well, look,’ says Dom. ‘I’m going to slash your tyres and smash your windscreen. So you’re going to need some help.’
‘Perhaps you could consider –’ begins Ibrahim, before Dom crouches and slashes the right front tyre.
‘I can’t have you following me all day. There’s a garage a mile or so up the road though,’ says Dom, popping back up. ‘I’ll give you his number and he’ll come and bail you out.’
‘Thank you,’ says Joyce. ‘Whatever would we have done without you?’
‘If I ever see you again, you’ll get worse,’ says Dom.
‘You know all this is making me think you killed Kuldesh Sharma,’ says Elizabeth.
Dom shrugs. ‘Couldn’t care less. This is my place of work, and I don’t like being disturbed. Especially by a cockney West Ham fan who’s too cheap to pay for AA membership, a coke dealer who hangs out with Connie Johnson, an old woman too scared to use her gun, and Joyce. I didn’t kill your mate, but if you keep poking round where you’re not welcome, I’ll kill you.’ He ducks down again.
‘An old woman too scared to use her gun?’ says Elizabeth, as the car clunks towards the ground again. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘I don’t suppose you lot know where the heroin is?’ Dom asks, hands on hips, catching his breath from the exertion. ‘If you’ve got it, best to tell me?’
Silence from the gang.