Jon Evans - Dark Places

They didn't say anything. I studied their faces. They looked worried, surprised, appalled… but not shocked. No, none of them were shocked to hear the proposition that Morgan Jackson was her killer. I guessed he'd been in the back of everyone's mind all along.

"You better give us the long version of that now," Hallam said gently.

"This all started not even a month ago," I said, and didn't really believe it. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since that day. "I was off trekking in Nepal, on the Annapurna Circuit, with this South African guy named Gavin, and we were exploring this abandoned village called Gunsang… "

After I finished there was a long silence. My folderful of evidence, pictures and Web printouts and my timeline, was scattered around the table, much-thumbed and read. My audience of four wore stone-serious faces. Only a couple of hours had passed, but I felt as if I had gone on all day, felt as if night had fallen despite the most un-London-esque sunshine that streamed in through the windows.

"Just a moment," Nicole said, and disappeared into the bedroom.

"He's back in Leeds," Hallam said thoughtfully. "Morgan is. Got an e-mail from him just yesterday, saying he was back from the trail."

"I can't believe it," Steve said. "I mean, I believe every word, Paul, never you worry about that, but I just can't believe it, if you get me. He always seemed like a bit of a hard lad, bit of a harder-than-thou chip on his shoulder, eh, but all this shite? He's bloody mentally demented, is what he is."

Nicole reappeared, a postcard in her hand.

"Sent us a card from Nepal," she explained. "Where's that picture of that ledger entry…? Here we go." She compared the two, nodded sadly, passed them around. It didn't take a handwriting expert to see that the same person had written both. I was glad of that extra bit of evidence.

Nobody said anything for some time.

"Feel like I'm at a funeral," Hallam said. "What say we continue this conversation down the pub? Don't know about the rest of you but I could do with a pint, and our local just opened."

Lawrence, who normally loudly seconded any motion that involved beer, didn't say a thing. His face was as set as an iron sculpture.

"Sensible plan," Steven said.

We went down the pub. The Pig amp; Whistle, a genuine old English pub, none of your new well-lit chain pubs serving Thai lunches for this crowd, thank you very much. Hallam bought a packet of Marlboro Lights along with the round and all of us lit up except for Lawrence.

"Don't usually smoke in England," Nicole said. "Only when we travel."

"Same," I said.

"That so? Same for me," Steven said. "Birds of a feather, hey?"

Hallam cut through the banter and said to me: "What do you have in mind?"

I didn't want to say it. It sounded so melodramatic, so over-the-top. I hesitated, trying to find the right phrasing.

Lawrence made it easy for me: "I say we find the bastard and kill him."

"Easy there," Nicole said, "let's not jump to any conclusions just yet… "

"Fuck that," Lawrence said. "Sorry, Nic, but no one else is going to do fuck-all, and that son of a whore needs killing. Wish there was something worse. Killing's too good for him."

"What did you have in mind?" Hallam asked me.

"Pretty much that," I said quietly.

"Vigilante justice," Nicole said, skeptically.

"Tribal justice," I said. "Only kind of justice he might get."

"Bloody dangerous game to play," Steven said.

"The most dangerous game," Hallam said, and I half-smiled at the joke.

"It's no fucking game," Nicole objected. "Let's try and keep a fifty-fifty mix of brains and testosterone here. I don't want to see you lot downing a few too many and going off on some mad mission to Leeds tonight."

"And what do you want to do, Nic?" Lawrence demanded. "Cut him off your Christmas-card list and wait for Interpol to grow itself some testicles? You want to fucking sit back and do nothing?"

"Easy, Lawrence," Hallam said gently.

"It's okay, Hal," Nicole said. "Lawrence. That's not what I'm saying. She was my friend too. I was there when we found her. I'm just saying, whatever we do, we have to be careful and we have to be patient."

"But the long and the short of it is that he needs killing," Lawrence said. "Do you agree or not?"

"Lawrence… " Hallam said.

He had a warning note in his voice that normally would have shut any of the rest of us up in a microsecond but this time Lawrence kept on. "Just let her answer, Hallam. Do you agree he needs killing?"

"You worried I've turned into some kind of vegetarian pacifist, Lawrence?" She sounded darkly amused. "You needn't worry. But what's done is done and we're not going to get her back. I don't want revenge so much as I want to make sure he doesn't ever do it to anyone else. And if the only way to do that is what you're suggesting… " She shrugged casually. "Then so be it."

"I can't think of any other way," I said. "And I've tried hard."

"It's not an easy thing you're proposing," Steven said. "A man like Morgan, he'll be hard to hunt down. Nic's right, we daren't go off half-cocked here. I'm as bloody maddened as you, Lawrence, I reckon we all are. But keep yourself on a leash."

"I'm doing just that," Lawrence said. "I'm not halfway to Leeds already, am I? I just want to make sure we don't satisfy ourselves with some mealy-mouthed can't-be-arsed compromise like 'let's just alert the media' or some such."

"Hallam?" I asked. "What do you think?"

Our de facto leader, always. Would have been from day one even if he wasn't the driver.

"I'd like to know how we're supposed to get at him," he said. "It's not worth getting one or all of us killed or locked up."

Nicole nodded her agreement.

"I reckon Mr. Wood here came with a plan," Steve said. "Didn't you, Woodsie?"

They all looked at me.

"As a matter of fact I did," I said. "It's a pretty basic one. Bring him to us. Lure him to Africa. Hoist him on his own modus operandi."

"Africa?" Nicole asked. "And what makes you think he'll want to go there?"

"He's a traveler, isn't he?" I asked. "He's gone home because he's out of money, but he doesn't start work up until January. My idea is that we get someone to give him a call and tell him they've got a last-minute cancellation for a week in Morocco, and the whole shebang is prepaid, and it's all his for fifty pounds but he has to leave in three days' time or something. Tell him that they got his name off the Truck Africa mailing list or some such. Only room for one person, so he can't bring a friend. If he has any."

"That'd work," Steve said. "He'd be on that like bloody flies on Marmite. He'd take out an overdraft if he had to. He loved Morocco."

"We all did," Nicole said.

"Laura especially," Lawrence added quietly.

"Of course I'll pay for his trip," I said. "I've got the almighty American dollar on my side."

"The mighty British pound is no weak sister," Lawrence said. "I'll split it with you."

"If we decide to do this," Nicole said, "we'll all split the cost."

"If?" Lawrence asked, with an edge in his voice again.

"I'm no weak sister either, Lawrence," she said. "But I'm suggesting, no, I'm telling you that we'll all sleep on this. We'll all go home, get some sleep, and give it some hard fucking thought. And if I sleep on it and the answer is yes, I'll arrange all the travel plans and get a mate of mine at the agency to make the call. That satisfy you?"

"It does," Lawrence said, apologetic.

We all drank deeply from our pints and, except for Lawrence, lit up new cigarettes.

"Tomorrow?" I suggested. "Right here in the pub? Six PM?"

It was agreed.

The conversation died down to nothing after that. Hallam and Nicole and Lawrence looked grim. Steve looked his usual cherubic self, but even he was staring off into space, thinking hard. We emptied our pints in silence.