Mo Hayder - Hanging Hill

She came to a halt. A guy dressed in red chinos and a blazer was standing in her way. He was very tall and thin and looked like an Asian version of David Bowie, with his jet-black hair gelled up in spikes. Even in her heeled boots she stood an inch or so shorter than him – not usual for her. She took a sidestep to go round him and he mirrored her movement, blocking her. She did it again, going left this time, and again he barred her way.

She laughed. ‘Very good. I like the way you do that.’

‘I wouldn’t laugh if I were you.’ He was from Scotland. Somewhere posh, Edinburgh perhaps. ‘If this was the movies it’d be the bit where I hit you on the head and throw you in the back of the Chrysler.’

She put her head on one side and scrutinized him. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Captain Zhang.’ He produced a card and held it up to her. ‘In the movie you’d wake up tied to a chair, a spotlight on your face. Never trust the Chinaman – don’t they teach you anything in your job?’

‘Give me that.’ She made a grab for his card, but he returned it neatly to his pocket. ‘Special Investigative Branch. SIB. But you can call us the Feds.’

‘The Feds ? Oh, please. I thought you said this wasn’t the movies. Special Investigative B-’ She broke off. Of course – she should have known he was military from the way he was dressed: typical Sandhurst graduate get-up. ‘SIB – I know who you are. Military Police. They call you the Stab in the Backs – the squaddie rubber-heelers. Standing here making out you’re in the fucking Special Forces, but you’re just a squaddie spy. Stopping me getting to my bike? I don’t think so.’

‘Well, I do.’

She shrugged, tried to walk round him. He barred her way again.

‘Do you want a fight?’ she asked. ‘See who wins?’

‘I’d win.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

Zhang sighed, as if he was trying to keep his patience. ‘We need to speak to you, Inspector Benedict. We need a frank and meaningful talk about Dominic Mooney. I think if you’re patient you’ll find we’re all singing off the same hymn sheet – no need for any arm-wrestling.’

She looked at Zhang very carefully. Dominic Mooney. The MoD guy she’d called. ‘OK. You’ve got my attention now. You really have.’

‘Good.’ He fastened his blazer and smoothed the front, as if something in the encounter had made it go awry. ‘That’s what I was hoping for.’

‘So?’ She turned, opening her hand to indicate all the vehicles lined up in the car park. ‘Which boot are you going to lock me in?’

Twerton was Bath’s crippled cousin. Its humpbacked secret brother. No one in the nice northern squares and crescents of the city could say the name without putting on a cod country-bumpkin accent and tucking their tongue in the corner of their mouth like a congenital idiot. Anything that went wrong in the city seemed to emanate from there, or have a connection. It was where Jake the Peg could be found when he wasn’t loitering outside one of the classier public schools.

‘Whatever happens, you stay in your seat.’

In the passenger seat Sally shot a sideways look at Steve. ‘Why? What’re you going to do?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve done this before, trust me.’

She clenched the envelope between her knees, her palms sweating and slick. She’d got Millie to call Jake to tell him the money was ready, then driven her over to Isabelle’s for the evening. She and Steve had directions to where Jake was waiting, but in truth, she thought, as they pulled up, you could have found him by instinct alone. He was parked at a bus stop in front of a row of shops. One or two were open, lit with pools of light – a fish-and-chip shop, an off-licence, an all-night convenience store. Otherwise the street was dark.

Steve pulled the car up alongside so it was partly blocking the road. He didn’t seem to mind other traffic getting stuck. He didn’t seem to mind witnesses.

‘Hello.’ Engine still running, he wound down the window and held up his mobile phone to Jake. Clicked the Record icon.

Jake jerked a hand in front of his face. He opened the window and leaned over, yelling, ‘What the fuck you think you’re doing? Turn the fucking thing off.’

‘Not if you want your money back.’

‘ Jesuuuuus .’ He got out of the jeep, slamming the door, and strode over to them, his hand up in front of his face. He was wearing a gym vest and jeans that hung so low they gathered in folds around his trainers. He seemed like a different person now he was on his own territory and not on David’s. More confident, swaggering. ‘You are doing my head, man. Doing my head. Keep that thing outta my face.’

He leaned through the window to grab the phone, but Steve held it out of his reach. ‘You take the phone, you don’t get the money.’

‘Give me the fucking phone.’ He made a swipe for it. ‘Or you can double what you owe me.’

‘Do you want the money or not?’

‘Giss the fucking phone.’

He leaned in again and this time Steve pressed the electric-window button. Jake realized what was happening just in time and pulled back to avoid being squashed. ‘Shit. You wankers .’ He bounced his hands off the window in fury. Thumped the roof. ‘You wankers.’

He went around all the doors, pulling at the handles. When he couldn’t get in he went back to his jeep and opened the rear door. Rummaged inside.

‘What’s he doing?’

‘I don’t know.’ Steve didn’t turn. He handed Sally the phone, then tipped the rear-view mirror down and watched Jake. ‘When he comes back don’t stop filming, but keep the camera on his face. Don’t have it on me – OK?’

She knelt up on the seat and swivelled round, aiming the camera out of the back window. As she did, Jake emerged from the jeep. He was holding something long and metal, lit red by the car lights. It took her a couple of moments to realize it was a tyre iron.

‘Steve,’ she began, but Jake had already lifted the tyre iron and swung it down on the roof of the Audi.

‘Fuck.’ Steve slammed his hand on the horn. ‘You shithead.’

The noise was deafening. A group of kids in the stairwell of the block of flats opposite stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. Steve took his hand off the horn, opened the window and leaned out. ‘Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

Jake reappeared next to him, bending down and grinning at them nastily. With one hand he dangled the tyre iron. The other he extended for the phone. Steve gave the hand a contemptuous look. ‘I really don’t think so.’

‘Well,’ Jake said, ‘I do.’

He raised the tyre iron again, ready to bring it down on the car, but this time something stopped him. It had been a quick movement, like lightning. Steve had leaned back in the car and straightened himself enough for his jacket to fall briefly back from his stomach. It happened so fast that Sally thought she’d imagined it, but she hadn’t. Jake had seen what was there too, and his face changed instantly. It was the butt of a gun, tucked in Steve’s waistband.

Jake lowered the tyre iron and stood awkwardly, uncertain what to do. For a moment he was the same fidgety person she’d seen at David’s. ‘Yeah, well.’ He glanced around, checking up and down the street who was watching, giving the kids in the stairwell a look that made them all turn away. He licked his lips and made a circling motion with his hand. ‘OK, man. Let’s just do it – just do it and put it to bed, eh?’

‘Thank you,’ Steve said. ‘Thank you very much.’ He closed the window again. ‘You can turn the camera off, Sally, and count out the money.’

‘W-what?’