Tom loosened his grip on Baz, looked at him properly. The force of the rain had turned the glare of the headlights to a grainy TV static. He regarded his face without having to squint. Baz said nothing, just smiled.
‘Well?’ said Tom. ‘Tell me.’
Baz smiled. ‘You don’t need to cling to me. I’m not going anywhere.’
Tom loosened his grip. Waited.
Baz smiled. ‘You’re not interested in me, though, are you? Where I’ve been, how I ended up like this.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Don’t care.’
‘What happened to you?’
Baz laughed. It was a bitter, phlegmy thing. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Play along, just to find out about your niece. Say what you think I want to hear. But if you do want an answer, a ton of shit. That’s what’s happened to me. And I ended up looking like a monster. And if you look like a monster, you may as well behave like a monster, right?’
Tom thought of Cunningham. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Well, whatever. You’re only interested in the pretty dead girl, aren’t you? Why? Do you feel guilty about her? Think you should have been there for her, saved her?’
Tom now stood next to Baz but had trouble keeping his hands down, wanting to grab him, force him to speak. ‘Just tell me what happened to her. How she died.’
Baz smiled.
And the side of his head exploded.
Tom closed his eyes as blood, brain, gore and bone smashed into him, covering him. He wiped his face, looked round, tried to make out what was going on, body now in fight or flight mode.
Blake screamed. Stared at the dead body of Baz, changed her aim to Foley.
‘You haven’t got the balls, love,’ he said, not even looking at her, gun still outstretched. ‘Anyway, you were going to get rid of him when he’d stopped being useful, weren’t you? I’ve just saved you the effort. Don’t lie and pretend you weren’t.’
Blake did nothing. Said nothing.
‘You said you were unarmed,’ said Tom.
Foley shrugged. ‘I lied. Who’d have thought?’
‘Where did you get a gun from?’
‘Prison officers, eh? Pay them enough and they’ll do anything for you.’
Anger welled within Tom. ‘He was going to tell me what happened to Hayley. He was going to tell me, and you . . . you killed him . . .’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Foley, as casually as he could. ‘That’s why I did it.’
Tom just stared at him. Couldn’t believe he could hear him say that. ‘What?’
Foley shrugged once more. Tried to appear as nonchalant as he could on a moor in the middle of a storm wearing a three-piece business suit and overcoat. ‘You’ve probably been carrying that around for years, haven’t you? Her death.’
Tom said nothing. Just glared at him.
‘All those years of guilt, blaming yourself. I’m sure of it. Want to contradict me? Tell me I’m wrong?’
Tom still said nothing.
‘Thought so. Like I said, I’ve had a lot of time to think about these things. And you never knew what happened to her, did you? Not really. She died in crossfire, but whose bullet was it? Not yours, then whose? But you blamed yourself, didn’t you?’
Tom just stared.
‘Now maybe – as I said, I’ve had a long time to think, reflect on things – maybe that blaming yourself was all part of some misplaced guilt about what you did to me, how you fucked over the one man who was closer to you than even a brother. Who became family. Maybe that was all part of it, what d’you say?’
Tom spoke. ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dr Bradshaw that one.’
‘Dr Bradshaw’s dead.’
They both turned towards the source of the voice. So wrapped up in their own dialogue they had almost forgotten that Blake was still there. She stood over Baz’s body, the Desert Eagle pointed at both of them. She might have been crying. She might have been angry. She might have just been grimacing against the wind and rain.
‘What d’you mean she’s dead?’ asked Foley. ‘How can she be dead?’
Blake stared straight at them. ‘It doesn’t matter. That’s not important. What is important is the money. Now I’ve stood here long enough. It’s time we—’
Foley moved so fast Blake – and Tom – didn’t see him coming. Like a human volcano about to explode, he crossed to Blake, pulled her roughly up by her lapels. The action caused her to drop her gun in the mud.
‘What d’you mean, she’s dead? Tell me about it.’
‘She was coming to see me. And my boss Harmer. To discuss you, Tom Killgannon. She’d worked out what was going on. Knew I’d denied you were undercover after she’d spoken to Harmer. Well, I couldn’t . . . couldn’t let that happen, could I? No . . .’
Foley and Tom shared looks. Foley looked as angry and upset as Tom was, if not more so.
‘So what did you do to her?’ asked Foley.
Tom recognised Foley’s quiet voice, knew what it signified. The calm before the storm.
‘There was an accident. A car accident. Those country roads are treacherous at this time of year . . . Boom . . .’ She smiled. ‘And off the road she went.’ She looked between the pair of them, as if explaining something she was sure they would understand. ‘One less person to worry about.’
Foley grabbed her with one hand by the throat. Pulled the other back, still holding his gun, and slapped her as hard as he could. Then again. And again. And again. Her head went limply from side to side, the gun butt ripping at her cheek, blood arcing from her mouth, eyes rolled back in her skull, vacant.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Tom. ‘Enough . . .’
He grabbed Foley’s arm in mid slap.
‘Dean. Enough.’
Foley stared at him and for a few seconds Tom wondered whether he had miscalculated and Foley would start on him next. And yes, he held the gun on Tom. Tom knew there was no way he would miss from this distance. But Foley just kept his eyes locked on Tom’s while the rage inside him calmed down.
He let Blake go. She crumpled to the ground in a heap next to Baz. A puppet with cut strings. No longer a threat of any kind.
Foley kept staring at Tom. Eventually he smiled. Tom couldn’t tell what kind of smile it was.
‘Just the two of us now,’ said Foley.
‘Then let’s talk. That’s what Dr Bradshaw wanted, wasn’t it?’
‘All right, then. Let’s talk.’