They still weren’t finding her after over a week of searching. They’d checked all the hospitals for miles around, and no Belle Barton had been admitted to any of them. So probably, Nipper said – and Harlan was tempted to agree – what had happened was this: she had fallen into a deep ditch or a culvert or some damned thing, it had been raining heavily at the time and she could have been swept away, downstream, into the river and out to bloody sea, who knew? And so she wouldn’t ever be found.
‘I don’t like loose ends,’ said Harlan for about the thousandth time. ‘And I don’t like fuck-ups. It makes me nervous, thinking that people I’ve put my trust in are not performing as they should.’
‘She’s dead,’ said Ludo with a weary shrug, thinking that if Harlan had stuck around personally to see the thing finished, then they wouldn’t be having all these damned problems in the first place. Which he would not say. He liked breathing. It was fun. ‘Come on, she’s gotta be dead.’
‘Yeah, probably,’ said Harlan.
Shit, he had other things to take up his time anyway. Deals to be done, changes to be made. But Belle was a thorn in his side. He’d lusted after her for so long and now all he wanted was a neat conclusion. Belle had decided she wasn’t interested, and – worse – she’d dug up dirt on him and might blab about it. So she had to go. Sad but a fact. Fuck that bitch. Now he just wanted proof that she was gone for good.
‘You keep looking,’ he told them. ‘I got business to conduct on the manor and that’s what I’m going to carry on with right now.’
‘Sure, boss,’ said Nipper.
‘Yeah, right,’ agreed Ludo.