I asked to go up on the roof of the building to see where Jack Higglesworth had fallen from. Twenty floors up, with a full view of the City of London. Powys got a security guard to accompany me. It was the kind of rooftop where you could hold presentations and cocktail parties, so of course there were safety railings. It also was the type of rooftop where a suicidal man could easily climb over the railings and jump off.
Or be bodily lifted, struggling and wailing, by a couple of guys and thrown off. Up in the air, the vultures continued to circle. No one saw them but me, and I wasn’t going to bring them up. I looked at the railings again and saw two Rakshakas, eyes red and bloodshot, their demon skins rippling with muscle, snarling and sneering as they grabbed Jack Higglesworth and threw him screaming off the roof.
Was this my mind seeing his killers as demons? Is this how unhinged I’d become? Was I just speculating, or was this the gods telling me that Jack Higglesworth was indeed murdered and I might be in over my head again?
“You all right there, sir?” the security guard asked.
“Yeah, just making a note,” I said.
I left the Holloway-Browner building before they got tired of me and got into the car. Dialed Darren’s mobile.
“Who’s this?” he answered quickly.
“Darren. We hadn’t been formally introduced. We met at Sandra’s.”
“What the fuck do you want?” His voice hushed; he didn’t want anyone at the office hearing. “She got you doing her dirty work now?”
“We should talk.”
“About what?”
“The thumb drive. Is that what Jack died over?”
“I can’t talk here.”
“If you’re both in danger, it’s what’s going to save you. We need the password.”
“What do I get in return, eh? She’s already landed me in the shit.”
“Then we really have to talk.”
“All right, all right. Meet me at my flat after work.”