IT WAS tempting, when Sholto went home, to make a start on the work Maeve Campbell wanted him to tackle. She needed to know who had killed Moses Guerra and Darian wanted to help her. Of course he wanted to catch the right killer because getting it right mattered to him, but he had been thinking about Maeve all day, the smile and the legs crossing, the fierceness. She was a distraction. If he did some digging on the Moses case then he would have the excuse he wanted to go and see her again.
Darian shook his head as he walked up Cage Street on his way to Glendan Station. He had to prove to himself he could resist the girl. He wasn’t in control of the case if he couldn’t recognize the need to go home and get a good night’s sleep. Maeve had hired him, but if he wanted to be professional then he couldn’t let her control him. The Moses case mattered far more than Uisdean Kotkell taking a few slaps on a night out, that’s why the police had shrugged their collective shoulders in the face of his father’s demands, but Darian had no hope of helping either if he was less than half-awake. A night at Misgearan demanded abstinence for the next two.
The train was busy on the short trip west through Bank. His radar was switched on as he walked, not scanning faces but alert to any movements that fell into sync with his own. Darian had lived in that flat on the corner of Havurn Road and Fàrdach Road for over two years and he had made that walk to and from the station at least twice a day every day since. He could see every crack in the pavements and picture every building with his eyes shut. He knew the people that usually hung around outside the doors of the station, the familiar characters he passed on the walk now and again. It took very little for him to notice someone out of place.
The first trick to being followed is to never let your tail know you’ve spotted them. Darian needed this person to get close, to show themselves, because he didn’t recognize him at first glance. He was good at what he was doing and he was well covered, the hood of a puffy jacket pulled over his head; the weather does make tracking a person in Challaid without showing your face easier. Darian walked home, going at the same pace he usually did, making no deviation from his well-worn route. The same footsteps day after day; with paint on the soles of his shoes he would have marked out a very narrow trail. If this person knew he always got the train home and exited through the north door of Bank Station then he probably already knew where Darian lived.
Only when he got into the building could he do something about it without giving his knowledge away. He ran up the stairs to his flat, went into the kitchen and took the bag out of the bin. It was only half-full but that didn’t matter. He pulled it shut and bolted back downstairs with it. He was back to being casual, moving at a sedate pace as he opened the front door and stepped out, walking along Havurn Road to the gap between his building and the next where the bins were stashed. He opened one and chucked the bag in, turning quickly and catching a split-second glimpse of his follower, just the side of his face as the man turned away and started walking out of view, but it was definitely Randulf Gallowglass.
Back in the flat Darian sat near the living-room window with the light off, looking down into the street. There was nothing to see there, but he kept up the vigil. Gallowglass wouldn’t know for sure he’d been identified, but he had been seen and that would be enough to send him scurrying back under his rock. A good tracker, who doesn’t want to be seen, isn’t going to risk being picked out on the same street twice, hours apart. Even unidentified, his purpose would be understood. Darian kept looking in the hope that he would spot a car going past with Gallowglass or Corey in it, but that wasn’t necessary to confirm his suspicions.
Gallowglass wasn’t back on his tail because he’d found a new hobby he liked. It hadn’t been a day and already Corey knew Darian was still working the Moses case, and maybe knew Maeve was going to try to help him out. Darian had spent many evenings, when he first moved in, sitting at that window, watching the lights of boats leaving and entering the loch, the view between the buildings down to the water. Now he sat looking down at dark gray tarmac lit yellow by artificial light, contemplating what this meant. Gallowglass hadn’t wanted to be seen, so this wasn’t a thuggish warning. This was Corey fishing for information before he tried to put a stop to Darian’s efforts. This was Darian putting the research company at risk by picking a fight he couldn’t win.