Dan pondered his visit to the prison as he loitered close to Carl Ogden’s house once more, this time in a small alley.
He’d avoided the office since his return to Highford, knowing that Barbara would be hankering for an update. It seemed like he’d spent the afternoon driving, so he’d gone straight home before returning to wait for Oggy. He’d watched the street succumb to darkness due to the absence of a street light, broken repeatedly to create a dangerous space in the shortcut from the bus stop on the main road to the estate. Dan had expected the area to be prowled by young men with not much to do, but it had started to rain, which must have kept them indoors.
He’d changed his clothes, in a dark hoody that he sometimes jogged in, and trainers, because he wanted to remain silent. He was waiting for Oggy, because he knew he was the key to it all. He was the one person in Highford who’d broken cover.
He’d been there for more than an hour, and was thinking of giving up, not sure if Oggy was there, when a door opened. There was a street light further along, and as the figure moved along the path to the street, Dan saw the same trousers as the night before, with OGGY in white down his leg. Forever the idiot.
Oggy had his coat zipped right up and he was huddled under a baseball cap, his shoulders bunched, the rain getting harder.
Dan stepped out of the shadows and began to follow.
Oggy was fifty yards ahead, Dan trying to keep pace, but not so close that he’d be noticed. He was helped by the rain. It gave him an excuse to keep his head down and it kept Oggy’s focus to the front.
They passed a parade of shops, some boarded up. A small supermarket protected by metal grilles. A betting shop, the lights inside bright, men on machines, blindly throwing in the little they had. A chip shop. There was a pub at the end, and Dan had dealt with many cases from there. Fights, stabbings, or the police raiding it occasionally, with most of the shoplifting staples, like bacon, coffee and cheese, sold in there, young addicts going from table to table. The other shops, the greengrocers and bakers, had long since closed down and never been replaced. Oggy kept on going though.
Dan was pleased about that. If Oggy had been merely going out for some cigarettes, Dan would have had to pass him and keep walking, his head down, hoping not to be noticed. He wanted to know where Oggy went, not where he shopped.
The street at the end crossed a piece of wasteland that had once been a factory but was now a spread of broken concrete and long grass, longer than a football field, with metal struts in places. It was in complete darkness, the terraced streets on the other side a distant glow. Oggy was heading for it.
Dan thought about stopping and turning back, but he’d come too far. He didn’t see Oggy as a physical threat, because he remembered how he’d backed down when Dan had stood up to him earlier that day. And Dan knew how people like Oggy thought. They spent their lives trying to avoid getting caught for whatever scam they were running. His first instinct would always be to run, to stay away.
The wasteland made it seem too obvious that he was following though. Walking along a street was a natural event. Crossing wasteland when fifty yards behind was another thing altogether.
But if he wanted to know who Oggy was speaking for, he had to do it.
Dan tried to keep to the edges, using the shadows of nearby fences to keep watch, Oggy taking a more direct line along a trampled route, what had now become a shortcut between two sections of town. He was heading for the streets beyond, not a clandestine meeting on the waste ground. At least that meant he could creep around less and just get to where Oggy was going.
There was a short alley leading from the open space to the terraced streets, which rose up the hillside in straight lines, a former access point for the factory. Oggy disappeared into it.
Dan jogged around the edges, separated from the pavement by a wall that had tumbled down in places, not wanting to be far behind, because Oggy could soon lose himself in the alleyways or disappear into one of the houses before Dan had the chance to see which one.
The wall got higher as it got closer to the brick terraces, so Dan couldn’t see where Oggy had gone. He sped up. The long grass made his trousers wet and the ground was slippery underfoot. He worried about stumbling over a discarded piece of metal, his night ending with a twisted ankle, but he reached the edge of the alleyway and flattened himself against the wall. He looked more like a crook than the person he was following, and he half‑expected to see blue flashing lights, the police there to investigate his activities following an anonymous call.
He took a few deep breaths, fear fluttering his stomach, before peering round the corner of the wall. The sound of rain was heavy on his jacket, his hands slick on the bricks. The streets came into view slowly, the wet tarmac reflecting the orange glow of the street lights. Cars lined the kerb, nose to bumper, half on the pavements, just feet from the front doors.
Oggy was gone.
Dan straightened and cursed to himself. How could he have gone so far so quickly?
There was a noise behind him, footsteps rushing, more than one set.
He tried to turn, but they were on him before he could do anything, punches to his head knocking him to the ground. He landed heavily, but straight away his fight instinct took over, kicking out with his feet, shouting, scrambling backwards.
He realised it was a trap, that they’d been waiting for him. But there wasn’t much time to think of anything else. Someone came at him and kicked out, and a heavily booted foot thudded into the side of his head.
The world blurred as he groaned and flopped backwards. His head cracked on the ground.
The sounds were indistinct now. They were near him, yet it sounded as if they were far away. He was jolted as someone went through his pockets. His mind urged him to push them away, but his body didn’t respond. His face was wet, but it was more than rain. As he tried to wipe his face, the moisture was warmer, slicker.
Whoever was there stood, happy with what they had.
Dan hoisted himself onto his haunches, grunting, but someone laughed, before launching another kick, catching him in the ribs, making him cough out the last of his air.
He fell to the floor and knew that the battle was lost before it had ever really got started. He rested his forehead on the wet ground and wished for it to end, but someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head upwards. That was when he saw it.
The glint of a sharp blade.
Dan tried to pull away and scrabble to his feet again, but he was still too dazed. His eyes regained some focus just in time to see a fist heading towards him.
His vision exploded into white flashes. All he could hear was the sound of the blood in his head moving quickly and the rasp of his breaths. The ground was cold and wet against his face, but he was unable to move.
He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make his body do anything he wanted.
Then there was what felt like a punch to his side, but he knew it was more than that, from the way his skin felt suddenly wet under his clothes. He remembered the knife, but he couldn’t fight against it.
The world began to fade, and he wondered about Jayne. He’d brought her into this. He had to get her to stay away.
And then he stopped thinking altogether.