He’s had a vague awareness of their surroundings as they’ve been driving. Familiar streets, so he hasn’t paid much attention. Now he’s starting to look. To focus on where they’re going. This isn’t into the city centre. This is north. This is away from the built-up areas. It doesn’t seem to make an awful lot of sense. He’s looking around sharply.
Mullen’s glancing at him. ‘Won’t be long now.’
Richard’s sitting back in the seat. Pointless to complain. This is something too big for him to fight against. His life has always been about the confidence of others. Other people take command. He facilitates. It worked for him. Not a perfect life, sure, but better than many. Sit back and let other people play their games. Stay quiet. Stay friendly.
They’ve left the city behind. Richard isn’t saying anything. This might not be as bad as it looks. As bad as it feels. Maybe they just want information. They might knock him around a little. Or just take him to the scene of a crime and ask some questions. Yeah, that could be it. Certainly nothing to gain from complaining. Rarely is. Quiet and friendly. Let them do as they please, and walk away from this. Neither of them has said a word for a while now. The silence is becoming uncomfortable again. Threatening even. Richard feels a need to say something, just for the sake of politeness. It’s how he handles clients. Never let things get too cold. Keep them talking. Not these fellows–they’re not interested in anything he has to say. Not yet, anyway.
They’ve avoided the main roads. Richard’s noticed that. Maybe this is the route they have to take to get where they’re going. Certainly not something he’s going to mention. Not the sort of thing these guys would want to discuss with him. Richard’s taking another look at Mullen. ‘DS Mullen’ is what he said. He looks a little young to be a Detective Sergeant. Means he has a higher rank than the one driving, who’s obviously older. Richard’s had clients over the years who’ve told him a few scare stories about the police. They are willing to use scare tactics if they think it’ll get a response. This must be what their scare tactics look like. Scary, he’ll give them that.
Still going. Still on minor roads, very little traffic. Richard doesn’t recognize where they are. Well out of the city now, that’s for sure. Looks like the countryside. His hands are beginning to shake. Not sure why. Not sure what’s changed. He keeps telling himself that it’ll be fine. These things don’t happen to people like him. Why should they? Everything will be fine, if he just keeps quiet and doesn’t cause any bother. Tell them what they want to know. Doesn’t matter who it incriminates; tell them whatever they need to hear. All you can do is be honest. When they have what they want, they’ll let you go.
Turning to glance at Mullen. A cold look shot back at him. The young cop’s attitude has changed. More unpleasant than before. Just you wait, young man. When this is done, there will be complaints. People like you always get their comeuppance. Starting to realize why he’s become so much more nervous. The driver is slowing. Looking for something. Looking for a turn-off. Only country lanes to turn onto around here.
‘That’s it, on your right,’ Mullen’s saying to the driver. Speaking quietly. He doesn’t sound nervous.
The driver’s slowing and turning carefully. No lights on the road ahead. Feels bumpy. Not much of a road at all. More of a track. What could there be around here that has anything to do with Richard’s business? Stay calm. Don’t let them see that you’re nervous. That’ll only annoy them, and there’s nothing to gain from that. Trees on either side of them. The car’s crawling along the track. Been going for a few minutes now. Pitch-black. No sign of lights ahead. They must be into some sort of woodland. A part of the world that Richard Hardy could not be less familiar with. This is making no sense at all. Richard’s looking at Mullen. Mullen’s not looking back. He’s just staring ahead, into the darkness.
The car’s slowing almost to a stop. There’s a building there. Looks like a barn, but Richard only caught a glimpse in the headlights. The car’s stopping beside it, reversing. Turning to face the other way.
‘No, a little further,’ Mullen’s saying.
The driver’s moving the car a fraction to the right.
‘That’s it,’ Mullen’s saying now. Satisfied they’re in the exact place. Exact place for what?
The driver’s switched the engine off, but left the headlights on. Shining off into the trees. Ahead of them a circle of flat land beside the barn where they’ve parked, and trees all around. Now the driver, DC Russell, is getting out of the car. Doesn’t seem to be doing so with any great enthusiasm. He’s closed his door, left the two of them alone in the back. Russell’s walking round behind the car. Richard’s turning to look. Russell’s opening the boot.
‘Your client, Hugh Francis,’ Mullen’s saying quietly. It’s a slight struggle to hear him. Russell’s clattering about in there, taking things out of the boot that sound heavy. Something rustling, something else dropped on the ground.
‘Mr Francis, yes, the garage owner,’ Richard’s saying enthusiastically. Such a nice young man, Shug Francis. Always treated Richard well, always been loyal. Richard does his books for him. Handles his payroll. Has more employees than he ought to, and Richard hides that for him. Not a big deal.
‘What can you tell me about his financial records?’
‘Well, er, I don’t know. This would be easier back at the office with his records in front of me.’ Pausing, considering. ‘There have been times when, I guess you could say, I’ve wondered about one or two things. Some of the money he brings in, where it comes from. Why he has quite so many employees. Nothing blatant. Nothing significant, I wouldn’t have said.’ Pausing again. That didn’t sound like enough. He needs to offer them more to keep them happy. ‘Of course I’d be willing to show you the complete accounts.’
Mullen hasn’t said anything. Just a raising of eyebrows, and Richard knows what it means. Knows the cop is saying that looking at the books means nothing. Means the police know that Richard’s been subtly adjusting the figures to make Francis Autos look more legitimate than it really is.
‘I admit that I’ve… ensured that, er, Shug’s books add up. Perhaps I’ve broken the law. I accept that. I’ve needed to make sure that the figures add up. I basically handle his payroll. I needed to make the figures work for the number of employees he has.’ Talking more quickly as the sentences go on.
Mullen’s nodding, as if he knows all this already. It’s because he knows it that he’s here. He knows that for the last few years Richard has been making sure that all Shug’s people get paid each month.
There’s a thump behind them. The boot closing. Richard’s catching a glimpse of DC Russell walking past the car with a large bundle under his arm. Hard to see what it is. He’s walking in front of the car now. Dropping the bundle on the ground. It looks blue. He’s pulling something out. Also blue. Looks like a sheet of tarpaulin. He’s spreading it out carefully, about halfway between the trees and the car. Now he’s picking up the rest of the bundle and walking across to the trees. He’s only gone about three or four feet into them. Still in view of the car. Richard and Mullen both watch him. Each seems as concerned as the other. Watching him lay out the rest of the tarpaulin. Carefully taking out the contents that had been wrapped within it. Two shovels. Something white. Looks like a towel. Russell starting to dig. Richard’s watching. He can no longer hide the fact that his hands are shaking.
Mullen’s moving his head left and right. Trying to get a better view of his colleague digging. A sigh. Mullen’s getting out of the car. Walking round the other side, opening Richard’s door. ‘Come on–out,’ he’s saying. Still talking quietly.
Richard’s doing as he’s told. Always doing what he’s told. That’s his life. Looking across to Russell. He’s hacking at the turf with his shovel, trying to roll up lines of it and place the turf on the tarpaulin beside him. Mullen’s glancing across at his colleague. There’s a roll of the eyes and a tsk of the tongue. He’s clearly not impressed; obviously feels he could do the job better himself. Must be why he’s the senior one.
‘What’s he…’ Richard begins to ask and then stops himself. If they want him to know, they’ll tell him. It’s not his place to ask questions. He’s not even sure he wants to know.
He can feel Mullen reach out and touch his arm. A glance at Mullen’s hand. A moment of confusion. Mullen appears to have some sort of glove on. The sort of thin, clear glove the cleaners use when they’re working in his office. Must have put them on since he got out of the car. He’s pushing Richard gently forward. Leading him to the sheet of tarpaulin that Russell has placed in the middle of the clearing.
They’re both standing in silence. Watching Russell dig away at the ground beneath him, putting all the dirt on the plastic sheet. Grunting as he digs. Not a man who’s used to this sort of labour. He’s sweating heavily; even in this strange light you can see that. Slowing down all the time. Every now and then Richard can hear a little sigh of exasperation escape from Mullen. Subtle, but the only other noise is coming from Russell. The exasperation comes every time Russell makes a mess, misses the tarpaulin with a little mud, that sort of thing. Tiring arms flinging the mud around. Richard’s turned to look at Mullen a couple of times. Saw him look at his watch once. Other than that, he’s just watching Russell. Watching carefully, waiting for something. Presumably waiting for him to finish digging. Richard doesn’t want to think about the digging. Not entirely sure what it’s all about. Might be digging something up. There’s a little voice in the back of his mind scoffing at him. Telling him it’s entirely obvious what Russell’s digging. It’s your grave, old man.
Richard’s starting to cry. Can’t help it. Not able to kid himself any longer. This is it. This is the end. What a remarkably stupid way for his life to end. Can’t stop thinking how absurd it all is. He’s not the sort of person who should have an ending like this. It makes no sense. Part of him just wants to laugh at the whole thing. Can’t laugh when he’s crying this hard, though. Completely uncontrollable. Tears are streaming down his face, his shoulders are rocking, he’s grunting repeatedly. He can see through the blur of tears that Russell’s stopped. The cop leaning forward, hands on hips. Coughing, spitting. A sigh from Mullen. Just the sound of his own panic now. A gesture from Mullen–Richard can’t see what. Russell’s digging again, with more vigour this time. Louder, though, grunting with every movement. A touch on Richard’s back.
‘Sit down,’ Mullen’s saying, still so quiet. That calmness. God, that calmness is shocking now. Sickening.
Mullen’s pressed him down. Richard’s sitting on the tarp, leaning forward. He doesn’t want to look at Russell any more. It’s cruel that they’ve made him. Callous. Making him watch a man dig his grave. Why should he try to be nice to them? Why do what he thinks they want him to do? From now on, he’ll do as he pleases. He’ll cry. He’ll lean forward. He’ll look away from what will be his final resting place. And for what? Because of Shug Francis, apparently. Such a nice young man. Always ready with a smile. Always asking after Richard’s health, making sure he’s content. Yes, there were questions about his business. He was up to all sorts, that boy. But this? How is this fair punishment for the work Richard did? He made numbers add up that shouldn’t. Is that so bad? Another moment of realization. This isn’t to punish him. This is to punish Shug Francis. That, somehow, makes it even worse. Dying just to inconvenience someone else.
Russell’s still digging. Slowed right down again. Mullen’s still standing next to Richard. How long have they been like this? Five minutes. Ten, perhaps. More, actually. He’s lost sense of time.
‘Bring across that towel,’ Mullen’s saying. A little louder than before, talking to Russell.
Russell climbs out of his hole and walks slowly across with the white towel. ‘It’s deep enough,’ he’s saying as he passes it across to Mullen. You can hear he’s exhausted. Leaning forward, hands on hips again.
‘No, it isn’t; another couple of feet,’ Mullen’s saying. That cold, hard voice. The sort people don’t argue with. The sort Russell doesn’t argue with. He’s going back to dig.
Richard can feel something press on the back of his head. He’s reaching up a hand.
‘No, leave it,’ Mullen’s saying. ‘Lean forward.’
There’s a moment of confusion. Richard isn’t sure what’s happening. Something on the back of his head, pressing him down. Then nothing.