Chapter 22

Harry sat underneath the house, peering through the darkness, shivering. He’d never felt so cold. He supposed at least some of it was shock. But it was far colder than it should have been in summer. He was cold but he couldn’t do anything but sit there shivering.

‘They can’t hurt you any more, Rob,’ he whispered.

Harry rubbed his arms.

Do you want to cut, or dig?

He should have called the police. Before he dropped Sandy back home. He should have called the police and told them there was a body under his house, then given them Jess’s address and told them there was a body there, too.

And then what? Get out, like Dave thought he should? Let the police take over?

‘Yeah, why not?’ Harry spoke out loud.

The same reason he wouldn’t leave the house. The same reason Jess wouldn’t either, even once he told her that Kyla was buried there. The tattoo was his. Rightly or wrongly, it was his. He had to be the one who delivered the justice. Or he’d end up like the guy in Afghanistan. Insane, trying to burn the tattoos off his body.

He slumped back onto the concrete, staring at the dark floorboards above his head. Cold bit into his shoulders and back. He ignored it. He thought of Rob, lying in icy lay-ups, waiting for his perfect shot. He thought about Andrew Cardinal, poised to romp to victory in the election. He thought about what he knew, and what he could prove. The difference between the two was a chasm, possibly wider than that between life and death.

Do you want to cut, or dig?

You used a shottie. Half his fucking chest is gone.

Jeez. Lotta ink.

Harry’s world spun. He rolled on his side just in time, as his lunch and the Mars Bar he’d bought on the way back from Sandy’s shot out of his mouth, onto the concrete. He lay there for a moment, panting, his chest throbbing. Then climbed shakily to his feet, wiped one hand across his face.

He stared at the cracked concrete slab. He saw the cement mixer backing up, saw the bikies doing a bit of concreting. Crow, beergut poking out from underneath his shirt. Heathy, with his blond hair and tear tattoo. Cardinal’s dad, who went and got himself some tatts and strung himself up under the house. Harry shook his head.

‘It won’t be long, Rob,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

Harry climbed the back steps. He let himself inside and went straight to the bathroom, where he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it. He stood there until the water ran cold. Got out, dried himself and climbed into bed.