Lifting the Lid(88)

He threw open the car door. ‘Come on, Colin. We might be about to salvage something from this unholy mess after all.’



* * *



MacFarland wasn’t in the least surprised that Julian Bracewell was already in the flat, nor that he was pointing a gun at them as they came through the door. Harry’s tanned complexion, on the other hand, turned a pale shade of grey.

‘Well, well. Julian Bracewell as I live and breathe.’

MacFarland couldn’t be certain, but he thought he detected a hint of a tremor in Harry’s voice. He stared at the man he had first met as a tramp outside the hotel in Sheffield only a few hours earlier. Clean shaven now and looking twenty years younger, he was half perched on the narrow window sill at the opposite end of the room, dressed in a dark blue suit and red tie. Eyeing Bracewell’s gun, he contemplated reaching for his own but instantly abandoned the idea as not only a futile gesture but very probably a suicidal one.

‘I must say you appear to be in remarkably good health for someone who’s supposed to be dead, old boy,’ said Bracewell, raising and lowering his gun in Harry’s direction like it was some kind of long distance body scanner.

‘Not lookin’ so bad yerself in the circumstances.’

‘Can’t complain, Harry. Can’t complain. But speaking of the dead, would this chappie here have anything to do with you by any chance?’

Bracewell nodded towards the armchair in the middle of the room, only the back of which was visible to Harry and the others.

‘Dead? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?’ Harry seemed to have forgotten about the gun that was being aimed at him, and he strode over to the armchair. ‘Jesus Christ. What did you do to ‘im?’

‘Nothing to do with me, old boy. He was like that when I got here.’

‘And where the hell are Carrot and Lenny?’ Harry’s eyes darted around the flat as if he thought they might be hiding somewhere.

‘Who?’

‘The two muppets who were supposed to be lookin’ after ‘im.’

‘Just me and the stiff I’m afraid,’ Bracewell said with a shrug. ‘Can’t get the staff these days, eh, Harry? Present company excepted of course.’

MacFarland felt awkward at the wink and the beaming grin that was directed at him, uncertain whether to return the smile or not.

‘How’s the old war wound by the way?’ Bracewell waved the barrel of his gun at MacFarland’s feet.

‘Aye, well,’ he said, looking down at his injured foot, which still shot a bolt of pain up his leg whenever he put weight on it. ‘I guess it’s nae so bad now, ta very much. Mind you, I have tae—’

‘Oh shut up, ‘Aggis,’ Harry interrupted, his face contorted with contempt. ‘Nobody gives a toss about your bleedin’ foot.’

Bracewell’s smile vanished instantly, and he whipped the gun round to aim it at Harry’s chest. ‘I beg your pardon, old boy, but I do believe I was expressing an interest in our Scottish friend’s podiatric wellbeing.’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ said Harry with a forced laugh, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. ‘Let’s not get hasty, shall we?’

There was a lengthy silence as Bracewell glared at him, all traces of feigned good humour now entirely obscured beneath a mask of sheer loathing. ‘No, no. I think it would be best if you keep them where they are,’ he said when Harry made to lower his arms.

MacFarland watched Bracewell screw a silencer onto the barrel of his gun, and his whole body tensed when he heard the faint click of the safety catch. He wondered again whether he should risk making a grab for his own weapon, but it was almost as if Bracewell had read his mind.

‘I wouldn’t advise it, dear boy,’ he said without diverting his attention from Harry. ‘We wouldn’t want to ruin the English-Scottish entente cordiale, now would we? In fact, perhaps this might be an opportune moment to relieve you of temptation. – Delia, if you’d be so kind?’

MacFarland’s immediate confusion intensified when he turned to see Delia coming towards him and gesturing at him to raise his hands. He did as he was told, and Delia reached inside his jacket and removed the gun from his shoulder holster. MacFarland studied his face the whole time for some kind of clue, but all he got was a half grin that seemed more like a facial shrug of apology. Okay, so maybe this explained his strange behaviour on the train and then later on the station platform, but why Bracewell? What was the connection?

He watched Delia cross the floor to the window, giving Harry the widest possible berth as he went. When he got there, Bracewell rested his free hand on his shoulder and, in return, Delia kissed him lightly on the cheek.