“Looks like a sore one,” she says, watching each of her children out of the classroom door. “How did that happen?”
“DIY accident.” I give her my best grin. “Too clumsy for my own good.”
Daisy is also extremely curious, insisting on studying the bruise close up and discussing at length how it had happened. At home, this extends into a lengthy game of doctors and nurses, in which she’s the doctor and I’m the poor patient who has to go to hospital andhave horrible medicine that tastes yuk but will make you better, Daddy.
A reply from the mystery number arrives while we’re in the middle of the game.
OK. The old RAF base at Newton. Main hangar. 4 p.m. not 5.
If you’re a minute late or if you’re with anyone, your house gets burned to the ground instead with everyone inside it.
This is your last chance.
I check my watch. I’d never been to the old abandoned airbase at Newton, east of the city. I had no idea what was even left there. It’s only a few miles away but a twenty-five minute drive at least, at this time of day. The meeting being an hour earlier means I’ll only just make it if I leave straightaway.
I send a response, then write a message to Webber with the meeting location, a stab of hesitation as I remember the anonymous note put through my door only a few hours ago.
Could I trust him?
Did I even have any other choice at this stage? And there was no time.
I press “send” and forward the message to the ex-detective, adding,
I’m on my way now.
We were going to set a trap for a wolf.
Leah is in the dining room absorbed in her phone, school textbooks arrayed across the table in front of her.
“Leah?” I say. “I have to go out for a little while, OK? Can you look after your sister for a bit? Your mum’s going to get Callum from tag rugby after school.”
She nods without looking up from her phone. “Where are you going?”
“Something I have to… drop off. Should be back in about an hour.”
She’s asking another question, but I’m already heading out, grabbing my jacket and keys and going to the car. My head is a whirl of theories and facts, of cold cases and new dangers, the bruise throbbing under my eye.
The old airbase is little more than a collection of old huts, a decaying control tower, and half a dozen hangars overgrown with weeds and moss and every type of greenery. From what I could remember it was an old Second World War base that had been out of commission for decades. There is no gate and the fence is torn down in a dozen places.
I drive in and park near the biggest hangar with barely two minutes to spare before the 4 p.m. deadline. The ground is a patchwork of asphalt squares, with thick weeds growing through the gaps. It is utterly desolate and deserted. I take the small gray backpack from the passenger seat and walk toward the hangar, looking around for any signs of life.
I message Flack’s accomplice.
I’m here.
Webber and his colleagues in uniform have done a good job of concealing themselves. I can’t see any sign of them at all.
I pull up his number and fire a message to him too.
At the airbase. Where are you?
I walk into the biggest hangar, a mess of rusted machinery and overgrown concrete, everything thick with the smell of rot, and the ancient stink of spilled aviation fuel. There are large, jagged holes in the roof and the end wall. Apart from the signs of a few small fires on the concrete, it doesn’t look as if anyone has been in here for years.
My phone rings, loud and tinny in the echoing cavern of the old hangar.
“We’re stuck in traffic,” Webber shouts. “It’s total gridlock here; we haven’t even moved in twenty minutes. Don’t go in on your own. Do you hear me? I’ve got three officers with me—donotgo in there alone.”
I end the call without replying.
