Barry sat in his car for a full minute, engine still running, apparently checking his phone or perhaps just gathering his courage. Then he got out, walked to the side door with quick, purposeful strides and disappeared inside the building.
‘Let’s see what he’s up to first. Could be legitimate business.’ Art kept the binoculars trained on the warehouse, watching for any sign of activity. ‘Could be nothing more interesting than storage or paperwork.’
‘Maybe he’s going in there to ride about on his pet unicorn,’ Cameron said. ‘Wanker.’
‘Magic Willie’s really got under your skin, hasn’t he?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Let me put it this way, I wouldn’t give you a can of petrol and a box of matches right now. Magic Willie would just be called Magic after that.’
They waited. Five minutes passed with no change. The warehouse remained silent and dark, no lights visible through the high windows, no sounds carried by the wind that had sprung up.
Ten minutes. Cameron shifted in his seat, clearly getting restless. ‘How long do we give him?’
‘As long as it takes,’ Art replied, though he was wondering the same thing. What was Barry doing in there that required this much time?
‘He’s maybe in there chopping up his old man,’ Cameron said.
‘Why would he do that?’
Cameron turned to Art in the dark of their car. ‘Did you not see him before? He looked like he was fucking daft. Like some wee cog in his brain stripped itself and now he’s running downhill with no brakes. Maybe he’s The Embalmer and he’s changed tack and he’s just going to let somebody have it with an axe.’
‘What’s this obsession you have with axes? Chopping people up, McRae in my house with a fucking axe. You’re giving me the creeps. Wee bastard. Shut your hole about people using an axe.’
‘I have been thinking about axes recently, haven’t I? Ever since Magic Willie started showing my wife how to dance horizontally,’ Cameron said.
‘You don’t know for sure that he’s shagging your wife.’
‘I said dancing. I can’t bring myself to use the word “shagging”.’
‘A shag is a type of dance. So maybe he is giving her a shag.’ Art thought about lifting the binoculars again but he had started to feel the cramp grip his arms.
‘This conversation went down a dark road,’ Cameron said, slouching down in the seat.
Fifteen minutes after entering, Barry finally emerged. But his demeanour had changed – he was moving quickly now, almost rushing, looking around nervously as if checking for observers. He pulled out his phone as he walked to the BMW, speaking to someone with gestures that suggested agitation or concern. Art picked up the binoculars again.
‘Something’s spooked him,’ Cameron observed.
‘Or he didn’t find what he was looking for.’ Art lowered the binoculars as Barry climbed into his car. ‘Either way, he’s done here.’
The BMW’s engine started, and within seconds Barry was driving back towards the farm’s exit, passing their positionwithout seeming to notice the unmarked Ford tucked behind the old house. His speed suggested urgency, or possibly fear.
‘That was quick for someone who drove all this way,’ Cameron said. ‘Fifteen minutes, whatever he was doing, and then straight back out?’
‘Exactly what I was thinking.’ Art waited until Barry’s car had disappeared around a corner, then started their engine. ‘Only one way to find out what’s so interesting about that warehouse.’
Just then, Lucy was pulling alongside Art in her car. She turned it off and got out, climbing into the back of their car.
‘Hey, Art, Cameron.’
‘Lucy,’ Art said.
‘Ma’am,’ Cameron said.
‘Where’s Mitchell?’ she asked.
‘He was over in that warehouse behind the old farm building. It mostly looks abandoned but he went in,’ Art said. ‘He came back out and left.’
