“As for where he is now,” Warnham says, trailing off as he taps a little more. “One patrol said he was seen near Charing Cross about an hour ago, so who knows where he is now.”
“His home address is great, thanks.”
“Right. Well, details are the same as they were before.” Warnham’s voice is bright and cheery. “Nice to do business with you again, Mr Graves.”
“Be sure to tell me which email address to send those tickets to.” I hang up, and a few seconds later my phone pings as Paulie Hardcastle’s address pops up on my screen.
I gun the engine, navigating my way out of the carpark, out onto the busy London roads, and head south towards Croydon.
Hardcastle’sflat is above a small but charming bakery run by a friendly Indian woman with round cheeks. She waves to me as I check the doorbell by Hardcastle’s door, seeing that he occupies flat number 2.
“Hello there, darling,” I say, walking into the bakery. “I was wondering, I have a friend who lives upstairs, is there parking around the back?”
“Oh yes, but only for the occupants,” she replies. “Sorry.”
“Not a worry at all.” I look down at the glass case in front of me. “Give me two of what you think is the best you’ve got.”
The woman is thrilled and packs up a cake with a bright orange crust filled with light green cream, and something that looks like spun caramel which I’m sure I’ve eaten before. She sends me off with a complimentary cup of chai and tells me to come again anytime.
I drive around the back, parking up in the narrow alley. There’s a steep set of stairs leading to two doors, one clearly marked with a peeling number two. I kill the engine, and wait.
It’s getting dark, and I’m sure Hardcastle won’t be out on his usual rounds with the police looking for him. I drink the chai, which is the most delicious thing I’ve had in a long time, and decide that this bakery needs more exposure.
After an hour, I start to wonder if Hardcastle is hiding out somewhere else, to avoid the police in case they come to his house. It’s proper dark now, people coming home after work.
Finally, his silver hair illuminated by the harsh streetlights, Paulie Hardcastle traipses up the alley. His camera bag is slung over his shoulder, his jacket zipped up to his chin, giving him the appearance of being a hairy thumb rather than a human being.
I wait until he reaches the bottom of the stairs, where he pauses, hand braced against the railing. As I climb out, his shoulders rise as though he’s taking a deep breath. A breath that is swiftly interrupted by the slamming of my car door. His head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening as I cross the short distance between us.
“Stressed are we, Paulie?” I ask, fists clenched at my sides. “I wonder why that would be? Busy evening evading the coppers?”
Paulie stumbles backwards against the lower step, almost losing his footing and steadying himself against the railing. “Now, now, let’s not lose our-”
He cuts off with a muffled shriek as I seize his collar with one hand, and drive my fist into his middle. He sucks in a breath, eyes popping out of his head.
“Lose our what, mate?” I snarl in his face. “Our heads? Hmm?”
“I-I never meant to hurt her,” Paulie pleads, the air leaving his mouth in one heavy whoosh as my fist slams into his stomach again. “Oh, bloody hell,” he chokes out. “Are you mad?”
“Yeah, I fucking am.” I shove him away from me, and he falls back on the ground, clutching his stomach. “You’re lucky I didn’t give you a good walloping after that stunt you pulled with her dad.” I spit on him, and he flinches. “You’re a rat, Hardcastle. Nothing but a fucking sewer rat.”
I lunge at him, and he yelps weakly. I grab the bag from his shoulder, swinging it up in the air and slamming it on the ground. The camera inside shatters loudly.
“You can’t do that!” Hardcastle cries, cowering quickly as I lean down over him.
“Do you fucking know who I am?” I point a finger in his face. “Do you know what I could do to you? Well hear this, mate. You go near Mia again, you try talking to her, you come anywhere near, you fucking breathe the same air as her, I will destroy you. And if you get any funny ideas about running to the police, I will use all my fucking money and influence to ruin you, and anyone you care about, do you understand me?”
Hardcastle’s eyes widen, and he nods.
“I said, do you understand me?” I growl, and he actually whimpers.
“Y-yes. Yes. I’m sorry.”
Looking at his stupid face, all I can think of is Mia and when she found out about her dad. Her anguish. Her despair. The way she shook like a leaf in that car as she tried to make sense of it all.
I drive my foot into Hardcastle’s stomach, one last parting strike, and he gurgles pathetically on the ground.
“Good night, Paulie,” I say as I head back across the narrow alley to my car.
