it was a statement, not a question. “You have caused trouble for these people in the past.” Again, a simple statement of fact.
“Afghanistan, 2004,” said Shelley. “We took down one of their supply lines.”
“There have been other occasions but yes, that’s probably the one that caused them most hurt.”
“So I’m messing with dangerous people,” said Shelley. “You’re right, I’ve done it before.”
“The difference is that last time you messed with the Chechen Mafia you did it with the SAS and Her Majesty’s Armed Forces at your back,” said Claridge. “This time you’re on your own.”
CHAPTER 34
WHEN DRAKE ARRIVED home shortly afterward, they stepped out to greet him. Bennett and Gurney: well, they no doubt had loose ends to tie up before they upped and got the fuck out of Dodge. Shelley, on the other hand? At first he’d been telling himself that he wanted to supervise the clean-up operation, or that he wanted to look into Drake’s eyes and see if he was at all ashamed by his behavior last night.
But he’d had second thoughts about all of that. In the meantime he’d realized that what he most wanted to do was see Susie. It was her with whom he needed to make his peace.
So his heart sank when Drake’s Jaguar swept into the drive and Susie was not in the passenger seat. Drake peered balefully at the three men through his windshield, and he appeared to take a deep breath before letting himself out of the car to face them.
There they stood, Shelley, Bennett, and Gurney, looking like the housekeeping staff in a period drama, and for a moment or so Drake faced them in silence, unspoken recollections of the previous night passing between them.
But no shame. No apology.
That’s it. I’m going, thought Shelley. I’m out of here.
“I don’t think much of my welcoming committee,” said Drake without humor. He turned his attention to Shelley. “Surprised to find you here. I thought you’d have gone by now, taken your conscience and cleared off to give your halo a polish.”
He and Shelley stared at one another, as though Drake was daring him to come back on the halo comment, but Shelley ignored the jibe. Laugh it up, fat boy. I’m not making excuses for you anymore.
“Where’s Johnson?” asked Drake, breaking the stare and talking to Bennett.
“Due any minute,” said Bennett. He thrust back his shoulders and took on the mantle of officer in charge. “We need to get rid of anything that connects us with last night.”
“You think the police are going to come knocking?” said Drake, and Shelley had to restrain himself from letting out a gasp of frustration. What planet was this bloke on?
“Yes,” replied Bennett with the kind of patience and calm that Shelley feared he himself couldn’t possibly muster, “we anticipate the police getting involved at some point.”
“Oh yeah, and who told you that?” growled Drake. “Was that our friendly local alarmist there?” He tilted his chin at Shelley.
Bennett’s face stayed neutral but his eyes found Shelley, who saw the silent apology there. “The fire spread,” explained Bennett. “An eyewitness heard the name ‘Drake’ being shouted. It seems likely they’ll come and ask questions. It’s an outcome we anticipated and prepared for. That’s why you have an alibi.”
Drake was about to say something when his phone rang. He fished it out of his blazer pocket, looked at the screen. “Number withheld.”
“Don’t answer it,” said Bennett quickly, but Drake shot him a look.
“Don’t be soft, man,” he said, and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello,” he barked, every inch the gruff northern businessman, not prepared to take shit from anybody. “Yes,” he continued, “this is Guy Drake.” He paused. “Wait a second,” he said, “before I say another word, why don’t you tell me who you are?” And then he activated the speaker and placed the smartphone on the bonnet of the Jaguar.
“Who am I?” said the voice, and Shelley knew at once they were in big trouble because there was no doubt about it: the guy was a Russian, which meant he was probably a Chechen. “I am somebody that you have upset. You have disrupted my business and cost me money.”
“That was the idea, pal,” said Drake. Trying to stop him from saying anything incriminating or inflammatory, Shelley drew his finger across his throat, shaking his head at the same time, but of course, Drake being Drake, he plowed on. “You got what was coming to you. Believe you me, you can count yourself