Mr. Flood's Last Resort(68)

“So you’re not even going to tell him? Warn him?”

I can see it all: Cathal, a noble, aged zebra, with a long frightened face and white mane, bolting through the house with a pack of orderlies running after him—jackals all. The old man will be brought down, netted, and tranquilized. They’ll drag him out by his heels with his tongue lolling and crate him. He doesn’t stand a chance.

“You’re scared of him.” I smile with bitter triumph. “And so you should be; he may be decrepit but he broke Sam Hebden. I hope he leads you a merry dance.”

Biba sneers. “Mr. Flood did not break Sam Hebden. Sam dealt with the situation admirably and as a consequence was moved to a senior Geriatric Conflict Resolution position in Hull.”

“Good for him.” Then I say it before I can stop myself: “When did Sam go?”

“A day or so after the assault.”

I freeze. “Are you saying he’s been there all this time, in Hull?”

Biba looks at me oddly. “Yes.”

“And you’re sure of that?”

Biba takes up her torpedo. “Well, that’s where he’s supposed to be. But that’s his own agency’s concern, isn’t it?”

As I watch Biba massacre the last of her sandwich, a terrible creeping feeling comes over me. “You’ve met him; what does Sam look like?”

Biba looks frustrated. “Average.”

My heart turns over. “Tall? Blond?”

She narrows her eyes. “Average.” She picks up her receiver. Her voice is cold. “We’re done here, Maud. Remember to bring the key back. Call us in a week; if the complaint is dropped by then we’ll see if we can place you with another client.”

For a moment I watch her type numbers into the phone. She waits a second before treating the receiver to her ribald laugh.



GABRIEL IS barreling down the garden path as if his arse is on fire. When I step out from behind the buddleia he nearly dies.

“Maud.”

“You sneaky, underhanded fuck.”

He looks at me in astonishment. “There’s no need—”

“There’s every need. Besides setting me up you promised that old man in there that if he complied you’d leave him be. What harm is he doing?”

Gabriel clutches his manbag to his chest as if it would shield him from my biblical disgust. “He’s done his harm and he’s moving on now; he’ll live out his remaining time peaceably.”

I think of Biba with her syringe and shudder.

“And you’ve told him this? That you’ve shafted him? That’s why you came here today?”

He purses his sweaty mouth.

“Of course you haven’t. You really are a repellent bastard.”

Gabriel’s eyes dart towards the gate; I’m blocking the path. My trainers planted, my center of gravity low. He’s trying to figure out how to get round me.

I take a step forwards, keeping my chin high. “What was it that the old man had on you, Gabriel? Come on, you can tell me. Whatever it was that has prevented you pulling the house down around him and turfing him out on his ear.”

A sly look steals across his face. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

A thought dawns on me. “You’ve got it, haven’t you? Whatever it is you wanted from that house. Whatever it was he was holding over you.”

“You’re talking drivel.”

“It’s probably there in your handbag.”

His knuckles whiten on leather. I wonder if I should mug him and how I would set about doing that.

“You’ve been suspended, Maud. You shouldn’t even be here. I’ll call the agency. The police.”

“Go on, then.”

“I suggest you leave this property right now.”

“This isn’t your property; Cathal is here yet.”

He sneers, a little nervously. “Cathal, is it? It sounds as if you have designs on the old man.”

“God, you’re an awful arsehole.”

His face seems to implode. His mouth splutters and his jowls begin to shake. “I don’t have to take this,” he whines. “Get off this property.”

I square my good strong jaw. “Or what?”

He fumbles in his manbag and brings out his phone and holds it up in front of me as if it’s a talisman. “I’m calling the police.”

In the work of a moment I have it snatched from his hand and hurled over the toolshed.

“You mad bitch.” His voice is high, hysterical. He almost jumps in his loafers. If he wasn’t scared of me I am sure he’d slap me.

Instead, he grips hold of his manbag and rushes past, leaping over an abandoned mattress, making a dash for the gate. I have to hand it to him, he moves nimbly for his size.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m going to find out exactly what’s been going on here. Then I’ll be the one going to the police.”

Gabriel laughs at me from a position of safety behind the closed gate. “To say what? That you’re a mad bitch who makes up crime stories?”

I stare at him. “You’ve been spying on me. You shut me in the icehouse. You sent thugs to threaten my friend.”

Gabriel stabs at his temple with his finger. “You’re fucking mental.”