‘All of it.’
‘Yes. What are you—?’
‘It’s just that . . . there’s a lot of money in that bag.’
‘Gemma—’
‘I mean there must be thousands there, right?’
‘Gemma, no.’
‘I just—’
‘No. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. It’s dirty money. Drug money. We can’t profit from what happened. Besides, it might be traceable. Every time we spent one of those notes we’d be looking over our shoulder.’
She nodded slowly. He didn’t blame her for thinking that way. It had crossed his own mind too. A sum of money like that could solve a lot of their problems.
‘How long are you going to stay up?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. A few hours. I have to make sure I’m not seen.’
‘You’re going out, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere. It doesn’t matter.’
She nodded. ‘Would you like me to stay up with you for a while?’
He stroked the back of her hand. ‘No. You go to bed. Get some rest. Like I said, tomorrow this will all seem like a dream.’
She kissed him again. As she walked away, he said, ‘Gemma?’
‘Yes?’
‘Take a sleeping tablet and put in some earplugs. And if you hear anything, don’t get up. Do you understand?’
She opened her mouth to question him, then thought better of it. But she looked frightened again.
And when she left the room, she almost seemed relieved to get out of there.
8
The garage seemed eerie at two o’clock in the morning, but Scott had no plans to stay very long. He put on as few lights as possible to avoid attracting unwanted attention. If the police did come knocking, he would tell them he had been out with friends and had left his house keys here. He had it all worked out, and he hated that he had been forced into thinking like a criminal.
The Audi 4x4 he had worked on with Daniel was still here, but he rejected it as being too new and flashy – its owner would probably notice if he left even the tiniest mark on it. Like a speck of blood, for example.
He went outside to the fenced-off compound at the rear, and played a torch over the customer vehicles awaiting work. The choice came to a grand total of two cars. The Fiat 500 was far too small, which left only an old silver Toyota Avensis. It had been towed in with a wrecked gearbox, but that had now been fixed.
Scott turned his torch onto the registration plate. It would have to do.
He went back inside for a while, then returned with the key to the Toyota, some black insulation tape, a pair of scissors, and a rag coated with a mixture of old engine oil, axle grease and brake dust. A few minutes later and the car had a new registration: a 1 turned into a T, an F into a P, a 3 into a B. Then he dabbed the rag on and around the registration plates, blurring the characters. It wouldn’t stand close inspection, but with any luck that would never happen.
He unlocked the gates of the compound, then drove the car out onto the street. He left it there while he closed and locked the garage up again, then drove home. It was only a ten-minute journey, but for every second of it he dreaded the blue flashing lights of the police, pulling him over for having dodgy plates.
He parked as close as he could get to the rear door of the block of flats. The short walk to the door felt more like a marathon, his heart now hammering in his chest. He prayed that Biggo and his mates hadn’t assembled here while he’d been gone, then cursed himself for having planted his image so firmly in their minds.
But the lobby was empty. Scott summoned the lift and travelled back up to the top storey. As he passed the eighth floor, the memories of what had happened only hours ago came crashing back in waves that made him nauseous.
The lift reached its destination and its doors opened. When Scott stepped out, he paused in the corridor for a moment while he scanned it for any signs of the extreme violence that had taken place. He could see nothing. Not a trace.
Maybe it was all a dream, he told himself at his front door. It’s too weird to be real, so maybe I’ll go in and he won’t be there. There won’t be a dead body lying on my couch, because that would be crazy.
But the body was there, all right. Scott stood looking at it for a good two minutes while he tried to convince himself otherwise, but his brain was having none of it. This was reality, and it wasn’t about to go away without some assistance.
He went to Daniel’s bedroom. Eased the door open and sneaked across to the bed. Daniel was fast asleep, the earmuffs he was wearing cutting off all outside noise. He had worn earmuffs in bed ever since he was a child, when every sound had made him fearful of monsters.
They were something to be especially grateful for tonight.
Back in the hallway, Scott opened the cupboard. The boiler was in here, along with the gas and electric meters, the vacuum cleaner, tools, paint and decorating equipment and a whole host of other items. That was another problem with living in a tiny flat: there was hardly any room to store anything.
He tried to keep his noise to a minimum while he searched the boxes and shelves. Eventually he found what he was looking for.
A set of plastic decorating sheets.
Some masking tape.
