‘YOU KNOW THIS guy?’

Halo peered at the signature on the white tag Tom had stolen from CalSuperior, while Tom leaned against his Mustang in the LAX lot. He noticed the side-view mirror glass had been replaced.

‘Sure. Niño Alvarez.’

‘He here?’

‘Nope. Three days off now. Back Friday. Why?’

‘He replaced the fan disc on the Pride of Maine.’

‘You think there was something wrong with the job?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. The job or the part. Maybe. That’s why I want to talk to him.’

Halo nodded but looked away. Tom could almost see the cogs whirring.

‘You know where he lives?’

‘You want me to show you?’

He had known Halo would offer.

Strangely for a Latino in LA, Niño Alvarez lived in Koreatown, with its ugly stone-coloured buildings covered with boxy, garish signs in a strange language. Tom realized why when the door of the apartment was opened by a Korean woman looking harassed and hot, with her sleeves rolled up and a paste brush in her hand.

‘Oh, hi, Halo.’ She looked perplexed now as well as harassed, and shot a wary glance at Tom.

‘Hi, Sylvia. Decorating?’

‘Wallpapering.’

‘Need a hand?’

Surprise pushed the other expressions off her face, then she smiled. ‘You can paper?’

‘I bet I could …’

She laughed then, and Tom was amazed to see her relax visibly as she pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes with a wrist. It was like magic. How the hell had Halo done that?

‘You want Niño?’

‘He in?’

‘He’ll be here in five minutes. He went to get batteries for the remote.’ She rolled her eyes and this time Halo laughed. Tom felt like they were speaking a different language – one with which he had only a passing acquaintance.

‘Coffee?’ she offered, and they both nodded.

She went into the kitchen and Halo and Tom appraised the half-papered wall. Tom had rarely seen uglier wallpaper – big black chrysanthemums on a gold background. He was no real judge, but it made him flinch.

‘You’re doing a good job here,’ Halo called.

‘You like it?’ she called back.

‘Yeah. Goes with the couch.’

Tom glanced at the couch and found it did. Unfortunately.

‘That’s what I said! Niño’s like, where? How? Why?’ Again she laughed, then walked through with two coffees.

‘Oh, Sylvia, I didn’t introduce Tom. Sorry.’

She shook his hand and Tom could feel warm dampness where she’d washed it and hadn’t dried it thoroughly.

‘Tom’s with the NTSB. He’s been helping out with the Pride of Maine investigation.’

Halo had been a lot more subtle than Tom would have been: he’d have flashed his badge right at the door, before any of this. Even so, her face tightened. One day, he mused, he was going to introduce himself as a member of the International Paedophilia League and see if that look could get any colder.

‘Nothing to worry about, Sylvia. Tom just thought Niño might be able to help too.’

‘Oh.’ She relaxed a little, even though Halo’s words changed nothing.

Damn, he was good. Tom thought he should hire Halo to shove his hand up his ass and work him like a glove puppet every time he needed to interact with real people. The idea made him smile a little and Sylvia misinterpreted it as reassurance. She smiled back.

Behind them, the door opened and Niño Alvarez walked in. He stopped and raised his eyebrows briefly at Halo. ‘Halo. Whassup?’

‘Hey, Niño. Nothing. We—’

‘He’s with the NTSB.’ Sylvia cut right to the chase, searching her husband’s face for clues.

Niño shrugged, as if it made no difference to him, but he also immediately turned his back on them, dropping a pack of double-As and some change on the hall table.

Then he yanked open the door and ran.

‘Shit!’ Tom took off after him, vaguely hearing Sylvia shout behind him.

Niño was thick-set but fast, and knew where he was going. They both banged through the door to the stairwell and started down, their heavy, reckless footfalls echoing around them to join the sound of blood pumping in Tom’s ears.

He heard the stairwell door bang again above him and hoped it was Halo.

He was gaining on Niño. He had a great rhythm going where he actually jumped down half of each flight, holding the rail for support, then slingshot round each corner to the next flight of concrete steps. He could hear that Niño was taking each step – albeit fast. He’d catch him before the first floor. He could do it. They were almost there.

Niño’s fist connected with his cheek as he spun round the final corner. The blow itself wasn’t much, but Tom’s own speed upped the force of it considerably, making it enough to throw him off balance and send him crashing down the last flight, hitting the edge of every step on the way down. He smacked into the wall at the bottom and groaned loudly, dimly aware of Niño’s feet in Timberland boots scraping past him and out of the door. He rolled and made a desperate grab for one of them but missed and Niño ran over his thumb for good measure.

‘Jesus!’ Halo hurried down the last flight and bent over Tom, touching his shoulder. ‘What happened?’

‘I fell down the stairs, you fucking idiot!’

‘Well, excuse me for giving a shit.’