Harold dropped Lemon’s leg, and he and Tom stepped rapidly away from the bird.
‘What is it?’ said Ness, as she handed the leash back to Harold and came over to peer at the bloody lump in Tom’s hand.
He picked at it, turning it over, suddenly surprised to see a glint of metal through the blood.
Ness saw it too. ‘Is it a bullet?’
At that, Harold craned to see, pulling a reasonably compliant Lemon with him.
Tom saw that his plaid shirt was already bloody from the impromptu surgery, so he wiped the lump on the tail of it.
The air left his lungs in a single harsh whoosh. His practised eye told him instantly that what he’d dug out of an ostrich called Lemon was a flange bolt from the CFM56 engine of a Boeing 737.
*
They had left Harold walking Lemon happily to God knew where. He had thanked them effusively, waved goodbye and set off purposefully as if he knew exactly where he was going. Tom assumed he must, however unlikely it seemed.
Ness had tipped most of a bottle of Scotch over the wound. She’d bought it at LAX and left it in the car. They’d had just a couple of nips each, Tom thought mournfully. He tried reminding her it was a single malt, but she shook the rest over the ostrich for good luck.
Tom sighed. It seemed Ness had a stubborn streak.
For comfort he turned his mind, and his fingers, back to the bolt in his jeans pocket. He couldn’t leave it alone – had to keep touching it. He drew it out for the tenth time since they’d set off again, looking at the three bright gouges in the shank, and the way it was cranked – just a little kink in the smooth line under the head. The grazes on the flange faces had told a story. That story had been stolen. But the same story was retold here on the bolt: the story of the disc ring shifting back and forth at least three times, each movement leaving those fresh-metal witness marks on the shaft of this bolt.
If Tom had found a diamond in Lemon he couldn’t have been happier.
They barely spoke on the drive back to Cape Town. Tom’s mind was whirring as he turned the bolt over and over like worry beads. Ness seemed preoccupied too, which suited him fine.
It was dark by the time they got to the city and booked into a hotel. This time Tom requested a double and Ness smiled. Despite her ministrations at the hospital, he was still relieved and a little disbelieving that this was happening. Some small – okay, not so small – cynical part of him had been wondering if, back at the hospital, she’d simply seen he had a problem and done him a favour. Strictly medicinal. Like he’d pick up her groceries if she were ill – that kind of thing.
Once he put it in that context, he realized how stupid it sounded. No woman went down on a guy as a favour between friends. Not unless Ness were some new and exotic kind of woman brewed up in a fantasy lab run by unattractive, halitosis-plagued virgin geeks.
Still, it had been a relief when she’d smiled.
Ness showered and Tom was just debating whether she was the kind of woman who’d welcome company – or kick his soapy ass out of there – when his phone rang. The thought that it might be Pete with a job made him scramble about looking for his cell and he banged his hand on the table as he answered.
‘Motherfucker.’
‘Tom?’
‘What?’ Tom snapped and dug his hand under his armpit – like that would help.
‘Halo.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Er … Niño Alvarez is missing.’
‘Good. I hope the bastard’s dead. He stood on my thumb.’
There was a confused silence in which Tom started to feel just a little childish. He suppressed it by snapping at Halo again: ‘Anything else?’
‘No. Just that.’
This time Halo’s silence was hostile, and Tom remembered that Alvarez was a friend and colleague of his. Shit. ‘What’s his wife doing?’ He couldn’t remember the woman’s name but he hoped his slightly less aggressive tone would be enough to placate Halo.
‘Sylvia,’ Halo provided, as Tom had known he would – cos that’s the kinda guy Halo is, he thought, a little bitterly. The pain in his hand was subsiding now and he was definitely feeling guilty.
‘She’s called the police but they don’t give a damn. I mean, he’s a man, not a little kid or some such. I guess they figure he’s in Tijuana tying one on, or with a girlfriend.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I wouldn’t be calling you if I did. He hasn’t been back to work since that day.’
‘Well, what can I do about it from here?’
‘Why? Where are you?’
‘Cape Town.’
There was a surprised pause, then Halo wondered, ‘Does that mean this call is costing me a fortune?’
‘Yep.’
‘Shit. I gotta go.’
‘Suck it up, Halo. I found some stuff out.’
‘Pride of Maine stuff?’
