‘You’re going to drive down to the road and make a left.’
‘Yes... yes... what kind of dog? You know? What kind of dog do you have?’
Tooth was silent. There was a loud moan behind him, then a voice called out, ‘Jesus, who are you?’
The man tried to stand, as if making a lunge for Tooth. ‘Who are—?’ Then he cried out in pain, clutching the back of his ribcage.
‘I’m the man with the gun,’ Tooth said. ‘You’re in pain, right, Rog?’
He saw the man’s right hand moving stealthily but clumsily towards a metal rod on the floor. Maybe the one they’d just been using. Then he launched himself at Tooth, raising the rod to strike him.
Tooth fired two near-silent shots in rapid succession into his forehead. His head jerked, then he fell on his back and lay still for a second. Then twitched.
His colleague screamed in shock and terror.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Tooth said, loudly and firmly.
The man was shaking uncontrollably. ‘You shot him. You shot him! Oh my God, you shot him.’
‘It’s a mutt,’ Tooth said, staring at the man he’d just shot. He was twitching the way he often saw a caught fish twitch after he’d smashed its head with a priest.
‘What?’ the man said.
‘My associate.’
‘Associate?’
‘It’s a mutt. I was just walking along a street in Beverly Hills and it started following me.’
‘I... I... I—’ His eyes were bulging. ‘Started following you? What did?’
‘My dog,’ Tooth replied. ‘You asked about my dog. He’s my associate.’
The man was staring past him at his colleague who was now motionless, with blood running from the two holes in his forehead. He tried to say something but nothing came out. He tried again. ‘I... I... you... you shot him.’
‘His name’s Yossarian.’
He looked at Tooth, bewildered. ‘Yossarian?’
‘Turn around, put your seat belt on and drive.’ Tooth raised the gun, putting it right up close to his face. ‘Drive.’
The man continued staring at Tooth as if too frozen with terror to think or move.
‘You want me to shoot you, too? I don’t mind, I’ll drive myself.’
‘N-n-n-n-n-no, please.’
The man spun round as if a plug had been pushed into a socket, sat down, clicked on his belt and put the vehicle in gear. They lurched forward and stalled.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Please don’t kill me, please, please, I’ll drive.’ He restarted, they lurched forward again and this time they kept going.
‘Left at the road,’ Tooth said.
‘Left. Left at the road,’ the driver repeated.
‘He has different-coloured eyes. One’s kind of red, the other sort of grey. Depends on the light.’
‘Different eyes?’
‘My dog. Make the next right.’
They turned into a narrow lane. There were damp leaves on the road surface and the trees formed a tunnel overhead, blotting out the sky.
‘W-what kind of d-dog did you say you have?’ He was struggling to speak through his fear.
‘Anyone stops us, anyone asks you any questions, you tell them what you’re doing, hunting a leak, right? Hunting a big leak. You’re working late like a lot of your colleagues tonight, hunting a big leak. Saving the environment, saving natural resources. Understand what I’m saying?’ He pressed the barrel into the man’s neck for emphasis.
‘Yes, yes, I do!’ the man yammered, jerking in terror, and the van swerved, momentarily losing grip on the slippery surface as he fought with the wheel to steady it.
‘Drive more carefully, asshole.’
‘Yes, sorry, sorry.’
‘Or you want me to put you in the back with your friend?’
‘No, please, please, please.’
‘You make a left at the T-junction.’
The driver turned left at the T-junction. He was shaking and nodding his head at the same time.
‘I don’t know what kind. It’s a dog,’ Tooth said. ‘I don’t give a shit what kind.’
They passed a row of cottages with a couple of cars parked outside. Then a large house to the left, with a horsebox in the driveway. They continued past a sign to a sailing club and to waterworks, then Tooth instructed him to slow right down and turn into another single-track lane.
The light was beginning to fail, and Tooth was happy about that. He told the driver to slow again as they reached an open gate and read the sign.
PRIMROSE FARM
‘Carry on,’ he instructed.
A quarter of a mile further, Tooth saw rotten wooden gates that were open. And the oval sign, PRIMROSE FARM COTTAGE, with a cart-track of a driveway dipping steeply down.
‘Turn in here,’ Tooth said.
122
Friday 12 October
Riley, deep in his hide in the rhododendron bush, heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Immediately, the CROPS officer radioed the support team.
Moments later the van came into view.
‘Mike Whisky One, do you have visual contact?’
‘Romeo One, a Ford Transit van with Southern Water markings, heading towards target house.’
‘Southern Water?’
‘Yes yes.’
‘Hold station, we are checking.’
‘Hold station, yes yes.’
Riley watched the van drive around the bumpy driveway and pull up in front of the house.
Inside the rear of the van, Tooth, now wearing the dead man’s yellow high-viz jacket, crawled up behind the driver and chopped him hard in the back of his neck, knocking him out. He hauled him over the seat and onto the floor, where he gagged him and tied him up securely with cable from a reel and wound duct tape round his mouth.
He then climbed over the driver’s seat and, as an added precaution, pulled the keys from the ignition.
‘You don’t move, Bob. Understand?’ he said to the unconscious man. He opened the door and stepped out into near darkness.
Doug Riley’s radio crackled. ‘Romeo One to Mike Whisky One.’
‘Romeo One, this is Mike Whisky One.’
‘Mike Whisky One, we’ve just spoken to Southern Water. There is a serious leak in the Forest Row area causing localized water pressure issues. They currently have a number of vehicles out working into the night, checking the pipes and meters of properties in the area, trying to locate and isolate the problem.’
Riley checked his watch as he replied. ‘Romeo One, any idea how long they have to spend at each property?’
‘Five to ten minutes, maximum, Mike Whisky One.’
‘Roger that, Romeo One.’
123
Friday 12 October
Tooth, holding a clipboard, which he knew was always a good prop, looked for a bell, but couldn’t see one. So he rapped hard on the oak door with his knuckles. He found some British accents hard to master, but others came easily. At this particular moment, he was a Welshman.
It was opened by a woman with silver hair, and all dolled-up for lover boy. She wore a low-cut blouse revealing a large amount of cleavage, a short green skirt, knee-high patent-leather boots and reeked of dense, musky perfume. She looked at him with undisguised irritation, clearly not wanting anyone around at this moment queering the pitch.
He flashed the dead man’s identity card, keeping his finger over the photograph. ‘I am so very sorry to be bothering you, like. I’m from Southern Water and we are investigating a major leak. Would you mind if I checked your water meter — it might be saving you money, you know.’
‘Is this going to take long?’ she asked, unsmiling and clearly anxious.
‘Oh no, madam, just a few minutes. Can you direct me to the water meter?’
‘I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea — I’m house-sitting for a friend.’
‘All right then if I have a quick look for it?’