Chapter Twelve

Duncan was the only one of the four of them who wasn’t beginning to feel the strain. They were due to be questioned again on what had happened with Marty the first time around on behalf of the Americans, and Jeff and Mouse had disobeyed lawyers orders and spent a large part of the previous day comparing notes. Even the bits that they could remember didn’t tally; and while Mouse kept saying that it only showed that they were telling the truth as best they could, Jeff couldn’t help feeling that it was more likely to cause everyone a whole load more trouble.

The main problem was that virtually no progress seemed to be being made on finding either Marty or Stevo, but the press hadn’t yet lost interest. The American police were trying to track down all of the truckers who had been on Interstate 10 in the area of Tucson in the time that Stevo had been away, but not explaining why. In the UK, there had been sightings of Stevo just about everywhere from Totnes to Sunderland, although there had been a cluster of sightings around the same time in the Manchester area which sounded as if it might not wholly be wishful thinking. But still it was almost impossible to move without being asked about one or the other of them. About the only time when Jeff felt he was sure that he wasn’t about to be accosted and subjected to the third degree was when they were up on stage, and they really didn’t have that much stage time left before the tour ended.

Duncan, who regarded most of it as irrelevant nonsense, sauntered late into Jeff’s room with his hair wet and his T shirt clinging to his skin where it was still damp, and immediately asked Jake how much Sorcha was suing him for now. Jake barely reacted, but Jeff and Mouse’s pleas to stop still fell on deaf ears.

“Come off it! We need to know what’s going on. Do you think that she’s deliberately got that stuff put in Heat, so she can have a go at him like she did the other guy?”

They had all seen the article. Mouse was worried that it might mark the beginning of the backlash that almost inevitably followed the favour of the press, but regarded Jake’s role in that as no more than incidental: if it wasn’t this it would be something else. Jeff was also worried that the tide was turning, but was more inclined to apportion blame. Deep inside his shell, Jake had been trying not to think about it, but Duncan was making that a bit difficult.

“Lay off. She’s not suing me. At least, she’s not done anything yet, and she hasn’t said anything about it either. I know that lawyers can be a bit weird, but getting that stuff printed about herself would just be sick.”

“Yeah, but I told you what that tosser of a lawyer said.” Jeff moved as if to interject, and then thought better of it. “She went out with some politician, and took him to the cleaners when he hit her even though it really wasn’t a big deal. She likes money, and I’m sure she would like yours as much as the other guy’s.”

Jake thought about the flat, with the terrace looking down over the river and the artwork on the walls, and felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“Look, it’s clear she likes nice stuff, but she earns a fair amount of money herself, doesn’t she? And it’s not like I actually set out to hurt her. I don’t see why everyone keeps on going on about it.”

“But shouldn’t we be getting someone to get on to Heat to get it withdrawn?” Mouse was frustrated that the subject was being tackled in this way, but struggling to work out what to do about it. “Or do we just reckon that it would wind them up, so they would just find something worse?”

“It’s all really hazy, what happened. I just wanted to get away from Stevo, and from the blood. I think I… well.. I’m just not sure...”

Jake got lost in the middle of his own sentence, and Duncan was pulled up short by the image of a shaken, blood-spattered Jake wanting to barricade himself into the office behind the reception desk. Jake was being a prat again by going to see the girl, but the poor bastard still didn’t deserve what had happened. Both he and Mouse had moved towards Jake, as if to protect him. Jeff had hung back.

“We all just need to be careful. Jake, I know you did it because you wanted to be decent and apologise and everything, but you have to stop going and seeing the woman. Otherwise it’s going to become even more of a mess than it already is. And I just hope that both Stevo and Marty are found soon, because all this tiptoeing around is doing my head in.”

Jake wanted to protest at being banned from spending his time as he chose; but they only had another couple of days in London and he didn’t really have much energy for protesting anyway. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure why he had thought he would see her again. He wanted to stand and look at the wallhanging, and look at every one of the leaves, although he didn’t have the first clue how many of them there were. But then he found himself wondering just how much the hanging had cost, with the silk and stuff sewn on by hand, and felt a bit stupid.

As they ran through their diary for the following week before going on to the police interviews, Duncan’s phone repeatedly beeped with incoming messages. After a couple of minutes, he shoved it into his pocket to stop it vibrating on the desk. When he finally had a moment to check it, there were over 20 messages, mostly relating to how much Jake was going to have to pay out to Sorcha. It was proving a much more complicated book to run than he had expected, and wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier to try to get something set up on Betfair instead. They’d have probably all got het up about it, and got even more bloody lawyers involved, though. The weird thing was that general consensus seemed to be well into seven figures, even though Duncan had only started it as a bit of a laugh. Presumably they all just thought that she was a nasty scheming bitch. A nasty scheming bitch with massive thighs and granny pants. Nice.