9

A taxi arrives at the house just after half past eight. It idles outside, not blowing its horn. Probably a regular pickup, knows to wait. They emerge. She comes out and walks slowly down the front path, in a coat that covers her to her knees. Winter is still at the door, locking the house. They won’t be back for a few hours. When they do get back, neither of them will be in much of a condition to get the key into the lock. Winter’s wearing a dark coat and dark trousers; he looks too old for a night out. He turns and walks briskly down the path, catching up with Cope before she reaches the taxi. He opens the back door for her; she drops in and out of view. Winter goes to the other side of the car and drops in, without looking around.

Calum sits in the darkness and watches. How paranoid is Winter? Evidently not as paranoid as he should be. Not looking around, not checking to see if anyone’s there. If it’s occurred to him that he might be a target, then he’s not taking the threat seriously. He’s never been a target before, never been worth the effort. He doesn’t know how to play the game. Calum starts his car, letting the taxi get far enough ahead before he switches on his lights and pulls away from the kerb. He’ll do nothing more than watch tonight, no matter how tempting an opportunity might arise. Sometimes the temptation is strong. You sit back weeks later and realize that the first chance was a better chance than the one you took. So be it. It’s never worth rushing.

They’re heading into the city centre. There’s enough traffic to hide in easily, no trouble tailing them. The taxi stops on a busy street. They get out, the taxi pulls away. Damn it. Nowhere to stop. Calum has to carry on down the street. He watches in his mirror, picking them out. They’re going into an upmarket bar – seems more his place than hers. Perhaps just a few sedate drinks. He finds a parking spot on the next street. Now a risk. How close does he get? Would Winter remember him if he saw him? Chances are that he wouldn’t. Chances are he could sit right next to Winter and he wouldn’t have the slightest idea who he was, but you can’t take the risk. Some people remember faces well. If he sees Calum, remembers him and knows what he does for a living, then the job becomes extremely difficult. It’s not that he can’t still kill Winter; it’s that Winter would tell people that Calum was out to kill him. When he turns up dead, everyone will know who did it.

He won’t risk getting close. He won’t even risk going into the same bar as them, even though Winter probably wouldn’t see him and might think it a coincidence if he did. He’s walking down the street, looking for a building opposite that has a view of the front of the bar. There’s a chip shop, but that’s only a temporary solution and his stomach is already angry with him. All he can find is an alleyway to stand in. Dark and dank, and the sort of place other people might use for unattractive purposes. Calum stands and watches, out of view of everyone. He can see the entrance to the bar. He mustn’t be seen by others. Mustn’t be seen watching the bar where a soon-to-be-dead drug dealer is drinking. Sort of thing that turns up in court. CCTV isn’t a worry. It might have picked him up on the street, but it won’t see him in the alley. The police won’t check it anyway. He won’t be hitting Winter for at least another forty-eight hours. He’ll be sure to keep a safe distance the day or so beforehand.

His stomach is making noises he doesn’t like. The smell in the alley doesn’t help. It’s nothing specific, just a dirty smell. A mixture of all of life’s ugly things, all pushed into the corners. He tries to hold his breath for long spells, but that doesn’t help much. Hopefully they’ll be having a short night out. He doesn’t want to leave his vomit splattered all across the alleyway. It’s the peril of watching. When you watch a target all day, you must eat what you can grab. You eat in the car, you drink in the car. Calum draws the line at going to the toilet in the car, but he knows of people who have pissed in bottles while they watched. You eat junk. You sit still for hours on end. A recipe for disaster.

The alley is becoming a bad idea. If someone rolls out of a bar and needs to vomit, they would use the alley. If someone rolls out of a bar and needs a piss. If a couple roll out of a bar and want some time alone. People go past, they don’t see him. After forty minutes Winter and Cope emerge from the bar. It’s a blessed relief to see them. They walk along the street, not seeming to look for a taxi. Calum waits, watching, and then picks up the tail on foot. They have a few drinks inside them, but they aren’t drunk. Not yet. On the way, but not there. They’re talking to each other as they walk. She’s doing most of the talking, leading the conversation. They seem happy. Content, at least. Calum follows them for two streets, to a nightclub.

This seems much more her place than his. They disappear inside. Calum stands outside and contemplates. A lot of people coming and going. They could be in there for hours. If he goes in, then he will certainly be picked up by the security cameras. He won’t take that risk. He could wait outside for hours, but he would have to stand. There’s nowhere to park his car nearby, and a man standing outside for hours on end will draw attention. No point in hanging around here. Best bet is to go back to their house.

He sits in his car, parked neatly down the street on the opposite side from Winter’s house. It’s a nice street, comfortable. Surprising that Winter is earning quite enough with the little set-up he has to afford a nice house in a nice part of town. Maybe he isn’t. A lot of people in the business have a habit of living beyond their means. Calum isn’t one of them, quite the reverse. He would like to see inside the house. Not to judge Winter’s spending, but to see the layout. If you’re going to be in the house, then it’s good to know your way around. He wouldn’t even try to break in. Calum has broken into two or three houses in his life, but only when absolutely necessary. It’s not something he considers one of his skills. Never leave more evidence than you need to. Don’t take a risk that you can avoid, no matter the possible benefit. The house was the most likely place for the hit. He would learn his way around if he found himself inside. It wasn’t so big that it would confuse him.

It’s nearly two o’clock when a taxi pulls up outside their house. A man Calum doesn’t recognize gets out of the back first. He seems young. Too young to be Winter anyway. Then the front passenger door opens. Winter this time. Two women get out of each side of the back. One is Cope, the other Calum doesn’t recognize. She seems to be the partner of the younger man. All four are drunk to the point of imbalance. Cope leans on Winter, who is trying (and failing) to look like he’s enjoying himself. The other three are laughing. Someone says something. Three drunken laughs, and a silent Winter. He’s fishing in his pocket for the front-door key. He fumbles it into the lock with great effort. It takes more than thirty seconds for him to get the door open, and the four disappear inside.

Calum sits outside, and watches for another hour. The living-room window faces the road. The light goes on and stays on. Half an hour later an upstairs light goes on. The living-room light is still on. Will probably be on all night. Four drunks. Some go upstairs, some stay downstairs. The lights will be on all night. They’ll tell him nothing. After an hour of nothing he starts the car and drives home. He’s learned a lot about Winter over the course of the night. A midweek drinker, dragged to clubs where he doesn’t belong. Drinking more than he can handle. Picking up hangers-on. There are obstacles. There are also huge vulnerabilities.