Reckoning Point, стр. 67

“Braith, come here please,” he called.

Mark shuffled obligingly into the kitchen.

“You understand that this mess needs to be cleaned up, that’s why I am here, yes?”

Mark shot a look at Roland. It was a churlish glance, like a child who had been told on.

“You’re here because he called you,” Mark said. His voice was quiet but loaded with venom.

In the kitchen area, Roland shied away.

“He didn’t call me, I was doing my rounds, saw the door open. It is my job to keep an eye on things that may escalate out of control, and Mark, I think we can agree that this got out of control, can’t we? Hmm?”

Mark nodded. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod, but it was there. He agreed. He knew that the Colonel was his only chance now, and that was good. The Colonel needed compliance and a meek, sorry attitude if his plan was to work.

“We cannot tidy up this mess. One body, maybe, but three, not a chance.” The Colonel took a long, steady look around the apartment. “This whole place is going to have to disappear, and as the curators of this inconvenience, you will help me. Yes?”

Again, that nod from Mark. The Colonel allowed himself a little smile. The power of a name, of a figure such as he, not just with down and outs like Mark Braith or simple Roland, but police officials, judges, anyone in authority, well, it made all this nasty stuff worthwhile.

The Colonel smiled as he outlined his plan. And Braith was so far gone, and Roland was so simple, the Colonel knew that neither of them realised that they wouldn’t only be cleaning up the mess they had made in the apartment, but they would also clean themselves up at the same time.

The Colonel clapped his hands together again.

“Now listen carefully, this is what we’re going to do.”

It took a couple of days for the Colonel to get everything he needed for the Big Clean Up. He couldn’t shop locally. In spite of who he was he couldn’t risk being embroiled in this thing. So he got out his old car and drove west over the border and he shopped in towns like Duisburg and Aachen and Weeze. It was a good two day trip, and Mark and Roland had been instructed to remain in the soon to be demolished apartment and make sure nobody entered. It was risky; the Irish brothers were popular, people stopped by their place all the time, all hours of the day and night. The Colonel knew this; he’d been keeping an eye on them. He kept an eye on all of those who had the potential to bring more filth to his town. And none of them knew it.

On the third day after the massacre the Colonel drove back to Scheveningen, his car loaded with his wares. Under the cover of moonlight he carried everything up to number 1058 and tried the door. It was locked.

Good, he thought, as he rapped sharply three times.

The smell hit him when Roland cracked open the door and peered out.

Though it was fierce and fetid, the Colonel didn’t react. Instead he settled his gaze on Roland, taking in his red rimmed eyes.

“How are you, Roland?” he asked, kindly.

“Awful,” Roland whispered. “I–I can’t stay in here.” Two fat tears sprang from the corners of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

The Colonel patted his arm. “It will soon be over. Bring these bags in, then we’ll have it all sorted out.” He looked around the room as he entered the house, pleased to see that the kitchen area had been cleaned up, all the plate and used cups had been put away. He smiled with pleasure, the place was almost liveable.

“Did you do this, Roland? Did you tidy up?”

Roland, his fears and tears seemingly forgotten at this sudden and unexpected praise, nodded eagerly. “Yes, I did. Is it okay?”

The colonel patted Roland’s shoulder. “It’s more than okay, it looked wonderful. You did a great job.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is Mark?”

Roland pointed towards the bathroom.

The Colonel drew Roland further into the room. “And he has been … all right? He hasn’t been out?”

“He hasn’t been out, but he had some girlfriends in.”

The Colonel very nearly blanched at this information, but he took a deep breath. “And these girlfriends … did they use the bathroom?”

Roland shook his head with fervour, reminding the Colonel of a dog. “No, I wouldn’t let them in, I guarded the door.”

The Colonel nodded as he began to unpack the bags. Carefully he laid out lengths of wires. “Those paper bags, unpack them all, lie them out on the counter. I’ll check on Mark.”

“Um, Colonel?”

“Yes?” he asked as he washed his hands and looked around for a towel that didn’t have stains on it.

“What about Miles?”

The Colonel paused before pulling a small handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his hands.

“What do you mean, ‘what about Miles’?”

“He really needs help, it’s been three days, he really needs to go to the hospital.”

The Colonel froze. What was the boy saying? Did he think Miles was alive? Impossible, the Colonel had seen the bullet hole in the man’s shirt, for goodness sake. No, the child was dreaming, hoping and wishing. Of course, that was it. After all, Miles had always been the boy’s favourite of the brothers.

But, best to check …

“Stay here,” he instructed Roland. And carefully he moved over to the bathroom and pushed open the door.

If it were true, if Miles were still breathing, the Colonel would soon put that right.