‘Is Aamir not like that?’

She shook her head. ‘Even if he were I don’t think she’d be any better. Jeans and T-shirts. Nail varnish. Won’t observe religious practice at all.’

‘A rebel?’

‘No. Stubborn.’ She was angry about it but not really with Aleesha, seemed slightly removed from it, as if her belonging to family was contingent on her joining in a campaign against the girl.

‘Did she stop wearing traditional clothing?’

Meeshra became embarrassed. ‘Never done. Dunno. I just… Dunno.’

‘She hasn’t ever worn them?’

‘Nah. I dunno.’ She wouldn’t look at Morrow.

‘Are the family converts?’

‘Naw, just not always that, ye know, religious.’

‘Oh, I see, just recently become more observant?’

‘Aye, yeah.’

Morrow noted it but let it pass. ‘What happened after the shot?’

‘Then, well, then, Mo and Omar come in the front door.’

‘At the sound of the shot?’

‘Yeah, I heard them come past outside the window there,’ she pointed to the window at the side of the bed, ‘running there, round.’ Her finger traced their passage along the blank wall. ‘And then they burst in through the door. The fat one, not Pat, the other one, he started shouting at them, “You’re Robbie, no, you’re Robbie,” and then he grabbed Dada and went. I’s in the bed the whole time, so I only seen little bits.’

The baby’s head slumped drowsily on his tiny neck. Meeshra looked down at him, calmer now, her fingers curling around the perfect sphere of his skull.

‘So,’ Morrow prompted, ‘Omar and Mo had been waiting outside in the car?’

‘Is it?’ Meeshra looked up.

‘Well,’ said Morrow, ‘they’re unlikely to have just pulled up at that moment, are they?’

‘Dunno.’

‘What did he say as he left, the fat one?’

‘Two million quid by tomorrow night. Did he not see the house? Two million? He’s mad.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Not to call police and it were payback for Afghanistan. Mental case.’ She nodded out to the hall. ‘They’re from Uganda and I’m from bloody Lancaster. You wouldn’t believe the shit we have to put up with now, ’cause of all them fucking Arabs.’

‘D’you think that’s what it was? Just a case of misplaced bigotry?’

‘Well, what else could it be? ’S like kidnapping a African because of the slave trade.’

Alex wrestled with the analogy for a moment before realising that it didn’t quite fit. ‘Right.’ She stood up. ‘Thanks very much for your help, Meeshra, I’m sure we’ll need to talk to you again later but now we’ll leave you and the baby to get a sleep.’

Meeshra leaned back on the pillows, pleased with herself. ‘Robbie, he says. Rrrobbie, right Scotch, like.’

It was a final statement, a goodbye, not requiring a response, but Alex couldn’t resist showing her cards. ‘Is that right?’ she said pointedly.

Disconcerted by the steely edge to her voice, Meeshra blinked.

Pat felt a whoosh of cold hit the back of his neck and knew Eddy had opened both doors.

‘Help me,’ said Eddy sullenly, taking hold of the old man’s foot and tugging.

Pat climbed out of the van and walked around to the back doors.

The old man shivered in his pyjamas as he shuffled back on all fours, awkward because Eddy was keeping hold of his bare ankle, guiding his foot down to the ground.

The spongy sole of his slippers made it hard for him to stay upright on the uneven ground. Pat watched him totter, looking at the pillowcase where his face might be, searching for signs of humanity and finding nothing. The pillowcase wasn’t unusually big, but it covered the small man to his waist.

Once he found his footing, the pillowcase stood perfectly still, waiting until Pat and Eddy each took a firm grip of his elbows and guided him along the path. He didn’t resist or try to get away but accepted what was happening, as if the situation couldn’t be helped and none of them had decided any of it. He stumbled, his ankle buckling on the lumpy mud, and gave out a little cry, like a field mouse being stepped on.

Over the head of the pillowcase, Pat felt Eddy’s eyes burning into his cheek, begging him to look back at him. He kept his eyes forward, refusing to look at him, refusing to make it OK. The sheer effort of resisting Eddy made him sweat.

At the edge of the field Eddy reached into his pocket, pressed the car key and the Lexus lights flashed twice. They led the pillowcase over to it, opened the door and bundled the old man in, shoving him along to the middle of the back seat. Eddy shut the car door, reached into his pocket again. The car winked and chirped. They were alone.

Pat and Eddy stood close, so close the white of their breath mingled, not looking at each other. It was a habit developed from cold night after cold night standing on the door of shitty little nightclubs.

‘OK,’ said Eddy, ‘it didn’t go…’ He couldn’t think of a neutral word.

Pat caught his breath to speak but words failed him.

Eddy looked at his gun and spoke calmly. ‘If you never shot the girl-’

‘If I never shot the girl? Are you mental?’

‘You pulled the trigger.’

‘You shouted “Bob” soon as we got in the door and then bawled my fucking name. And what’s that “ Afghanistan ” shot about?’

‘Just – throw them off the scent. Something ye say-’

‘Something ye say when you’re paintballing. You grabbed the wrong fucking guy. This isn’t who he said to get. This is some old Asian bloke. He’s sixty, seventy fucking years old.’

They looked into the car. The upturned pillowcase was staring straight ahead, sitting in the middle of the seat with a hand calmly on each knee, blank as a packet of crisps, waiting to go a place.

Eddy’s face convulsed in an abrupt pulse. Pat fell back from him, thinking he’d been shot or, worse, was going to cry, but Eddy blurted a loud panicky laugh. Surprised at himself, Pat laughed too.

The wind was picking up over the field, carrying the rotting smell of cow shit, and it seemed suddenly funny to be out here, with Malki off his tits and Eddy so jittery he shouted Pat’s name. The pillowcase heard someone outside. It twitched a ridiculous swivel round and back, comical. Pat and Eddy laughed, falling into each other, snorting like boys at a dirty joke.

Eddy calmed down first. ‘Oh, fucking hell, honestly.’ He pinched his nose, and smiled warmly off at the far hills. ‘Will we just shoot it in the head and leave it here?’

Pat’s smile evaporated.

‘You know, near the van,’ Eddy suggested with a smile. ‘Drive off and leave it?’

‘Um, nah.’ Pat was sweating again, really quite afraid now. ‘Nah, let’s… not do that.’

‘But, um, look, every minute we’re with him is a chance to get caught.’

‘Aye,’ Pat tried to sound calm and reasoned, ‘but the old guy could, you know, might do just as well as Bob. Might be better, even.’

‘How so?’ said Eddy and tittered at his own phrasing.

‘Well, Bob’ll pay up to see him again. I mean, if we took Bob, how would he get to the money? We’d have to take him to it and if it’s in a lock-up or something we’d maybe get caught going there, eh?’

Eddy frowned, only half understanding.

‘I mean think about it, really, this way Bob can get the money and give it to us without us going with him, eh? So, with the old guy, it’s less chance to get done.’

‘Oh, I see. I see…’

‘Yeah? We don’t need to shoot the old guy.’

‘Nah.’ Eddy looked far away and his smile faded. ‘Just… you got to fire yours and, you know… shoot someone.’

Pat didn’t know what to say to that. ‘Hey… um, let’s get back, and… and phone the boss.’

‘He’s not the boss,’ corrected Eddy sullenly. ‘I’m the boss. He subcontracted us. It’s more of a contractor-contractee relationship than a boss-employee relationship.’

‘OK,’ said Pat carefully. ‘But maybe it’s best not to leave Malki too long…’