In the Dark Read Online Free PDF

grey hair and an expression that looked as if it had been kicked into position. Paul grunted a greeting. Nigel, who all but spilled over the edges of the seat, said nothing. Shepherd patted the seat next to his own. ‘And this’ - he beckoned over the second man, a rather less confident individual in a shit-brown overcoat - ‘is Mr Anderson. He’s a bit friendlier than Nigel.’
    Anderson squinted across at Paul from behind thick lenses. ‘Who’s this?’ A soft Irish accent. Not a whole lot friendlier.
    Shepherd leaned forward, shouted to the driver: ‘On you go, Ray.’
    The chat started as the cab eased away. Shepherd and Anderson talked about a black-tie bash they’d both attended a few nights before; a blue comic who used to be on TV but was now well past his best.
    â€˜Just filth, you know?’ Shepherd grimaced. Dirty jokes were clearly up there with French food. ‘Lowest common denominator.’
    He asked Paul if he had a family. Paul said it wasn’t any of his business and Shepherd told him that was fair enough.
    â€˜Nothing but bloody trouble anyway,’ Anderson said.
    The cab moved expertly through heavy traffic as Kilburn gave way to the more affluent streets of Brondesbury. Then, further, the houses shrinking and getting closer together as they entered Cricklewood.
    â€˜How do you two know each other?’ Anderson asked.
    Before Paul could answer, the cab turned sharply off the main road, and, after a few minutes of zigzagging down side streets, rattled onto a rutted path and slowed. Paul craned his neck and saw that they were approaching a huge complex of old buildings, dark against a sky that was just showing the first faint traces of blue. He could see the graffiti and the lattice of cracks and holes in all the windows.
    The disused waterworks at Dollis Hill.
    The cab drew up outside gates fastened with a heavy chain and padlock. Ray killed the engine and took a newspaper from the passenger seat. Nigel moved every bit as casually and Paul watched Anderson’s head drop when he saw the Stanley knife appear in the big man’s hand.
    The Irishman sounded tired as much as anything else. Said: ‘Oh Jesus, Kevin. Do we have to?’
    Nigel was already bending down to pull out a small piece of wood, a foot or so square, from beneath Shepherd’s seat. Shepherd shifted to make room as Nigel grabbed Anderson and dragged him onto the floor of the cab, yanking his arm across and pressing his full weight down on to the back of the Irishman’s hand, spreading the fingers on the board.
    â€˜Fuck’s sake, Kevin, somebody’s been winding you up,’ Anderson said.
    Nigel pressed Anderson’s face down harder and looked up, all set.
    â€˜An inch should do it,’ Shepherd said.
    There wasn’t a great deal of blood, and the noise was pretty well muffled by the carpet. Shepherd leaned down afterwards and passed a handkerchief to Anderson, who pressed it to his hand and slowly pulled his knees up to his chest.
    â€˜That’s one finger you’ll be keeping out of the till for a while,’ Shepherd said. He drew back his feet to avoid making any contact with the man on the floor, and looked across at Paul. ‘Like he’s not doing well enough. Three new cars he’s had in the last eighteen months. Silly bugger.’
    â€˜Most people want a bit more,’ Paul said. ‘Only natural.’
    Shepherd thought about that for a few seconds, then looked at his watch. ‘You don’t mind making your own way back from here, do you? We need to crack on. Don’t want this one bleeding all over Ray’s upholstery.’
    Paul guessed that he could walk to Willesden Junction in about twenty minutes. At least it wasn’t raining. He waited.
    â€˜Look, I’ll be honest with you Mr Hopwood,’ Shepherd said. ‘There’s still plenty I’m in the dark about here. Plenty about you . But I am