Chapter Ten
“Listen, you don’t go around crapping your pants at the slightest little thing,” Farrow said. “The best way to deal with this sort of shit is to pretend it isn’t happening. Now, you saw a police car outside a funeral parlour. So fucking what?”
Edwin held back a frown. So was this how Farrow dealt with this kind of thing? To pretend it wasn’t happening or that he didn’t have anything to do with it? It must be; otherwise, how had he got through all these years without his mask slipping?
“But—”
“But what, Ed?” Farrow raised his eyebrows. The lines on his forehead extended quite far up on his pate. “You have no idea why it’s parked there, you got that?”
“But I do know why it’s there.” He had to go for the jugular, get the planned words out so it was on tape. “You took me to a bloody barn last night saying I had to advise you about something, and I went because that’s what I’m employed to do. To advise you regarding your business. But when we got there, I discovered it was for advice on what you should do with a dead body, which wasn’t what I was originally led to believe your business was about.”
He almost winced at the thunderous expression on Farrow’s face but ploughed on. “Mr Lyons’ body. Then you told me I had to help you get rid of it or you’d frame me for the murder—and I had no choice but to do what you said. So we took him to the funeral place, and you and the owner squashed that poor bloke into a coffin with some woman.” Edwin glanced back at the door, as though checking Margaret wasn’t standing there, then faced Farrow again, reaching for the gin because, sodding hell, he needed it now. He took a large swig then opened his mouth to say more, but Farrow pointed at him.
“I fancy you’re getting a bit mouthy, Ed.”
Ed swallowed. The gin burned. “Wouldn’t you get mouthy in this situation? Jesus Christ, I’ve never been involved in something like this before—never wanted to be involved, either—but you made me do it. And now Margaret’s just said the coffin had her friend in it, and that her friend’s grandson was something to do with her death, which was a supposed home invasion. And I’m meant to believe that? Her funeral’s been held off—did you know? What for? Is there some kind of investigation going on or what? And how the hell would they even know to go to the parlour anyway? The police, I mean. Did someone see us last night, is that it? Did that pissing bloke who owns it forget to wipe the CCTV?”
Edwin got up and paced, not just for effect, but because, man, he couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t sit there directly under Farrow’s intense stare. He gave Farrow the side-eye to see what the man was doing, but Farrow remained in place. The only thing showing Edwin that he was angry was the red tinge still on his cheeks.
“Calm your tits,” Farrow said. “Blimey, anyone would think you’re worried about getting caught.”
Edwin drank some more gin. “I am worried. Aren’t you?”
“Not particularly. Come on now, do you think the police are going to suspect that I helped put a body in that coffin? John Farrow, businessman and all-round decent bloke?”
Edwin huffed. “I suppose you’d say they wouldn’t believe you’d kill anyone, either.”
“But I haven’t killed anyone, Ed.”
That’s probably true. Get him to say something else. Anything.
“But you’ve ordered others to do it. That amounts to the same thing.” Edwin threw every caution to every single wind. “You employ Gunner to kill people who owe you drug money or whatever.”
“I do employ Gunner, yes, but I really do think you’re overreacting here.”
He hasn’t admitted anything, not outright. It’s all implied. I need more.
“Do you always do this?” Edwin asked.
“Do what, Ed?” Farrow topped his glass up with a slosh more gin, then some tonic.
“Pretend. Act like what you’ve done, who you really are, isn’t a big deal. How do you sleep at night?”
“Very well, thanks. Why, didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“No, I didn’t. Even after I went for a run to clear my head. It all kept going round in there. Everything we did—”
Farrow slapped an open hand on his desk. “Stop. Sit. I’ve had enough of your histrionics now. I gave you some leeway because you’re frightened, your balls have shrivelled, your arsehole’s gone tight, but enough’s enough. Calm down. You don’t want to be acting this way once you walk out of here, if you catch my drift.”
This is your chance. Take it.
“No, I don’t catch your drift.” Edwin sat as instructed and gave Farrow what he prayed was a look of utter confusion.
“So you’ve forgotten our conversation already, then?” Farrow tilted his head.
“What, the one where you threatened me? The one where you said you’d frame me? You know I haven’t forgotten because I mentioned it not two minutes ago. What are you saying, that I have to keep my mouth shut if the police ask me questions about the funeral parlour?”
“There’s nothing to tell them. You weren’t even there, you know that. You were here. With me. We were working late.”
“Oh, cut the crap.” Edwin would never have said that usually, but he was angry now—angry that the conversation wasn’t going the way he’d expected, and angry that Farrow wasn’t even concerned about anything that had occurred. All Farrow wanted was for Edwin to do as he was told and forget it all, to act as though he hadn’t had a part in this bullshit. That way, Edwin would be saving Farrow’s arse. Saying they’d been here working late. Together. It all boiled down to Farrow’s self-preservation. “I was there. You were there. We committed a crime. You’ve committed untold crimes. I can’t do this, man. I can’t carry on working for you.”
“Shame. I rather thought you’d wake up today, your subconscious sorting everything out for you while you slept, so you’d understand exactly what is expected of you from now on, and we could continue as usual.” Farrow sipped his drink.
Edwin’s hands shook. His legs, too. He was way out of his depth.
“I’m sorry,” Edwin said, wiping sweat off his forehead. He drank more gin himself. “I panicked. I just need to calm down, like you said. I didn’t mean to speak to you that way, but I’m scared. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to act if I’m questioned.”
“Why would you be?” Farrow’s eyebrows joined as one as he squinted.
“The bloke who runs the parlour. He might open his mouth. Shit, he might even have been the one to tell the police Mr Lyons was in that coffin.”
Farrow sighed. “The police discovered that body this morning, early, before the funeral, via an anonymous tip. Don’t you think they’d have been here by now if they thought I had something to do with it? Don’t you think you’d have been paid a visit at home already, prior to you coming here today? You’re not thinking straight. Think straight now, Ed. Why would my long-time friend inform the police that I turned up with a dead body last night? Why would he incriminate himself?”
Edwin puffed air out. “I don’t know. God, I don’t know.”
“Exactly.” Farrow leant back in his chair. It creaked with the movement. “What I need—we need—to concentrate on now is finding out who the grass is.”
“What, so Gunner can go and sort them out and possibly make matters worse? If whoever told on us turns up dead, that’s going to look bad.”
“You’re getting on my last nerve, Ed.”
That was a threat if ever there was one.
“Okay. All right.” Edwin scrambled for something else to say. Tried to recall whether Farrow had said anything that could be used as proof that he’d been involved in Mr Lyons’ death so Edwin could wind this conversation up and get the hell out of the room.
Right, try a different route.
“I need you to teach me how to behave at times like this,” he said. “If I’m to continue working for you, I need to learn how to cope with this. You must have dealt with employee meltdowns in the past. You’re the only one I can turn to for advice.”
Farrow laughed. “That’s funny, that is. The adviser taking advice. Best you do and all, otherwise…”
Edwin nodded. “I know. Otherwise you’ll get Gunner to kill me.”
“Gunner’s on holiday.”
What, has he been shoved out of the way while this is going on?
“All right then,” Edwin said, “you’ll kill me.”
“I don’t get my hands dirty with such things. What a shocking thing to say.”
Edwin wanted to launch himself at the smug bloke in front of him and knock the shit out of him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Making out you’re not up to your eyeballs in illegal stuff. That you don’t have people murdered?”
“There are eyes and ears everywhere, Ed, didn’t you know that?”
Edwin frowned. Leant forward. “What, Margaret, do you mean?”
Farrow nodded.
“Shit.” Edwin acted contrite. Whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t, but that’s all right. This time. Now shut the fuck up for a minute while I have a think.”
That could be more than a minute. In the past, Edwin had sat here for over an hour when Farrow went inside himself. He’d been instructed from the start not to interrupt Farrow’s ‘thinking time’. Maybe that was just what Edwin ought to do now. To rile his boss. To get him to slip up and say something he shouldn’t.
“But what if the police do question us?” Edwin asked. “You can’t just say ‘Why would they?’, because they actually might.”
“Shut up, Ed.”
“And I have no clue what to say,” Edwin said, “other than that we were working late together. What if they say they know we drove in your car to the barn? What if we were caught on camera? We drove through town. We know CCTV is in operation there.”
“I said shut up, Ed.”
“Fuck me, they could know already. They could have been watching us all day so far. Waiting it out before they haul us down to the nick.” Edwin took a mental deep breath and pushed on. “They could be outside for all we know, ready to come in and arrest us if they find evidence other than CCTV that we were there. My vomit, my bile—I was sick in the barn, remember? Oh, bloody hell, we’re done for. I tell you, I have a bad feeling about this and I—”
Farrow launched his crystal glass at Edwin. It sailed past his ear and crashed somewhere behind him.
“I said…” Farrow gritted his teeth. “Shut. Up. Ed.”
“But don’t you see? Can’t you understand why I’m worried?”
“Jesus fucking wept. Clamp your mouth or so help me God I’ll fucking have you.”
“Have me?” Edwin hated playing dumb, but he had to.
Farrow pushed himself out of his chair and made it around to the other side of the desk in a flash. He grabbed Edwin’s throat with one large, fleshy hand and yanked him out of his seat. “I’ve never killed before, but I’m just about ready to start killing now, boy. You have no idea who you’re messing with—but you should, you’ve seen and heard enough. If you utter one more word before I say you can, you’ll end up like Lyons.” His breath stank. “In a coffin, way before your time, wedged in with some other dead fucker.”
He dragged Edwin to the closest wall and held him up against it. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes blazed, the whites massive. Edwin widened his own eyes, fear pervading his body even though he knew the police were less than a minute away. He wanted to say he couldn’t breathe, to let the police know he was in serious danger, but if he spoke, Farrow might stay true to his word and bump him off.
“I told you, you’re getting on my last nerve, and you know what that means.” Farrow relaxed his grip a little. “Do you honestly think my mate at the parlour wouldn’t have contacted me by now, eh? Do you honestly think he isn’t prepared enough for this sort of eventuality? He knows what to say to the police, and he’s already said it. Someone broke in to the parlour last night. Someone else put Mr Lyons in there. The police believe him. We’re in the clear for what we did, so like I said: Shut. Up.”
He’s done it. He’s put himself right in the shit.
Farrow leant closer, their noses almost touching. “Now, if you want to live, I suggest you go out there, into reception, and ask Margaret to get me a coffee. Do not come back in here with any more of your piss-your-pants bullshit. Get calm. Sort your fucking head out. And zip that runaway gob of yours. Got it?”
Edwin nodded. Went to say sorry but thought better of it.
Farrow released him. God, Edwin’s throat ached from the pressure.
Edwin staggered to the door—his acting skills were being tested so much today—then left the office. As he walked past the desk, he didn’t tell Margaret to make Farrow a coffee. He didn’t sit on the sofa and await further instruction. He walked right out of the building, got into his car, and drove the fuck away.