Ugley Business by Kate Johnson Page A

did that someone escaped.”
    “That was because of insider treachery,” Maria said. “Text everyone there’s someone down here. That’ll do.”
     
    I drove back home with Shawn Colvin on the ghetto blaster to calm me down. It’d been a hell of a day. This time yesterday I was greeting sunburnt holidaymakers with Angel. This time yesterday I knew I’d have Luke to go back to.
    He called me a couple of hours after I got in, and he sounded pissed off.
    “What did you do this time?”
    I felt myself prickle. “I didn’t do anything,” I sniffed, then added suspiciously, “Why are you asking?”
    “The unconscious and bleeding Czech in the lab.”
    Oh, him. “That wasn’t my fault. He got in my car.”
    “When?”
    “Just after you left.”
    “Christ.” He paused. “You okay?”
    I picked at a thread on my pyjamas and reached for another Pringle. “I’m fine. He pulled a gun on me but I shot him.”
    “You’re sure he was armed? You didn’t shoot an unarmed man?”
    I glared at the phone. “I have his gun if you want to see it.”
    “Any good?”
    “How the hell should I know?”
    Luke sighed. “Did you knock him out?”
    “Maria did.”
    He sighed again. “Why was Maria there?”
    “Because I called her.” Idiot.
    “Why didn’t you call me?”
    I was silent for a bit but he didn’t seem to be working it out. “Do I really need to answer that?”
    “I thought we were having a professional relationship.”
    “Yes, but not tonight.”
    Luke sighed a third time. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
    “I guess,” I said, thinking, Not if I see you first.
    And then I couldn’t sleep.
    The first thing that kept me awake was Petr Staszic. Why was he there? Where did he want me to go? Who sent him? I was having trouble believing anyone that incompetent would be acting on their own directions.
    Although, look at me.
    Why did he want me? He must have been following me to know I was at my parents’— Oh God, the car in my rear mirror!
    In the grip of curiosity and insomnia, I pulled a flannel shirt on over the shorts and bra top I slept in, shoved my feet into my trainers and took Ted out for a midnight run. I parked up on the lane outside my parents’ house and got out my flashlight, hoping the neighbours wouldn’t think I was a burglar.
    There was no car anywhere visible. I checked for about half a mile in either direction, then the fields around the house, and I was about to give in to the cold and go home when I saw something glinting under the hedgerow.
    Around here there were very few hedgerows left. Farmers have pulled them all up top make bigger fields that are easier to plough, and then edge their land with fences or rows of regular hedge. There weren’t many thick, micro-environment, proper hedgerows left, and I’d bet my last fiver that there was only one with a motorbike under it.
    And that hedgerow was right here in front of me.
    Now, I know naff-all about bikes, but I could tell this one was cheap and nasty just looking at it. It wasn’t very heavy and it was very simple—if rather wet and muddy—to pick up and carry to my car. The very best thing about having a Defender is that you can fit a motorbike in the back. Well, okay, not the very best thing, but a damn useful feature.
    I was just shutting up the back of the car when a torch flashed on my face and a voice said, “I don’t think that’s yours.”
    I turned, my hand shielding my eyes, and began, “Yes, but—”
    Then my ears kick-started my brain, and my eyes got in motion too, and I realised the man with the torch was Harvey.
    “What are you doing here?”
    He looked confused. “What are you doing here?”
    “I live here. Well, used to. That’s my parents’ house. The owner of this bike ambushed me this evening. So I’m impounding it.”
    “Impounding?”
    “Well, confiscating, really. I could learn to ride a bike.”
    “More of a scooter, really,” Harvey said, peering through the back window. He swung the