They all thundered up the stairs and into the flat above the arcade, flicking on lights, armed with guns and baseball bats. They went from room to room, throwing open doors, looking for hiding places.
‘Fuck,’ said Max at last. The flat was deserted, and no sign that anyone was living there. The fridge was empty, there were no toiletries in the bathroom. Either O’Connor had lied through his teeth or somehow Rufus had been forewarned and cleared out. But there were no signs of a hurried departure. More likely the guy had never lived here; guessing that Benny would crack under pressure, he’d fed him a story about staying at this place when all the while he was holed up elsewhere.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Alberto.
‘Yeah,’ said Max. He took one last look around him. Turned to Steve. ‘Get back here tomorrow though. Take a look, see if he’s loitering.’
‘OK, boss.’
‘And show ’em it don’t pay to fuck around with us.’
When Alberto and Max and their boys got to the Holland Park house, Annie was still up. She was waiting in the doorway of the drawing room when they came into the hall. Their faces told the whole story.
‘No luck?’
Both men shook their heads.
‘I could use some sleep,’ said Alberto, crossing the hall and kissing her cheek. He rubbed her arm. ‘Don’t worry. This is just a setback. We’ll find this Rufus character.’
Annie nodded, aware of Max watching them, of the tenseness in him.
Alberto went upstairs. Annie went back into the drawing room, and Max followed.
‘Did O’Connor lie?’ she asked him.
He shrugged. ‘Who knows. Nobody’s been in that place since the sodding Ice Age. What did you want to see me about?’
‘I would have thought that was pretty obvious,’ said Annie.
‘Nope. It’s not.’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. ‘And it’s too bloody late for guessing games, so whatever you’ve got to say, why don’t you just spit it out?’
‘You know something?’ she said. ‘You take the fucking biscuit. You really. Bloody. Do.’
‘Drink?’ asked Max, heading over to the big world globe containing an assortment of liquors. He selected a tumbler, poured himself a whisky. ‘Oh no, you don’t drink, do you? Can’t hold your liquor. I forgot.’
So here they were again and here he was, helping himself to her whisky, offering her a drink in her own house, making her feel furious and discounted and as though she was the one in the wrong – the way he always made her feel.
She slumped down on to one of the sofas. Kicked off her shoes. Leaned back, closed her eyes. Then she said what had been boiling away in her for the last few hours.