How To Kill Friends And Implicate People by Jay Stringer Page A

special hosepipe. I’ll drive down to B&Q and buy a normal one, then pay someone half what we’re paying you to fit the cocking thing. Or, better yet, I’ll type it into Google, find the instructions, and do it myself. How’s that?’
    Keith clearly hadn’t expected this. There was a pause on the line.
    ‘Look, I’m no trying to scam you.’
    ‘No. You’re just trying to trick me out of money, which is a whole different thing. Now, are you going to finish the job tomorrow or am I finding one of the thousands of people round here who can do it?’
    Keith grunted something. Alex couldn’t tell sometimes whether the noises were words or simply sounds. He could hear Keith moving around, away from the phone, and guessed that he might have been asking Alex to hold.
    Alex smiled. Dammit, he was enjoying this. Maybe he should thank the builder for the entertainment.
    ‘Sorry about that.’ Keith came back on the line. ‘I was just looking for the ’hingmy, you ken?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The hose. Aye. I’ve just found one on my shelf here that’ll do the trick just fine. I’d just forgot I had it, aye?’
    ‘Funny that.’
    ‘Ach, one of they ’hings. Just bein’ daft, you ken? But I’ve got one the noo, so it’s all sorted.’
    ‘Excellent. Those magic hosepipes must be very popular. It’s so good that you had one spare.’
    ‘Aye, and it’ll no’ cost you anything extra, don’t you worry neebor.’ Keith waited for a moment, as if he thought Alex would acknowledge his generosity. Then he said, ‘Aye, well. That’s us sorted, then. I should get back to this thing, I’ll be back round the morra.’
    Alex disconnected the call and drained the glass. He stood up and poured himself another drink, then set the glass down and laughed. That call had been perfect. It had let him feel in control again.
    And now he knew how to get Fergus onside.

TWENTY-TWO
    SAM
    19:35
    ‘Hello. Hey. Where are you?’
    What? Oh right .
    I’d met Hanya at her favourite bar. Taking her up on the offer of a drink. But my mind kept drifting back to both Paula and Kara.
    ‘Sorry, Han. It’s been a strange day.’
    ‘You’re telling me.’
    I’d tried to follow Kara, but lost her. Surveillance on a bike is a tricky thing. You can’t do a stakeout, because people in the street will notice a cyclist standing around for hours. On the other hand, it’s a good way to tail a driver. Once someone is behind the wheel of a car, they pretty much forget that cyclists exist. I can get right up close behind a driver, and they won’t notice me. There is one obvious downside to this, though, and it was exposed when Kara pulled out into the road in her car. She turned the other way, and drove uphill at speed.
    Crap.
    I’d texted Phil to let me know when Kara turned up at the Pennan house, then headed into town to meet Hanya.
    Hanya looked great. She’d changed out of her work clothes and into a sleek silk-looking blouse under a cream jacket. Hanya could be a bit of a clothes-horse at times.
    We met outside The FuBar, a small bar down from street level on Bath Street. It was in a good spot, but had never really taken off. They played low jazzy music during the day, then switched up to a mix of nineties’ indie and pop in the evening. It had a steady flow of customers, usually cops, lawyers and hangers on, and it was a good place for someone like Hanya to meet guys who understood the score: Nothing serious, we all have work in the morning .
    We sat outside on a small metal table that had one leg shorter than the other. It wobbled every time we set our drinks down, so we’d agreed the only sensible thing to do was to keep holding them. And drink quicker, just to avoid the temptation to put them down.
    ‘It’s a joke,’ said Hanya.
    Crap. I’d drifted off into my head again, and had no idea what she’d been saying. I judged from the tone that this wasn’t a joke. She was annoyed. I bluffed a response. ‘You’re kidding on.’
    ‘I