‘Mate . . . you don’t understand. It’s not even up to me. All of us would be out of a job – my boss wouldn’t be happy. Don’t start crying . . . if you start crying, mate, I’m gonna start crying. I can’t handle this emotional shit.’

‘Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll tell you where our crop is. I’ll give you our crop. I’ll give you our seeds —’

‘Murph . . .’ Skinner crouched down. ‘Get up. Look at me. You gotta snap out of this. I’m not taking your seeds: I dunno how to grow shit. It’s alright, mate. You’ll find her. Someone will find her. It’ll be alright.’

Murphy’s pocket buzzed. Someone was calling. He ignored it. ‘Your list is the only direction I know to go . . .’

Skinner’s lip was wobbling. ‘Ah, shit, you’re getting me fucked up. I can’t give you the list. I can’t. Stop asking me. Please. Want me to call some of my boys, get them to rough some people up or something?’

Murphy’s phone buzzed. Whoever it was, they were calling again.

‘I wanna help, mate, I really do,’ said Skinner. ‘I just can’t throw away my livelihood. I know I’m a coward —’

Murphy pulled himself to his feet. He was very aware of the gun pressing against his back.

He’d shown weakness, made himself vulnerable, and that hadn’t worked. Now the gun was his only option.

But first he needed to focus – the buzzing in his pocket was distracting him.

He pulled his phone out to switch it off. The caller name read Eliza Ellis. That stopped him cold.

‘We’re cool, right?’ said Skinner. ‘You’ve let me into your inner sanctum – I respect that. You know I don’t believe that shit they’re saying —’

‘Eliza?’ Murphy said, bringing the phone to his ear, his whole body suddenly awake. ‘What’s wrong? Did you remember something?’

‘No, I . . . It’s something else. I thought I’d better tell you myself before you heard it from someone else.’ Her voice was flat and tired. ‘I should’ve told you sooner, but I only found out the day before, and, well, he’s a friend . . .’

‘Eliza, what is it?’

‘Jasmine was sleeping with someone.’

Murphy heard his pulse thudding in his ears. He stood up straighter. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t freak out —’

‘Who is it?’ he shouted.

‘Jack Michaels.’

Murphy stood in silence, then headed for the ladder.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Skinner.

He hung up the phone. ‘Take care of Butch,’ he said, then climbed out of the hatch, stalking towards the house, his mind already on the road to Jack’s house.

The gun was in his hand.

CHAPTER 22

CON