An Air That Kills Read Free

from the warehouse. They were laden with tools and their heads were bowed. The rain fell steadily on them. They turned under an archway at the other end of the site.
    â€˜Not much of a job, eh?’ Philip said.
    The policeman turned and waved them on. Philip let out the clutch. The Rover moved forward.
    â€˜No,’ Jill said. ‘Not much of a life either.’

Chapter Two
    There were four of them in the line. The three in the front were bunched tightly together. After a gap of a couple of yards, Charlie Meague followed. He had the ghost of a swagger and his eyes flickered from side to side. He was taller than the others, a dark, good-looking man wearing army boots and trousers below a shabby tweed jacket. He hadn’t bothered to shave or wear a collar. His flat cap was pulled down low over his face.
    Under the archway, Charlie hesitated. The other three walked on. He moved to the shelter of a doorway, rested the sledgehammer against the wall and took a half-smoked cigarette from the top pocket of his jacket. After he had smoothed it out, he lit it with a match. Staring at the traffic, he noticed the Wemyss-Browns’ Rover going up the hill. He exhaled smoke and spat across the pavement into the roadway.
    â€˜Meague! Come on, you lazy bugger.’
    Charlie hoisted the sledgehammer on to his shoulder. With the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he sauntered out from the archway and across the yard. The other men were picking their way through a ruined barn. Ted Evans, the foreman, beckoned impatiently. His mouth was pursed with irritation.
    Charlie followed them into the barn. The roof had gone and the interior was heaped with rubble and charred beams. Evans pushed the left-hand leaf of the huge double doors on the far wall. It moved a few inches. There was a rending sound as the top hinge parted company with the gatepost.
    â€˜The wood’s like wet cardboard. Give me the sledgehammer.’
    Charlie passed it to him. Evans swung it at the lower hinge. A spark flashed as metal collided with metal. The gate groaned and swayed. Evans swung the hammer again. Wood cracked. The door tore itself free from its one remaining hinge and fell outwards.
    Beyond the barn was another yard. Heavy double gates, reinforced with iron and topped with spikes, were immediately opposite. To the left was a range of stabling. Other buildings, their original purpose harder to guess, had been reduced to mounds of stone, earth and dead and dying weeds. A leafless elder tree stood on one of the mounds. The roofs and gables of the Rose in Hand were visible on the right.
    â€˜See that?’ Evans waved at one of the ruins. ‘We’re going to cut a trench through there.’
    â€˜For God’s sake,’ Charlie said. ‘Why can’t they use the bloody digger? That’s what it’s for.’
    Evans stabbed a finger at Charlie. ‘Listen, Meague. You trying to tell me how to do my job?’
    â€˜Just asking a civil question.’
    The foreman came a step closer. He was several inches shorter than Charlie, but his bulk and his long arms made him formidable. When he was angry, he lowered his voice rather than raised it.
    â€˜A question? Then here are some civil answers. One, they’re already using the digger over there.’ He gestured towards the inn, on the other side of which lay the warehouse. ‘Two, we’re cheaper. Three, this is exploratory work, the sort of thing you need men for, not machines. The surveyor thinks there might be a culverted stream down there, and that’s got implications for the foundations and the drainage. Four, you give me trouble and you’ll be out on your ear. Got that, son?’
    Charlie stamped his foot and shouldered the sledgehammer like a rifle. He came to attention. ‘Yes, sir!’
    The rain pattered down from the grey sky. Evans stared up at Charlie’s face and Charlie stared back. A lorry changed gear on the main