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‘You condemned them to death,’ says Cyrus.
‘They were already dead.’
‘Not me,’ I say.
Angus grunts dismissively and there is a long silence. Ice cracks and falls in the icemaker.
His phone is ringing. He listens. ‘Two minutes. We’ll be waiting out back.’
He rests the shotgun on the bar and bends to retrieve a roll of masking tape.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ says Cyrus.
Angus finds this amusing. ‘They always say that, don’t they – on TV cop shows and in the movies? Does that make it a cliché or a trope?’
‘A cliché,’ says Cyrus.
‘That’s what education does – helps you come up with the right word at the right time.’
‘The police know we’re here,’ say Cyrus. ‘We’ve told them that you and your brothers were smuggling migrants.’
‘And what proof do you have? There is no boat and no bodies, and your only witness was a child. And we all know that children make up stories.’
He motions to me. ‘Give me your phone.’
‘Why?’
‘I won’t ask again.’
I hand it over.
‘And yours?’ he says to Cyrus. ‘Now your car keys.’
Angus twirls them around his forefinger.
‘What are you going to do?’ asks Cyrus.
‘I’m going to put these phones in your car, and somebody will take it for a drive, proving that you left here, alive and well. Maybe we’ll throw the phones off a cliff at some popular suicide spot and leave your car nearby.’
‘Nobody is going to believe we committed suicide.’
‘They’ll believe whatever makes their lives easier,’ he says, tossing the spool of masking tape at me. I drop it clumsily. He points at Cyrus. ‘Tape up his hands. Behind his back. Around his wrists. Do it properly or you’ll be doing it again.’
I fumble with the spool, trying to find the end of the tape with my thumbnail. Cyrus stands and puts his hands behind his back. I’m close now.
‘If you get the chance, run,’ he whispers.
‘No.’
More urgently. ‘Listen to me, Evie. Get away and call Carlson.’
‘I’m not leaving you.’
‘No talking!’ says Angus, who is pouring Scotch into a hip flask. Spilling some. Cursing. Not cleaning up.
Cyrus is holding his wrists a little apart, as I wrap the tape, creating a gap that allows his hands to move. He pushes his wrists together when Radford checks my work.
‘Now you,’ he says, putting down the shotgun and picking up the tape. I contemplate lunging for the gun, but I wouldn’t know what to do. Does it have a safety catch, or do I just point and shoot?
