He’s run out of his cocaine capsules and he’s planning a few nights away to collect some from his contact, the Weedhound, in Bristol. He is quite happy to leave the patch for a few days; he’s confident now that nothing will happen in his absence to change his plan of campaign. The postcards have been sent; Dom and Billa and Ed will be wondering and waiting. Of course, he’d hoped by now to have made his move but he’s going to have to wait until the boy, Harry, has gone, which will not be until after the weekend. The problem is, the one thing he doesn’t have is time. And now he’ll need the extra medication. It is irritating that his two attempts to spy out the land have been foiled: first by the huge dog and second by Harry. He’d checked so carefully on each of those days; watching them all coming out of the old butter factory and then actually seeing them happily ensconced at the Chough for lunch. It should have been perfect. The next attempt was more of a risk. From his vantage point he’d seen Billa drive away, watched Dom and Ed and the dogs going down to the woodland, and then he’d driven round the valley and parked under the ash tree.
