A car door slams. Running footsteps. And then Lesley comes into view appearing from behind Styles's car. She stands stock still by Styles's body. Then she screams and throws herself across him and calls his name and screams again and while she's doing that, all I can think of is I didn't count on Styles having a back-up in case of anything going wrong for him. I should have counted on that; after all, I've arranged a back-up for myself. When Lesley's finished her screaming and her sobbing and her calling, and when she's seen the figure lying there who's responsible for Styles's death, she picks up my gun and begins to walk toward me, her face blank, and that's when I hear the sound of my own back-up approachingâthe sound of the pickup lurching along the desert road.
But I'm never going to hear it arrive.