‘This location isn’t overlooked?’
‘I understand not, sir.’
‘Then recover them. We’ll need to mount surveillance overnight. Anyone in the area, anyone, we want to know the reason why. Joe? You want to action that?’
‘Yes, sir. There’s something else, though.’ Proctor had backed out of the office. ‘This villa where they stashed the bike, I took a look at it this afternoon. It’s derelict, fenced off. For what those guys needed, like Jerry said, the place is absolutely perfect.”
‘So what does that tell us?’ Barrie was scrolling through a long list of e-mails.
‘It tells me, sir, that whoever chose the villa must have known about it beforehand. And to do that they must have had some connection with the hospital.’
Barrie’s head lifted from his PC.
‘You’re saying these guys are loonies? You’re telling me we’re looking for a patient?’
‘I doubt it. But maybe a member of staff, or a voluntary worker, or a relative on a visit. Or maybe someone who drops off supplies, laundry, whatever - someone who had a reason for being there, someone who’d have access to the grounds.’
‘But not a terrorist?’ Barrie, smiling now, reached for the phone.
Katherine Brodie was waiting in the American Bar by the time Winter made it to the Savoy. The ankle-length raincoat was spotted from the thin drizzle that curtained the view from the window, and the tan seemed to have faded a little since they’d last met.
‘I’ve just arrived myself.’ She shrugged away Winter’s apologies for being a couple of minutes late. ‘What are you having?’
‘My shout. Spritzer again?’
The drinks were served at a table in the corner. Already the bar was beginning to fill, mainly women laden with booty from the pricier corners of Covent Garden, and Winter scanned the room, wondering just how many people could afford to cap an afternoon’s shopping with seven-quid glasses of diluted white wine.
‘How’s your Mr Mackenzie?’
‘Baz? He’s fine. Sends his love.’
‘Nice guy. Visionary too. I took the liberty of making a couple of enquiries.’
‘Really? You should have Googled him.’
‘I did. Neat site. I really liked it.’
Winter made a mental note to pass the compliment on. Bazza had persuaded a student lodger in one of his many houses to design him a website and had been so delighted with the results that he’d spared him a fortnight’s rent.
‘Did you see the hotel?’
‘I took the virtual tour. The Nile Room? The Aboukir Bar? The Victory Banqueting Suite? We’re talking serious history here.’
‘Baz just loves all that. When he bought the place it was called the Royal Solent. He dumped the Solent and put Trafalgar on the end. Last year, you can imagine, he made a fortune. You remember the Fleet Review? The fireworks in the evening? The mock battle? All those TV pictures?’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘They were brilliant. I watched them with my mum. She’s half blind. I had to describe what was going on, the fireworks especially, and you know something? With pictures that good you just run out of words.’
Winter nodded, looking at her. Then he raised his glass.
‘But you were in California.’ He smiled. ‘Weren’t you?’
The answering grin told Winter everything he needed to know. Too quick. Too bright. Too easy.
‘I flew back for a while.’
‘Decompressing?’
‘To see my mum actually. She wasn’t too well. I was in luck. I caught the Trafalgar celebrations. Hey …’ She frowned. ‘You have a problem with any of this?’
‘Yeah.’ Winter nodded. ‘I think I might. Tell me about 43a Lavender Road.’
‘The office?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Just …’ Winter shrugged ‘… the facts really. Is it furnished? Or did you have to kit it out yourself?’
She studied him for a long moment, the smile gone.
‘You’ve been there,’ she said at length. ‘You’ve checked it out.’
‘Of course I have.’
‘So you’ll know all about it already. The place is a dump. But it’s also cheap. And starting any kind of business in this country, you have to watch the bottom line.’
‘Me too.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I am the bottom line.’ He took a tiny sip of San Miguel. ‘We’ve got a choice here. Either you tell me what’s really going on or I walk through that door.’ He nodded towards the lobby. ‘And if that happens, believe me, you’ll have some serious questions to answer.’
‘I’m not hearing any of this.’
‘No? I’m a detective, love. Or I was. And that makes me a nasty bastard when it comes to believing people. I’d say you’ve had to put this thing together in a very big hurry. I’d say you had a couple of days’ notice to sort out a half-decent legend. I’d say your bosses, your backup, whoever pulls your strings, need a kick up the arse. Given the short notice, you’ve done fucking well. Last time we were here you were world class, seriously.’
‘And now?’
‘Now we have a problem.’
‘We?’
‘Yeah.’ The smile, this time, was weary. ‘You and me.’
They left the Savoy. The rain was heavier now, dancing on the roofs of traffic-stalled cabs in the Strand. Winter shepherded Brodie through the press of commuters outside Charing Cross Station. There was a pub off St Martin’s Lane where he’d feel a great deal more comfortable. He bought a pint of Guinness for himself, a glass of Stella for Brodie. They found two stools beside a mirror at the end of the bar.
‘What’s your real name?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘We’ll stick to Brodie then?’
‘Whatever.’
‘OK.’ Winter sucked at the Guinness, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘So when did they call you in?’
‘Friday afternoon. I was Duty D/S on call for U/C.’
‘On call where?’
‘It’s irrelevant. You don’t need to know.’
‘But you’re U/C trained?’
‘The two-week course at Hendon. Passed with flying colours. What a fucking joke.’
‘Is this your first job?’
‘By no means.’
‘So how come you blew it so easily?’
‘To be honest I’m not entirely sure. It didn’t help that I knew you’re a cop, too.’
‘Was.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t buy that for a moment. I was there on Monday, remember. I was watching you. In a way you were funny, completely out of your fucking depth, but in another way you were looking out for yourself. You’re right. People like us believe nothing. Scary, isn’t it?’
Winter didn’t answer. Instead, he wanted to know why this operation had been set up in such a hurry.
‘There was a feeling you needed a bit of support.’
‘Says who?’
‘Work it out.’
‘Gale Parsons? My minder?’ Brodie looked at her hands, said nothing. ‘Have you met her?’
‘No.’
‘She’s not running you, then?’
‘No. But I gather she was the one who said we had to get a foot in the door pretty damn fast. This Trophy thing needs a great deal of work. Within a week or so you’d have found someone on the media side. Then what do we do?’
‘You leave it to me.’ Winter raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Very good question. And one I put myself.’
‘The answer?’
‘Same as before. You needed support.’
‘Bollocks. You know the real reason better than I do. They don’t trust me. They think I’ve gone over to the Dark Side. For real.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And have you?’
‘That’s irrelevant.’ Winter was studying his empty gla
ss. ‘And it’s your shout.’
After the pub Winter led the way to an Italian restaurant on the edge of Covent Garden. It was still early, and the place was nearly empty. They specialised in opera tapes, classic arias played slightly louder than was comfortable, giving Winter the chance to bury the conversation under the wail of successive divas. He wanted to know where Custer was proposing to go from here.
‘We need to do deals,’ he said. ‘And they have to be kosher.’
‘Sure. Of course.’
‘So who sorts that out?’
‘Me.’
‘But you’re a cop, love, not some hotshot media agent.’
‘I know that. You know that. But there are media agents everywhere. I’ve spent most of the last forty-eight hours picking their brains. I’ve even got a list. I know who’s good, who cuts the mustard, and I know who to avoid. All you need in this business is the right connections. The money takes care of everything else.’
‘What money? Whose money?’
For the first time she laughed. It even sounded genuine. She put her hand over his, beckoned him closer.
‘The money’s in the event. The money is the event. I don’t know how you guys ever managed it but you seem to have come up with something that barely needs selling at all. Didn’t you ever wonder what made me so plausible back at the Savoy? The first time we met? It’s because I wasn’t lying. Talk to these guys like I’ve done and you’ll come to the same conclusion. Bunch of crazy jet skiers? Hunkiest young guys in the world? Loads of stunt work? Loads of noise? All the Pompey bollocks? Never underestimate your audience, Paul. They’ll love it.’
Winter looked at her. He’d crossed a frontier again. He was back on the same patch of turf. Trying to work out whether she was lying or not.
‘You’re taking the piss,’ he said.
‘You think so? Or you’re not quite sure?’
He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he fumbled in his pocket and produced Esme’s draft contract.
‘Read it,’ he said. ‘Convince me you know what you’re talking about.’
‘No point. You know what happens in real life? I take it away. I show it to a lawyer. He suggests various changes. Then I come back to you. I think they call it negotiation.’
‘Very funny.’
‘What’s this bit?’ She’d got as far as the second page.
‘That’s Bazza’s idea. He wants to offer you free office accommodation. Down at the Trafalgar. Probably a bedroom too, if you ask nicely.’
‘Yeah?’ She grinned. ‘And what else?’
‘You’re a big girl, love. Handle it.’
‘You think I can?’
‘I don’t think you’ve got an option. Not if this is ever going to work.’ He glanced at his watch then reached for his coat. ‘Shall I tell Bazza it’s a yes? Only he’s bound to ask.’
The minister died at five minutes past eight. His wife and two daughters were at his bedside in Southampton and the news was on the nation’s screens within twenty minutes. The Prime Minister emerged from 10 Downing Street shortly afterwards and stepped before the waiting cameras to offer a heartfelt tribute to a valued colleague and a close personal friend. He died, he said, as he’d lived. In the service of democracy. An aide hovered in the background with an umbrella but the Prime Minister declined to use it.
In the Major Crimes suite at Kingston Crescent a full Polygon squad meet was in progress. A management assistant appeared at Barrie’s elbow with a folded slip of paper. The Detective Superintendent announced the news and then called for a minute’s silence as a mark of respect. Heads bowed around the room. Despite the recovery of the Kawasaki the inquiry wasn’t going well and everyone knew it.
Afterwards, the meeting over, Faraday found himself intercepted by Jimmy Suttle. The young D/C wanted a private word. Faraday, with a to-do list that would take the rest of the evening to untangle, asked whether it could wait. Suttle shook his head.
‘It’s about Mallinder, sir. And I think it might be important. ’
Faraday, with D/C Suttle in tow, found his office occupied by a DCI he hadn’t seen for a couple of months. After nearly a year at Kingston Crescent, Perry Madison had been posted to the Major Crimes Team at Hulse Road in Southampton. A bluff, intense hill-walker with a very obvious contempt for the smaller courtesies of everyday life, his departure had been greeted with some relief.
Now, for whatever reason, he seemed to be back.
Madison, perched on the edge of Faraday’s desk, was on the phone. Faraday waited for the conversation to come to an end. He felt like an intruder in his own office.
‘Joe.’ Madison extended a hand. ‘One of the girls next door told me to help myself. Said you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Not at all, sir. Joining us, are you?’
Madison didn’t reply. Martin Barrie had appeared at the open door. He told Madison he wanted a word. The DCI stepped past Faraday and disappeared. Faraday pushed the door shut with his foot and told Suttle to take a seat. The pile of messages on his desk appeared to have grown.
‘This’ll have to be quick, son.’ He was still thinking about Madison. Detective Chief Inspectors didn’t appear by accident. Especially in circumstances like these.
Suttle was talking about Mallinder’s financial affairs. He had a number of accounts at Barclays, and the bank had sent him full details.
‘I didn’t have much time, sir. So I tried to concentrate on the period around February.’
Faraday was desperately trying to track back to the last conversation they’d had about Mallinder. Yesterday’s meeting at Scotland Yard felt like another life.
‘You remember he came up with the money? The two and a half million pounds?’
‘Yes.’
‘It turns out to have been a bank loan.’
‘Secured on what?’
‘That’s the point, sir. I made time this morning to talk to the bank. Mallinder had put up some assets from the partnership as collateral. To do that he’d have needed Benskin’s signature. The guy at the bank said the loan was only in place for a couple of months. Then it was repaid. In full.’
‘And you’re saying that’s significant?’
‘I think it might be, sir, yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Benskin had no time for all this stuff in Portsmouth, especially the Tipner project. He thought it was a waste of space. I talked to Tracy Barber about it this morning. I’ve even been over the tapes of the interview you both did with him. I never liked it from the start. The place is a dump. Literally. That’s what he told us, word for word. So why would he be risking two and a half million quid of the firm’s money to back something he thought was rubbish?’
‘Have you seen the loan agreement?’ Faraday was paying attention at last.
‘No, sir. But I’ve asked for a copy.’
‘You think …’ Faraday sank into his chair ‘… he might have forged Benskin’s signature? Kept the loan details to himself?’
‘I guess it’s possible.’
‘But Benskin would find out, wouldn’t he? In double-quick time?’
‘Of course, sir. And then he’d want the money back.’ Suttle smiled. ‘In double-quick time.’
The summons to Barrie’s office came minutes later. Faraday was still thinking about the implications of Mallinder’s bank loan. Suttle had a point. The discovery that your business partner had been cheating you might have all kinds of consequences, especially if the stakes were as high as two and a half million pounds.
Barrie was on the phone when Faraday stepped into his office. At the other end of the room, at the head of the conference table, Willard was hunched over a spreadsheet. Beside him, talking on a mobile, was Perry Madison.
‘Come in, Joe.’ Barrie was off the phone. ‘Join us.’
Faraday took a seat at the table. Willard barely looked up. Madison’s cold eyes flicked from one face to another as Barrie joined them.
At lengt
h Willard folded the spreadsheet and offered Faraday a nod. Madison pocketed his mobile. Already Faraday sensed the direction events were about to take.
‘Time is short, gentlemen.’ It was Barrie again. ‘We’re now dealing with a murder inquiry but I don’t think that comes as any surprise. It does, however, give us a problem. I raised it with Mr Willard this afternoon. Sir … ?’
‘We’re talking control and command, Joe.’ Willard was giving Faraday his full attention now. ‘We can’t run both Billhook and Polygon out of the same incident room. It’s obvious. It just doesn’t work. The indexers are knackered already and it’s going to get a whole lot worse. We could transfer Billhook to Hulse Road or Grosvenor House but they’re both up to their necks with inquiries of their own.’
Faraday nodded. There were major incident rooms in both Southampton and Basingstoke. Either, had they been available, would have been an ideal home for Billhook.
‘So what do we do, sir?’
‘I’m transferring the Mallinder inquiry to the satellite MIR at Fareham. The techies are firing up the Holmes suite as we speak. You’ll have a slightly reduced squad of D/Cs but full admin backup. Thanks to our friends in London, we’re not short of resources but most of those are going to Polygon.’
Faraday was looking at Perry Madison. No wonder he’d been getting used to the feel of Faraday’s desk.
‘Joe?’ It was Willard again. ‘You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Of course, sir. You’re taking me off Polygon.’
‘I am. I knew it would piss you off but I’m afraid I’ve got no choice. There’s no way you and Martin can lead two inquiries. We’d simply end up hazarding both. You’ll be SIO on Billhook until things settle down. If you need help, you know where to find me. OK?’ He held Faraday’s eyes for a moment then nodded at the door.
Faraday got to his feet, glancing at the faces round the table. He knew his disappointment was obvious but he was too exhausted to bother trying to hide it. He thought of saying something, maybe registering just the hint of a protest, but he knew it was pointless. In these situations you did what you were told. As he left the room Faraday paused a moment. Perry Madison had just cracked a joke at his expense but nobody was laughing.
The Price Of Darkness Page 21