No, it was a shady and much misunderstood world, but it existed, all right, and Banks had apparently become fixed on its radar. The real problem was that, while they could always find you when they wanted to, you could never find them. He could hardly go knocking at the door of Thames House or Vauxhall Cross and ask for Mr. Browne. There was one person he could talk to, though. Detective Superintendent Richard “Dirty Dick” Burgess had been working with some elite counterterrorism liaison squad for a while now. Even their acronym was so secret that if you heard it you had to die, he had joked. Burgess was a cunning old bastard, but he and Banks went back a long time, and there was a chance he might know some of the people involved, let slip a morsel or two. Phoning him was an option, at any rate.
As Banks finished his wine and decided to leave the last slice of pizza, he was convinced that the young couple who had just passed by again on the opposite side of the street had not had to walk up and down Charlotte Street six times in the past hour, as they had done, simply to find an outside table at a restaurant. Who was it who said that paranoia simply means being in possession of all the facts? Banks gestured to the waitress and reached for his wallet.
"Drink, DI Cabbot?” said Superintendent Gervaise as she plunked her pint down on Annie’s table.
Annie glanced at her watch. Just after six.
“You’re officially off duty, aren’t you? Besides, a senior officer is asking you to have a drink with her.”
“Okay. Thank you, ma’am,” said Annie. “I’ll have a pint of Black Sheep, please.”
“Good choice. And there’s no need to call me ma’am. We’re just a couple of colleagues having a drink after work.”
Somehow, that sounded more ominous to Annie than Gervaise had probably intended, though she wasn’t sure about that. She still hadn’t quite got a grasp on the superintendent yet. Gervaise was tricky. You had to be careful. One minute she could come on like your best friend, and the next she was all business again, the boss. Then just when you started to think she was a careerist, straight from university and training school to a desk upstairs, she would surprise you with a story from her past, or take a course of action that could only be described as reckless. Annie decided it was best to remain as passive as possible and let Gervaise lead the way. You never quite knew where you were with her. The woman was unpredictable, which was an admirable quality in some, but not in a superintendent, and sometimes when you went away from a meeting with her, you weren’t quite sure what had transpired or what you had agreed to do.
Gervaise came back with the Black Sheep and sat opposite Annie. After raising her glass for a toast, she looked around the small room, its dark varnished paneling glowing in the soft light, and said, “Nice here, isn’t it? I always think the Queen’s Arms is just a little too noisy and busy at times, don’t you? I can’t say I blame you for coming here instead.”
“Yes, m— Yes,” said Annie, just remembering herself in time. Two colleagues having a drink after work. So the game was up. Gervaise knew about the Horse and Hounds. Pity. Annie liked the place, and the beer was good. Even the Britvic Orange was good.
“Was that DCI Banks you were talking to just now?”
“I... er... yes,” said Annie.
“Having a nice holiday, is he?”
“So he says.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“London, I think.”
“Still? So he hasn’t got as far as Devon or Cornwall yet?”
“Apparently not.”
“But he does have his mobile with him?”
Annie shrugged.
“Funny, that, because I can’t seem to get hold of him at all.”
“I don’t suppose he has it turned on all the time. He is on holiday, after all.”
“Ah, that must be it. Anyway, did I hear a mention of some sort of Wyman-Hardcastle connection?”
“You might have done, yes. Just a bit of harmless theorizing, you know... as one does...”
Gervaise put on a puzzled expression. “But that can’t be, surely? According to my files, there is no Hardcastle case. And I’m supposed to be in charge, aren’t I? I believe the coroner even filed a verdict of suicide.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I told you. Skip the formalities. It is all right if I call you Annie, isn’t it?”
It felt odd, but Annie wasn’t going to argue at the moment. She needed to find out where Gervaise was going, and you could never tell from her opening gambits. “Of course,” she said.
“Look here, Annie,” Gervaise went on. “I like you. You’re a good copper. You appear to have your head screwed on the right way, and at a guess I’d say you’re fairly ambitious, am I right?”
“I like to do a good job and be recognized for it,” said Annie.
“Exactly. Now nobody can fault you on that last business you were involved in on detachment to Eastern Area. One might argue that you acted rather hastily at the end, went off half-cocked, but there was no way you could predict the way things were going to turn out. As it happened, you acquitted yourself very well. It’s always a pity when blood is shed, but it could have been worse, a lot worse, if you hadn’t kept your head and your wits about you.”
Annie didn’t feel that she had kept her head at all, but you didn’t throw such praise back in the face of the person who gave it to you. Especially Superintendent Gervaise. “Thank you,” she said. “It was a difficult time.”
“I can well imagine. Anyway, that’s behind us now. As, I thought, was the Hardcastle and Silbert business.”
“It’s just a few loose ends,” Annie said. “You know, dotting i’s, crossing t’s.”
“I see. And just what, once you’ve done all that, does it spell out?” “Murder-suicide?”
“Exactly. Now the chief constable himself has taken a personal interest in this whole business, and he thinks it’s in the best interests of all concerned—his very words—that we toss the file in the solved cabinet—he really thinks we have such a thing, you know—and put it out of our minds, deal with the situation on the East Side Estate before it escalates. This is tourist season, you know.”
“And let’s not forget the traffic cones,” said Annie.
Gervaise gave her a disappointed look. “Yes, well. My point is that if you were doing your job, if you were following instructions, if you were—”
“I am working on the Donny Moore stabbing.”
“I know you’re working on it, Annie, but I’m not convinced you’re giving it your full attention. Now I catch the tail end of a telephone conversation you’re having with DCI Banks, who’s supposed to be on holiday, about a business that not only I, but also our chief constable, want to forget about. What am I to think? You tell me.”
“Think what you like,” said Annie. “He just wants to tidy up a few loose ends, that’s all.”
“But there aren’t any loose ends. The chief constable says so.”
“And who told him?”
Gervaise paused and regarded Annie coolly for a moment before replying, “Someone even higher up the tree than he is, no doubt.” “But don’t you feel used when the intelligence services start muscling in on our territory?” Annie asked.