Ash & Bone

Elder came back into the kitchen wearing dark trousers and a faded blue shirt.

'Hard to get better than these,' Framlingham said, setting down two fat croissants, one on each plate. 'Picked them up in Hampstead on the way through. Bakers in South End Green. Bloody marvellous.'

'How strong?' Elder asked, before spooning coffee into the jug.

'Strong.'

Elder switched off the kettle and waited a few moments before pouring in the water. What Framlingham, with a wife and house the other side of London, was doing this far north in the relatively early hours of the morning, he didn't ask.

'So,' Framlingham said, 'something important, you said in your message.'

Barely touching coffee or croissant, Elder recounted in detail his conversation with Lynette Drury, while Framlingham ate, drank and listened. When Elder had finished, he sat a short while longer, thinking.

'Any chance she'd stand up in court?'

'Doubtful.'

'Not even to shop Mallory?'

'I really don't know. No love lost between them, that's pretty clear. Maybe if there was a way she could shop him without taking down Slater at the same time, but who knows?'

Framlingham reached across and appropriated a piece of Elder's croissant. 'Shame you weren't wearing a wire.'

'Likely inadmissible anyway.'

'Stick with it, Frank. Something about Grant put the wind up him and whatever it was, it hasn't gone away. And we need to find out what it was. Could haul him in, of course, face him with some of those allegations, but I'm not sure that's the best way to go.'

He steepled his fingers together and pressed hard enough for the blood to drain from the tips.

'Keep pushing, Frank. We're getting close.'

48

Elder caught up with Graeme Loftus early: Loftus already pumped up, rumours of something major about to go down, striding out across the car park, wearing his red hair like a flag.

'A word,' Elder said, stepping out.

Loftus had either to barge into him or stop short.

'What the fuck about? No, wait. Wait. I didn't recognise you at first. It's that murder again, right? Maddy Birch? Look, I've already answered all your questions about that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hope you get the guy, right? But just get out of my face, okay? It's nothing to with me. Nada. Nothing.'

Elder didn't move.

Several other officers, passing, turned their heads and slowed their pace but nobody stopped.

'It isn't Maddy Birch,' Elder said. 'Not exactly.'

'What then?'

'A few more questions about the shooting.'

'Shooting?'

'Come on, Loftus.'

'Christ! What is it with you people? Grant, you mean? The same bloody stuff over and over again.'

'It's called police work. At least, it used to be.'

Loftus half-turned away, shaking his head. 'All right, okay. Let's get it done.'

'Here?'

'Here.'

'After the two shots, the ones that killed Grant, you were the first in the room, yes?'

'Yes. I mean, just seconds maybe. But yes, I was first through the door.'

'And you saw what? Exactly.'

Loftus released his breath slowly, keeping himself in check. 'Like I told you before. Detective Superintendent Mallory's standing with his back to me, right arm raised, pistol in his hand. At least that's what I assume. From where I'm standing I can't actually see the weapon, but Grant, he's down and wounded. Dying if not already dead. And Birch, she's sort of crouching, head down, between the two of them.' He looked Elder square in the face. 'There. That's it.'

'When you described the incident to the inquiry, you said Maddy had blood on her face.'

'So?'

'So now you're saying she was facing away from you, away from the door.'

'That's right.'

'Then how did you see blood on her face?'

'God! Does it matter?'

'Everything matters.'

'All right, then I suppose I must have seen it later, the blood, I mean.'

'You suppose?'

For a moment Loftus closed his eyes. 'Yes, I saw it later. I must have. She had her head down, facing away.'

'You could only see what? Her back? The back of her head?'

'Yes.'

'And she was positioned between yourself and Grant?'

'Yes.'

'Shielding him?'

'Partly, yes.'

'You could see what? His head?'

'He was sort of kneeling, leaning forward. I could see he'd taken a shot to the head.'

'Nothing more?'

'Not really, no.'

'So, just to be clear, from where you were standing inside the room, you could see Detective Superintendent Mallory but not his weapon; you could see Maddy Birch from behind, crouching down, and the head and maybe the shoulders of the wounded man.'

'Yes.'

'You couldn't see Grant's hands?'

'No, I just said -'

'Neither hand?'

'No.'

'Nor anything he might have been holding?'

'For fuck's sake, no!'

'You didn't see him with a gun?'

'No.'

'You didn't see the gun?'

'Not then, no.'

'Not in his hand and not on the floor?'

'How many more fucking times?'

'Then how did you know it was there?'

'What?'

'You heard me, how did you know it was there? It's in your testimony. A.22 Derringer, on the floor beside Grant's leg. You saw it or so you said.'

'Then I did.'

'But now you've just said -'

'I couldn't see it when I very first went into the room. Not from where I was. That's what you asked.'

'So you saw it when?'

'When the Detective Super stood away. He was pointing at it, showing it to Birch, I imagine.'

'Then the only person who could have seen the Derringer in Grant's hand and then on the ground, because of the way she was facing, was Maddy Birch?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Yes, definitely, or yes, you suppose?'

'All right, yes. Definitely yes. Now, can I go?'

Elder stepped aside. 'Be my guest.'

Loftus pushed past and strode away.

***

The Merc was parked with its offside wheels on the pavement, outside Elder's flat. Maurice Repton was sitting neat behind the wheel, George Mallory alongside him. The windows on either side had been lowered several centimetres and both men were smoking. Mallory got out of the car as Elder approached and dropped his cigarette to the ground.

'Frank Elder?'

'Yes.'

'You know who I am?'

'I know.'

He was older than he looked in his photograph, Elder thought, heavier too. Ash down the front of his three-piece suit. His eyes were tired, his face a little grey, as if, maybe, he'd not had the best day.

'I thought,' Mallory said, 'it was time we met.'

'Why's that?'

A smile leaked around Mallory's face. 'Don't play dumb with me, Frank. Act the fool. Oh, you might be a puppet of some kind, I realise. Framlingham's toy. His Spring-Heeled Jack.'

He pronounced each syllable of Framlingham's name distinctly, separately, each segment more dismissive than the last.

'Robert Gentleman Farmer Framlingham. Or so he'd have us believe. Streak of piss in his country tweeds. Behind you somewhere is he, working your strings? Well, we've got history, Robert and me, did he tell you that? Came after me once before, when he was with CIB. The Ghost Squad.' Mallory laughed. 'Difficult being invisible when you're seven foot tall with green wellies and a shooting stick. Five charges he brought against me and each and every one of them refuted. Denied. Dismissed. Case fucking closed. Except he doesn't like that, your Robert, so he's got you weaselling about, sucking the pus out of every dirty little rumour, every little half-baked mendacious lie. And you'll do his bidding, won't you, Frank? Have been up to now. Suborned, that's what you are. What you've been. Fucking suborned. Play the cards whichever way you can, as long as what? As long as my hand comes down with the ace of spades? Forget it, Frank. There's nothing there. Just jism floating in the fucking breeze. Fairy dust, Frank. Nothing real.'