Porson positively grinned. ‘Mr Wetherspoon met him once at a fund-raiser in Hammersmith Town Hall. Webber snubbed him.’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and accompanied it with a wink. ‘Not posh enough.’
Crikey, Slider thought, impressed. Webber might be a cold-hearted murdering egomaniac, but it took some cojones to cut Mr Wetherspoon on his own turf.
‘You didn’t tell me there were going to be guns,’ Joanna said when he finally, finally got home. She looked at his grey face and red-rimmed eyes but she couldn’t help herself – she still had to say it. ‘You didn’t say there would be shooting.’
‘Thought it better not to,’ he said. ‘What would be the point of worrying you?’
‘I’m your wife. It’s my privilege to worry.’
‘Well, no one was hurt. And we got the baddies. Doesn’t that warrant a “well done, darling”?’
She relented. ‘Of course. Well done, darling. Do you know what the time is? I thought you were never coming home. I don’t know what to offer you – tea, breakfast, lunch, dinner, a drink?’
He didn’t need to think. ‘Tea,’ he said prosaically. ‘I seem to have been talking all day. My mouth’s like the bottom of the budgie’s cage.’ She went to put the kettle on, and he followed her into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything about it beforehand, but it was all deadly secret, in case the villains got wind of anything.’
‘I’m always tipping off villains,’ she said. ‘Well known for it.’ But she knew that wasn’t the point. She put out mug, tea bag, spoon, and then turned to put her arms round him. ‘Tell me about it.’
So he told her.
‘I suppose Webber did have a point,’ she said when he got to the end. ‘He was doing good things, even if he went about them the wrong way. Excise rules are just local customs – excuse the pun. How does that stack up against human lives?’
‘He had two people murdered to protect his right to decide that the law didn’t apply to him,’ Slider said. ‘Probably another two as well, years ago. If he hadn’t been stopped, who knows how many more he would have had to eliminate?’
‘Point,’ said Joanna.
‘And then there are the original donors,’ Slider said. ‘China still has people executed for political dissidence, you know. Does holding up a placard outside Westminster mean your kidneys are automatically up for grabs?’
‘Point again. Pay no attention to me – I’m just flappin’ m’ gums.’
He drew her closer. ‘Forget the gums, how about the lips?’
‘I thought you were tired?’
‘Never too tired for you.’ But he rested his head on her shoulder, cheek to her hair, eyes shut – not the pose of a rampant lover. ‘Do you know Hopkins’ poem, “The Windhover”?’
‘Only about the most beautiful poem ever written,’ Joanna said. ‘“A billion times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier.”’ She waited for elucidation, then said, ‘Never heard of it. Why?’
‘We say it’s always about love or money,’ he said, growing warm and comfortable behind his closed eyes. ‘This was both. Webber had the money, and Rogers had the love.’
‘You’re not making a whole lot of sense,’ she told him kindly. The kettle poured steam and she reached out to turn it off – carefully, not to disturb him.
‘He was a bit of an ass and a bit of a villain,’ Slider said. ‘But I’m glad he had some love. Not all the women, I don’t mean. The boat. Even if it didn’t have sails.’
‘In fact,’ Joanna said, ‘I just thought I’d mention that you are actually asleep at this point in time.’ He very nearly was. ‘By the way,’ she said, because he’d have to wake up to get himself to bed, ‘Atherton phoned.’
‘Hmm?’
‘He said to tell you they’re going to mount an operation on Embry’s yard next week. A multi-agency sting, he said. They’re going to shut him down for good.’
‘Good,’ said Slider, rousing himself. He opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness. And yawned cavernously. ‘God, poor old Stanmore! Another upheaval. Seek a better life in the suburbs, eh? I bet they’ll wish they really were Stansted.’
‘You’re still not making sense,’ Joanna complained.
Slider shook his head. ‘You had to be there,’ he said.