Which would at least distract her from her own impending decision.
“. . . That’s okay. Thanks.”
She said, “Cool. Offer’s open,” and wondered how soon she could disconnect; a question whose answer came from above, in the shape of pounding on the ceiling, accompanied by a strangled version of what might have been her name. “But it seems I’m needed upstairs.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
The last time River opened his heart to her, he’d been worried about his grandfather. But that train had left the station: Louisa had been there when they’d buried the old man, and while she’d attended less dramatic funerals, it was clear that David Cartwright was beyond causing problems. Lamb, on the other hand, was still among the quick, and when she arrived at his door was bowed over his desk like a Francis Bacon study in onanism. It took a second for her to realise he was engaged in the act of darning his socks while still wearing them, except for “darning” read “applying duct tape.”
“Adds years,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the savings.”
“I’ve often wondered how you fund your wardrobe.”
Though it was accepted office lore that he raided charity bins.
Lamb hauled himself upright with the effort another man might have used to land a marlin. “Spoken to Cartwright lately?”
“We’re in touch.”
“More than he is with me.” Lamb sighed and shook his head: You raise them, you send them into the world, and do they phone, do they write? “Too busy playing doctors and nurses with young Baker. Been meaning to offer condolences on that score, by the way. Always thought you were in with a chance, especially since Sid’s, you know, ‘accident.’” He waggled an index finger at his right temple. “Head wounds, best case scenario, if you’re not left a vegetable, you’re borderline mental. Not judging. But I wouldn’t share a bed with one.”
“That’s not likely to come up, is it?” said Louisa.
“Bit hurtful, but I’ll let it pass. Anyway, thought you’d like to be the”—he paused, and counted on his fingers—“fifth to know. If Cartwright’s left anything of value in his drawers, you get first pick.”
“He’s not coming back?”
“Turns out his warranty’s lapsed. And the Park’s not picking up the tab if that toxic doorknob does for him.”
She said, “You’ve seen his medical report.”
“Better than that. I’ve seen the instruction his medical officer received, from Taverner, to bin him. Taverner already told me he was for the chop, but let me think it was Doctor Desk’s decision, which is an interesting lie, don’t you think?”
“Interesting?”
“Because it wasn’t necessary. I mean, the fuck do I care who pulls Cartwright’s plug? And why’s she doing it anyway? If she hates his guts, why turn him loose? It torments him more being here. Even if he doesn’t realise it himself.”
Louisa was aware that her role was to supply prompts while Lamb thought out loud. This was usually Catherine’s destiny, but no doubt it would become clear why she’d been chosen instead. Unless it didn’t. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, she bought me a bottle. I mean, talk about uncharacteristic behaviour. This is a woman who smokes more of my fags than I do.” This triggered a deep response: His hand disappeared between two of his shirt buttons, scratched vigorously, then reappeared holding a cigarette. Tucking it between his lips he went on, “She drops three lit matches in my lap. Says she’s got a grievance pending, which is about as likely to give a cat a sleepless night as make her worry, and she tells me about Cartwright, and she mentions that you’re out shopping for a new job, which so what? So no, it was specifically Cartwright she wanted me to know about, which means she wants me to tell him he’s surplus to requirements so he’ll be looking for a way back in. Open to persuasion.” His eyes sparked. “And that’s it. She needs him to do something for her. Something off-book, so probably dodgy. The sly monkey.”
Louisa said, “She said what now? About me?”
“Don’t change the subject. Which is, what’s she got lined up for Cartwright? Bearing in mind he’d have trouble setting fire to a petrol pump.”
There was little point pursuing any topic other than the one that gripped Lamb. “Are you sure you’re not seeing a conspiracy where there isn’t one?”
“What, the way a hammer thinks everything looks like a thumb? Yeah. Except we’re talking about Taverner, who if she tells you the time means she’s faking an alibi.”
“So . . . She wants River junked regardless of his medical just to leave him open to some other scheme she has in mind?”
“Yeah, which part of that doesn’t make sense?”
She’d been in Slough House too long, because none of it didn’t. “Okay. So what are you planning?”
“Me? I plan to light this thing, and maybe do some more tailoring.” He tapped the cigarette still hanging from his lip, then picked up the reel of tape. “My collar could do with reinforcing.”
“So I’m here because . . . ?”
He rolled his eyes. “Can you lot never keep up? You’re here, learning this from me, so you can find out what Taverner’s got in mind for Cartwright.”
Which explained why it was her, not Catherine, in the room. “Is that with a view to helping or hindering him?”
“Whichever causes me least aggravation.”
“But you want her to reverse her decision? About River not coming back?”
He had found a lighter, and answered her by clicking it to no effect.
Louisa said, “Why should I? Like you said, he’ll be better off in the wild. So why would I help you keep him here?”
“Because that’s what he wants, poor sod. Closest he’ll get to living his dream. Back at his desk, imagining he’s protecting the nation. Happy as Lazarus.”
“Larry.”
“He came back from the dead, didn’t he? Mind you, one place he’s never going is the Park, not while Taverner’s in charge, but that penny hasn’t dropped yet and probably never will. Whereas you—your penny’s in the well, isn’t it? Made your wish yet?”
She had, even if she only knew it this moment. “I’m leaving.”
“So this can be your farewell present.”
“To him or you?”
His lighter flared, and he applied it to his cigarette before tossing it over his shoulder.
“I’ll get started, shall I?”
“Soon as you like,” said Lamb.
It doesn’t matter how you wind your clock, time comes out different lengths. The night River had just endured was one of his longest, and as it approached its end he couldn’t decide which had been worse; the hours spent awake, staring into nothingness, or the minutes he’d been asleep, dreaming furtive versions of his grandfather. Stam’s words had spiralled through both states—We all have things we’d like to hide in boxes. It doesn’t undo all the good in our lives. But he’d already known that, hadn’t he? Over the past few years, River had come to understand that the grandfather he’d adored had harboured a dark side. Had made ruthless decisions, reached brutal conclusions. Neither his favourite gardening gloves nor his moth-butchered cardigan could cover up a life lived on Spook Street. But this was not new information: River had known it was there, awaiting acceptance.
But it was the banality of this new item, that the O.B. had used pornography, that River found hard to take in. He was neither innocent nor a prude—the internet had inured his generation to degrees of porn that even a Victorian might have found shocking—but something rang false, and as he rose from the bed Sid had vacated earlier, as he showered and brushed his teeth and chose clothes, it became clear what this was, an epiphany that would have arrived sooner if he’d been on his game. It was that the old man had hidden his stash among his books. That was what was unfathomable; that his grandfather had—here was the word—sullied his library with porn. Because he wouldn’t have done that. There were nooks and corners, angles and crannies, a hundred places where he might have filed this lesser secret. He would not have chosen to include it among the shelves so dear to his heart—no, if he’d hidden something among his books, it was because he wanted it found. That was the spook’s code; everything you did should be read backwards. David Cartwright would have known his bookcases would be assessed and pored over, if not by River himself then by a Service archivist, or a book dealer. His box-safe would come to light, its contents be unpacked. There was no version of his grandfather that would have allowed his pornography to be revealed in such a way.