‘Well, my first thought was that he’d got some bad news about his health. Then I thought – well, I thought maybe he and Candida were getting married or something. Although there was no reason not to tell me that on the phone. So I assumed it must be something work-related, that maybe he had a really hot story lead for me.’
‘Couldn’t he have told you about that on the phone?’ said Atherton.
‘Phones aren’t secure, you know. Suppose it was something to do with the government? The US government, I mean. You never know who might be listening. And there’d be documentary evidence to show me. Papers, photos. But that was just a guess. He was being tight-lipped, and when he’s like that you can’t shift him.’
There was a knock at the door and Swilley looked in to say that Porson was back. Slider decided to take a break. Miss Stonax was looking drained.
‘I still have some more questions I’d like to ask you,’ he said, ‘and I’d like you to look at the flat later, but I can see you’re tired and you must be hungry by now.’
She considered a moment. ‘I’m starving,’ she discovered.
‘Then may I suggest that Constable Asher here takes you up to the canteen, and you can get some lunch, and we’ll talk again afterwards. How would that be?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve nowhere else to go,’ she said bleakly.
That was so true, it gave Slider a pang of pity. ‘Is there anything else we can do for you?’ he asked gently.
‘I’d love a shower and a change of clothes. I’ve been in these things since yesterday.’
Slider nodded. ‘Asher will show you where. You’ve got things in your bag to change into, I imagine?’
‘Obviously,’ she said, and then remembered her manners. ‘I mean, thank you. You’re very kind.’
Outside, in the corridor, Atherton said, ‘Poor kid.’
‘Kid? That’s a bit rich, coming from you.’
‘Manner of speaking,’ Atherton said. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘It could be that he was investigating something after all—’
‘And it turned round and bit him?’ Atherton finished.
‘Yes, but what could it be that was worth his death? Let’s not get carried away by conspiracy theories. It could still have been simple robbery.’
Atherton rolled his eyes. ‘Must you always see both sides of everything?’
‘And it could have been accidental,’ Slider went on reasonably. ‘Maybe the intruder only wanted to knock him out, and just hit him too hard. And then panicked and ran away.’
Three
So Long Succour
Porson was standing by the window, reading. He hardly ever sat down unless he really had to. He looked up at Slider appeared in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.
‘Got something already?’
‘Not yet, sir. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.’ He closed the door and told him about the telephone call from The Needle.
Porson frowned, fiddling with a paper clip. ‘He knew you were in the car?’
‘It may have been a lucky guess. Or he may have been able to hear the engine noise in the background.’
‘Or he may have been following you,’ Porson concluded. He thought a moment. ‘If he knew you were on your mobile, he must have known we could trace the call.’
‘I’ve put Swilley on it already.’
‘Then as soon as he rings again we can pinpoint him?’
‘Yes, and he must know that as well as we do,’ Slider said.
‘Hmm. What’s he up to?’ Porson said.
‘Playing us for fools, if I know anything about him,’ Slider said. ‘It won’t be that easy to catch him.’
The eyebrows levelled out. ‘Well, it’s out of our hands now, anyway. He’s a big player and he’s wanted in high places. I’ll pass it on to Mr Wetherspoon and he’ll pass it to SOCA, or whichever SO is handling him. It’ll take it off our budget and manpower, at least.’
‘That’s a blessing, sir,’ said Slider.
Porson gave him a scowl for the irony. ‘Don’t you think of going after him on your own!’ he barked. ‘I’m not interested in mock heroics!’
‘How do you feel about the real kind?’ Slider murmured, though he knew he shouldn’t.
Porson looked more kindly at him. ‘You know and I know these slags just want to put the frighteners on us. Nine times out of ten they don’t mean it. But Bates – well, I’m not saying be worried, but keep your wits about you. I don’t want one of my officers walking into a trap, and there’s something queer about this. Doesn’t smell right.’ He rapped the end of the paper clip on the desk in an irritated rhythm. Slider was interested that Porson’s nasal radar was making him uneasy, too. ‘Why’d he have to surface now, of all times?’ Porson burst out at last. ‘Just when we’ve got our hands full.’
‘I presume I should leave my mobile switched on, so that the tracing unit can do the necessary?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Porson, miles away.
‘You’ll let me know what’s being done?’
The attention snapped back to the present. ‘Of course, laddie. I’ll keep you in the loop. Anything they tell me, I’ll tell you.’
Which wasn’t the same thing, of course.
‘But meanwhile, you concentrate on the Stonax business. That’s sacrospect. We want answers on that and we want ’em quick.’
When Slider got back to the CID room it was quieter than a Trappist library. The troops that were back were eating sandwiches at their desks. ‘Hey,’ he said.
‘We got you one, guv,’ Mackay reassured him crumbily. ‘It’s on your desk.’
‘I got you a jumbo sausage baguette,’ Norma Swilley added informatively.
McLaren leered at her automatically. ‘Jumbo sausage? Oy-oy!’
‘The king of single entendre,’ Norma said witheringly. ‘I’ve got the report on that car, boss.’
‘Come through,’ he said, heading for his office. ‘McLaren, get me a cup of tea.’
‘What did I do?’ McLaren protested.
‘It’s your turn,’ said Slider.
‘Since when?’
‘Since the sausage remark.’
The sausage was still warm, and they had remembered the mustard. What it was to have a highly trained team at your fingertips! He took a huge bite. He was ravenous. Swilley perched on his windowsill – it seemed to be everyone’s preferred place for making reports to him – and looked at her notes. The weather was still warm enough for her not to have gone into trousers, for which the man in him was grateful. He was happily spoken-for, but there was no harm in admiring the scenery, even if you were on a non-stopping train.
‘Right, boss, that reg number you gave me belonged to a Renault Clio that was scrapped last month. Registered owner was a Brian Delaney, address in Rodney Road, Lambeth, got it for his eighteenth birthday and totalled it on the Old Kent Road the day after. I spoke to his dad. He sounded genuine. Want me to chase up where the wreck went?’
Slider shook his head. ‘It’s easy enough for someone to get the information and use the reg number without involving the wrecking yard. The important thing is that the number doesn’t match the car, which means there was something going on.’
She didn’t know why he was asking about the car, of course, and looked at him receptively. When he didn’t immediately go on, she said, ‘I also checked on black Focuses stolen in the last three months. There were six in the Met area, and one, stolen from an address in Isleworth, had tinted windows. But it didn’t have any damage on the rear quarter. D’you want the details?’ She gestured to the papers in her hand.
He shook his head again, but it was in thought rather than negation. He said, ‘You’d better let the stolen cars unit know that it might be operating under that reg number. And put out an all-units – if it’s spotted anywhere, they can bring it in. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. He may well have more numbers. Have you got the mobile phone dump yet?’