‘And is he always like this?’
Shirley said, ‘It’s part of his transitioning process. He’s spending six months living as a prick.’
Coe didn’t bat an eye. He did, though, look as if he were about to say ‘It’s an iPod’ again.
Maybe it was this that triggered a sigh from Flyte. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Listen to the damn thing.’
Coe’s only response was to plug himself in.
River glanced at Shirley, who had been known to get angry when a tense situation resolved itself without violence, but she just shook her head as if disappointed but not surprised. She caught his glance, though, and stuck her tongue out. Then looked at Louisa. ‘I spy,’ she began.
Louisa said, ‘Continue with that, and I will kill you. I will kill you dead.’
‘Well we have to do something. Apart from anything else, I don’t plan to quietly starve.’
The idea that Shirley could quietly do anything was unnerving.
‘We need provisions,’ she said.
‘She has a point.’
‘I’ll go get some treats, yeah?’
‘Nobody leaves,’ said Flyte. ‘You do know what “lockdown” means?’
‘Nobody’s leaving,’ Lamb explained. ‘Dander’s just popping out for a few minutes.’
River, Louisa and Catherine were excavating money from pockets and purses, and passing it to Shirley.
‘Just make sure there’s nutrition involved,’ said Catherine.
‘And maybe sugar,’ said Louisa.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Flyte said.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Shirley. ‘Back in five.’
For a moment it looked as if Flyte might attempt to physically prevent Shirley from going through the door, which both River and Louisa, for different reasons, imagined might be a valuable use of the next five minutes, but it was not to be. Shirley simply ducked under Flyte’s arm and was off down the stairs, her heels a receding rhythmic clatter.
Flyte looked at Lamb. ‘Ever considered instilling discipline into your staff?’
‘All the time. I favour the carrot and stick approach.’
‘Carrot or stick.’
‘Nope. I use the stick to ram the carrot up their arses. That generally gets results.’ Lamb frowned. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m using metaphor. This is not a fucking poetry reading.’
It looked like a fucking poetry reading, though, inasmuch as there were few people there, and none of them stylishly dressed. Well, Flyte was an exception, though River suspected she’d make a plaid skirt and woollen tights look good. As it was, she wore a dark business suit over a white shirt. Her hair was tied back, her eyes were unamused, and he probably ought to stop contemplating how she looked: hot or not, she was Head Dog, and her predecessor had once kicked River in the balls. If she caught him eyeing her up she might follow suit. She probably wanted to anyway, for old times’ sake.
Lamb seemed happy enough to engage with her, though. ‘So you’re on Claude Whelan’s list of things that make him happy.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, Lady Di doesn’t like you. Usually, that’s the fast track to a UB40. And yet you’re still in place. Which means either First Desk fancies you or you’ve got dirt on him.’
‘I do my job,’ Flyte said. ‘I do it well. Whelan knows that.’
‘I don’t trust him. He’s got vicars’ eyes.’
‘… Vicars’ eyes?’
‘Too bright. Too shiny. Give him half a chance, he’ll start a conversation with you.’ He turned to River. ‘I’m devoutly religious, as you know. But priests give me the creeps.’ Back to Flyte: ‘He’s First Desk because he was in the right place when the music stopped, that’s all. Taverner would sell her mother’s kidneys for the job, and the thing is, she’d do it well. But Whelan’s middle management. Which is PC for mediocre.’
‘He’s got the Prime Minister on side.’
‘I rest my case.’
Catherine said, ‘What will happen to Roddy?’
Flyte’s eyebrows twitched, which River interpreted as a shrug. ‘Debriefing.’
‘Will it be hostile?’
‘I don’t imagine it will be especially gentle.’
River, Louisa and Catherine each contemplated that, two of them with light smiles playing on their lips. J. K. Coe was away with whatever fairies were whispering in his ear, but wasn’t – River noticed – miming the piano parts with his fingers. And Lamb had assumed what the slow horses called his hippo-at-rest position: apparently docile, but you wouldn’t want to get too close.
Nobody doing anything remotely useful. Just an ordinary day in the office, River thought.
Shirley returned lightly spackled with rain and clutching emergency provisions. Which turned out, on inspection, to comprise two bottles of red wine and a family bag of Haribo.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Louisa, at the same time as Lamb said, ‘Give me one of those.’
Shirley offered him the Haribo.
‘Very funny.’
She passed him a bottle of wine.
‘I can’t work out which is going to be worse,’ Flyte said. ‘The alcohol intake or the sugar rush.’
Catherine said, ‘You used my money to buy wine?’
Shirley said, ‘Yeah, see, what I thought was, there’d be that much more for the rest of us.’
‘Well, you can’t fault her logic,’ Lamb said. He’d opened his bottle, and was drinking straight from it. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Brainstorm.’ He looked at Flyte. ‘I hope you don’t find the term offensive.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not epileptic.’
‘No, but you’re blonde. Some of you get touchy when brains are mentioned.’ He looked round the room. ‘Someone wants to kill Ho. Someone not one of you, I mean. Any ideas?’
‘Kim,’ said Shirley. ‘His girlfriend,’ she added.
‘Why? Apart from the obvious.’
River said, ‘She’s way out of his league. Way way out.’
‘Doesn’t always result in homicide.’ Lamb looked at Flyte. ‘You ever shag a two?’
‘… I’m not answering that.’
‘There you go.’
Louisa said, ‘She’s scamming him. Has to be.’
‘Okay. And while he has more money than the rest of you, on account of he had the sense to be the only child of a successful businessman, he’s still not worth the long-term investment of a serious con-artist. If it was just his money, she’d have cleaned him out and hit the bricks months ago. And probably not bothered hanging around to have him whacked, unless she was acting on a purely aesthetic basis.’ He looked at Flyte again. ‘I’m going to assume you don’t have your pity-fucks executed.’
‘Not so far. But I’m thinking of introducing a shoot-to-kill policy for fat bastards.’
‘There. Ten minutes, and you’re fitting right in.’
Louisa said, ‘Information.’
‘That has to be it. Let’s face it, Ho’s a dick, but he knows his way around a password. If he didn’t, I’d have squashed him into a plastic bag and dropped him in a river long ago. So this female—’
‘Kim.’
‘His girlfriend.’
‘—whatever, she’s a honey trap. What do we know about her?’
‘She’s Chinese,’ Shirley said.
River said, ‘She looked Chinese.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lamb. ‘Let’s not jump to racist conclusions. She might be normal, but just look Chinese. One other thing, though—’
J. K. Coe gave a start, and sat upright.
‘Oh, did we wake him?’
Louisa, who was nearest, kicked Coe, and he reached up and pulled his earbuds loose.
Lamb said, ‘Excellent, I do like it when people at least pretend to pay attention. One other thing I forgot to mention. Whoever she’s in cahoots with was responsible for Abbotsfield.’