The man who appeared at the top of the stairs was black, thickset and snappily dressed by Slough House standards, though there were, Catherine Standish admitted, days when any male arriving with his flies done up could claim that. It was a moment before she recognised him, because his hair was shorter than on their previous encounter, but this was Welles, one of the Dogs. He had a strange first name. Devon, that was it.
Lamb said, ‘Chimneys all been swept, thanks. Maybe next year.’
‘You’re Lamb,’ said Devon Welles. ‘I’ve heard about you.’
Lamb scowled at Catherine. ‘You been on Facebook again?’
Welles came in, gave the room a quick once-over, then returned his gaze to Lamb. ‘I gather there’s been a little trouble.’
‘Your lady-boss dropped the ball,’ said Lamb. ‘I assume you’re looking for it.’
‘Mostly just making sure you’ve not kicked it through a window,’ Welles said. ‘You’d be Catherine Standish,’ he told Catherine. It wasn’t a question.
‘There are more chairs next door,’ she said. ‘And there’s always tea.’
She made it sound a philosophical apophthegm, though whether of consolation or dread, it was hard to tell.
Welles said, ‘I’ve only seen the stairs and this office. But I’m not inclined to drink anything brewed on the premises, thanks all the same.’
Lamb raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m militantly anti-racist, as you know,’ he reminded Catherine. ‘But sometimes uppity’s the only word that fits.’
‘Is he like this all the time?’
‘I expect so,’ said Catherine. ‘I don’t work weekends.’
Welles found a chair that was hidden under what might have been an old coat, might have been the shed skin of a previous inhabitant. Pulling it nearer the desk, he accepted Catherine’s wordless gift of a tissue and wiped it down before sitting. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Slough House. I have to say, it lives up to its billing.’
‘If you’re hoping to be voted least popular visitor,’ Lamb said, ‘I should warn you the competition’s stiff. But keep talking.’
Welles looked at Lamb’s feet, still propped on the desk, but masked any emotion they prompted, and addressed his next words to their owner. ‘Ms Flyte explained what happened here. In detail.’
‘And yet you’ve come alone, unaccompanied by the pack. So you’re, what? Her special friend?’ Lamb waggled his eyebrows. ‘Anything you’d like to share?’
Ignoring this, the newcomer said, ‘You’re supposed to be in lockdown.’
‘There was some talk of that.’
‘And you had a gun. Where is it now?’
‘I think it’s in the lost property box,’ said Lamb. ‘Which I appear to have mislaid. What are the odds, eh?’
Without taking his eyes off Lamb, Welles said, ‘Ms Standish?’
‘It’ll be in his desk drawer.’
‘How unpleasant do you want this to be, Mr Lamb?’
‘The last person who asked me that charged eighty quid.’
‘Are we going to have a problem?’
‘You tell me.’ Lamb produced a cigarette, which was somehow already lit. ‘Your boss left some while ago, and you’re here alone. If you’re going to pretend this visit’s logged at the Park, I’m going to laugh so hard it’ll wet all our pants.’ He inhaled. ‘No, you’re here covering your boss’s back. So, you know, brownie points for you. No offence.’ He exhaled. ‘But I can’t see how I’m involved.’
‘You pulled a gun on the head of the internal security division, and you don’t think you’ve got a problem,’ Welles said slowly.
‘Well, if I did, it’s been overshadowed by events,’ said Lamb. ‘Because a couple of hours ago, I let the head of the internal security division know about a real and credible threat to a member of Her Majesty’s Parliament, who’s currently decorating an alleyway somewhere in Slough. I rather think that comes under the heading total fuck-up, don’t you?’
There was a noise from downstairs.
‘Speaking of which,’ he added.
River and Coe entered a moment or two later.
‘Ah, the conquering heroes,’ said Lamb. ‘Well, that was a good job well done. Which part of “prevent an assassination” gave you trouble?’
‘There were two of us,’ River told him. ‘And we weren’t armed.’
‘Versus?’
River and Coe exchanged a glance.
‘No conferring,’ said Lamb.
Coe said, ‘We only saw one.’
Catherine narrowed her eyes.
Lamb said, ‘Okay, so you were outnumbered.’ He looked at Welles. ‘I always round them down and the opposition up. Gives a more accurate reading of the likely outcome. Oh, I didn’t introduce you.’ He turned back to his slow horses, jerking his thumb in Welles’s direction. ‘This is someone or other from the Park. And these dicks belong here. I can’t remember their names.’
‘River Cartwright,’ said Welles. ‘And Jason Kevin Coe.’
‘I prefer J. K.’
‘I totally understand.’ He turned back to Lamb. ‘Dennis Gimball’s been killed?’
‘Hard to know whether to laugh or laugh, isn’t it?’
‘Where’s, ah …’ River began.
‘We felt we’d detained her long enough,’ Catherine said.
‘So we uncuffed her,’ Lamb added, then said to Welles, ‘Damn it, you’re good. See what you made me give away?’
Welles asked Catherine, ‘When are the other two due back?’
‘They have further to come,’ she told him. ‘But Louisa’s a fast driver.’
‘Whatever unravelled earlier,’ Welles said, ‘we need to put it back together again. That way, maybe we can all get through the day in one piece.’
Lamb rolled his eyes in shock. ‘Are you suggesting some sort of cover up? That we pretend we didn’t know what we knew?’
‘I’m suggesting that it’s not in the best interests of the Service for there to be public doubt about its ability to protect its citizens. Not with this … series of events under way.’
‘Well, the Service’s most vocal critic won’t be expressing his disappointment, will he? On account of being dead. Of course, that in itself might cast doubt on the Service’s ability to blah blah blah.’ He looked at River. ‘I’m used to hamster-boy’s sullen silences. But you’re suspiciously quiet.’
River shrugged. ‘A man died.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you to burst into song. But you were there, weren’t you? Contributions welcome. Who was this “one” you saw?’
J. K. Coe said, ‘Black guy. Face tattoo.’
‘And he killed Gimball?’
‘Looked that way.’
‘I hope you’re not making assumptions based on his colour.’ Lamb turned to Welles and shook his head sadly. ‘I can only apologise.’
Welles said, ‘You saw him with Gimball?’
‘He followed him down an alleyway,’ River said. ‘And Gimball didn’t come out.’
‘So where’s the suspect? In your boot?’
‘We thought it best to leave the scene. Gimball’s known to be a thorn in Five’s side. Us being around might have … muddied the waters.’
‘So instead you let him get away.’
‘A face tattoo?’ said Catherine.
‘You’re about two conversations behind,’ said Lamb, and for Welles’s benefit mimed someone tilting a glass.
‘Something?’ Welles asked.
Catherine said, ‘I did some research earlier. On both potential targets.’
‘The other being Zafar Jaffrey,’ said Lamb.
‘Who has an aide, or a PA or whatever. He appears in several photos.’
‘And has a face tattoo,’ said Welles. ‘Okay, that’s interesting.’
Lamb said, ‘You were a cop too, weren’t you?’
‘You have a problem with that?’
‘No, I quite like cops. You know where you stand with them.’ He gestured to Catherine. ‘Got a fiver? We could buy him off.’