‘You said he was in danger. If I hadn’t ignored that, it might have turned out differently.’
Lamb eased back. ‘When they reassign you, I’m gonna put you in with Cartwright,’ he said. ‘You’ve bumped heads before, I seem to recall.’
‘I’ll shoot myself first.’
‘I’ve a gun you can borrow.’
That was when his phone had buzzed: Catherine Standish, with the latest from Slough House.
While Lamb was talking, Flyte said to Welles, ‘When I asked you to cover for me, I didn’t know things were going to hell. I’m sorry. You’re still off duty. You can walk away now.’
Welles said, ‘I signed Lindsay Lohan here into the Park. There’ll be questions about that.’
Flyte thought for a while, then settled on a one-size-fits-all response. ‘Shit.’
‘It’s not so bad at my gaff,’ Lamb said, ending his call. ‘We have a new kettle.’
‘You’re enjoying this.’
‘It’s called a positive attitude,’ said Lamb. ‘Watch and learn. Oh, and Hampshire? Change of plan. My team think the girl’s at Ho’s house.’
‘Alive?’
‘Too early to say. Their last search and rescue didn’t work out so well. Worth a trip, though.’
Welles pulled into a layby. ‘We should head back to the Park,’ he said. ‘Lay it all out for Whelan or whoever.’
‘Yeah, not a great idea,’ said Lamb. ‘Remember?’
Flyte rolled her eyes. ‘What now?’
But it was Welles who answered. ‘When they came for the blueprint, they knew what they were looking for. They had inside info.’
‘Shit,’ she said again.
‘Which means someone’s been a bad apple,’ said Lamb. ‘Be nice to know who before we go waltzing in like Little Red Riding Crop.’
‘Hood.’
‘Different movie.’ He looked at Welles. ‘You gonna sit there all night?’
‘Depends on what my boss says.’
‘Did you train him with a stick? Or send him to school?’
Flyte said, ‘If they had inside info, how come they needed Ho?’
‘Just one of the many things we’re not gonna find out sitting here.’
‘I screwed up,’ she said. ‘That happens around you a lot, doesn’t it? Like gravitational pull. And I’ll take the rap. But I don’t plan to spend the rest of tonight in a room next to Roddy Ho. Not if there’s a chance we might track these bastards down.’
So they’d headed to Ho’s house instead, arriving there, as Lamb hadn’t yet tired of saying, with impeccable timing.
Now, in Slough House, Catherine knelt to hand another paper tissue to Kim, who snatched it and pressed it to her nose. The nine that Shirley, Louisa and River had granted her the previous evening was looking more like a three and a half now she’d been slam-dunked by a car door; maybe a four, Shirley conceded, if you were into that kind of thing, ‘that kind of thing’ being bruised and swelling features. Mental note: don’t land on your face, she thought. Not from any kind of height. Height was about the only physical thing Shirley had in common with Kim. Well, that and, presumably, a yearning for medication, though in Kim’s case that would be a current predicament rather than an ongoing condition.
‘Has she said much yet?’ Lamb asked.
‘You’ve been standing right there,’ Catherine reminded him.
‘Yeah, I might have drifted off,’ he said. ‘On account of I can see up her skirt.’
Catherine straightened Kim’s clothing.
Emma Flyte said, ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s purely academic interest. But do you plan to pull a gun on her and cuff her to a chair?’
‘Twice in one day? Not without medical supervision.’
Kim, still prone, swore at him. She’d been doing this at intervals since coming round in the car on the way to Slough House.
‘We should take her to hospital,’ said River again, his tone indicating that he didn’t hold out much hope of being listened to.
‘Yeah, we could do that,’ said Lamb. ‘Or you could shut up.’
Louisa said, ‘It’s gone midnight.’
‘If I wanted the speaking clock, I’d have dialled your number.’
‘I was just pointing out, it’s a new day. And it seems we’re set on making it even worse than the old one.’
‘You were a Gimball fan?’
‘I’m a fan of not worrying that we’re all about to be arrested.’
‘I’m starting to sense a guilty conscience.’ Lamb looked at River, then Coe, on whom his gaze lingered. ‘Wonder whose it could be?’
Welles said, ‘If she’s got a line to the crew that shot up Abbotsfield, we should be asking her questions. Not watching her bleed out.’
‘I might have misjudged you, Dorset,’ Lamb told him. ‘Though as spectator sports go, I’ve heard worse ideas.’ He dropped to his knees. ‘Let’s be clear about this,’ he said to Kim, and though he spoke softly, nobody had any trouble hearing every word. ‘We know what you’ve done, and we know what happened as a result. You’ll tell us everything we want to know, or your life as a free woman is over as of tonight. That clear enough?’
‘Fuck you,’ she told him through gritted teeth.
‘That was gonna be your second option.’
‘Jackson …’ Catherine warned.
‘Yeah, all right. Jesus. When did making a joke get to be a criminal offence?’ He got back on his feet and turned to Emma Flyte. ‘There you go. I’ve warmed her up for you.’
‘You’re going to let me do this?’
‘You’re supposed to be the expert.’
She knew better than to congratulate him on his attack of common sense. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘the rest of you can clear out.’
Which, once they’d looked to Lamb for confirmation, they all did.
As she approached the Gimball woman’s car, Di Taverner’s mobile rang and she paused on the edge of the layby to take it. Traffic was light, but moving fast, and she had to speak, to listen, against a background of engine noise.
‘We’ve confirmation of a known face at Slough.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Picked up on CCTV in the town centre, minutes after the news of the death came in.’
‘Quick work.’
‘He rang bells on the face recognition software, on account of being highly decorated.’
For a moment, Taverner’s mind swam with images of valour. ‘He’s a soldier?’
‘An ex-con. With facial tattoos.’
The speed limit, and possibly a local record, was just then broken by a passing hothead.
Taverner waited until it had echoed into the distance before saying, ‘Let’s leave the imagery aside, shall we, and stick to the facts?’
The Queens of the Database, as the Park’s comms and surveillance tribe were known, were prone to sporting verbal fascinators; one of the consolations, they claimed, for not getting out much.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Name of Tyson Bowman. He’s an aide to Zafar Jaffrey, who’s—’
‘I know who Jaffrey is. Any idea why he was in Slough tonight?’
‘Not yet. The police have barely started trawling their captures. We got this sooner because Jaffrey’s flagged, and any associates light up the circuits.’
The CCTV feeds had been supplied to the Park, the theory being that any hits would be shared immediately. Everyone knew this rarely happened, though the reason wasn’t usually policy driven; was more often due to information snagging on the red tape that dangled on jurisdictional borders like flypaper.
She said, ‘Okay. Was Jaffrey in Slough too?’
‘No. He was addressing a meeting in Birmingham.’
‘Okay,’ she said again. ‘Let’s see if we can organise a pick-up without the locals getting into a tizzy. It’s probably a coincidence. But.’