‘You could have left that to me,’ he said. ‘There’s a punchline in there somewhere.’
‘She crops up now and again, in the records. In Partner’s files. Just another of those stories I’ll never hear the end of now.’
‘She’s a slow horse,’ said Lamb. ‘Like all the others.’
‘Except she was the first of them, wasn’t she? She was the one you took with you, from the Park. Why’d you choose her? That’s my price.’
He said, ‘I needed someone to make my tea. And do the typing.’
‘Fuck off, Jackson.’
He removed the cigarette from his mouth and examined the glowing tip. Veins of bright orange under a film of ash. He blew on it, and the ash disappeared. Within moments, it was back.
‘She’s a joe,’ he said at last.
Molly Doran laughed: half sneer, half cackle. Out here, she looked like she didn’t belong to the daylight world. ‘She rode a desk her entire career. When she wasn’t riding half the available males in her postcode. Reading between the lines, you understand.’
‘Partner used her as a cut-out.’
And now she inhaled deeply, satisfaction painted across her face like an extra layer of make-up. ‘So the rumours about Partner are true.’
‘Yeah, I wouldn’t broadcast that. It remains pretty sensitive.’
‘So his suicide—’
‘Enough,’ he said, with absolute finality.
She paused, and said, ‘But he used her. And that makes her a joe in your eyes.’
‘In Slough House, my eyes are the only ones that count. Have you finished playing now?’
‘I’m going to miss all this.’
‘If I pretend to give a fuck, will you get a move on?’
‘Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.’ She shook her head, as if releasing a few bad thoughts. Then said, ‘The document your boy Ho stole.’
‘You found the original?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And there’s a paper trail?’
‘Oh, you’d better believe it,’ said Molly Doran.
Flyte said, ‘We’ve got it wrong. Everybody’s got it wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s the memorial service all right. That’s where they’ll attack. But not at Westminster. They’re back at Abbotsfield.’
‘You think—’
But Flyte was already on the move; out of the door, heading up to the hub.
An said, ‘It is time you gave the order.’
They’d hoisted Danny’s body on top of Joon’s, so the two lay like logs; the lower sheened in cling film, the upper growing waxier by the minute. Danny’s last thoughts had been spray-painted across the van’s side panel, but were drying now, and remained forever private.
Shin tried to speak, couldn’t, and reached for his bottle of water. After a draught, he tried again. ‘We go now,’ he said.
‘Louder.’
‘We go now.’
Up front, Chris started the van. It pulled away from the edge of the unkempt road, leaving the weeds and long grass it had been parked upon to commence the struggle of becoming upright once more.
Down the hill, Abbotsfield awaited their second coming.
Shirley answered on the third ring. ‘Yeah. What?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Why, where are you?’
‘I’m at the Abbey, Shirl. With River. Are you not here too? We haven’t seen you.’
‘Well, yeah, that’s because I’m not there,’ she said. ‘Simples.’
Louisa stifled an exasperated sigh. ‘So where are you, then?’
‘I’m at Abbotsfield,’ said Shirley.
16
ONCE LAMB HAD LEFT Slough House, Shirley had crept up to his office. Crept might be the wrong word, just as hiding might not be what she’d been doing immediately before he left. But it was true she didn’t want to be caught searching his desk, which was why she nearly hit the ceiling when J. K. Coe addressed her from the doorway:
‘Looking for Lamb’s gun?’
‘It’s Marcus’s gun,’ she managed at last.
Coe shrugged.
She’d heard the back door open and close several times, and had thought everyone had gone. If asked to place a bet, she’d have put money on Coe leaving first.
‘Not your business, anyway.’
‘No.’
The bottom drawer on the left-hand side was locked. Shirley fumbled in her pocket; found Marcus’s universals.
Coe said, ‘You’ll probably tell me anyway. If I stand here long enough.’
‘They shot at me,’ said Shirley. ‘Outside Ho’s house. If they shoot at me again, I want to shoot back.’
‘At the Abbey?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Anyone waves a gun near the Abbey today, they’ll be cat food twenty seconds later.’
Shirley said nothing.
The smallest key fitted. She opened the drawer, and found a shoebox.
Coe said, ‘Thing is, I don’t think they’re going to the Abbey.’
‘The others?’
‘The Abbotsfield crew.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because basically, they’re village cricket. And the Abbey’s a Test match.’
She removed the box’s lid. Nestled inside, head to toe, were a pair of guns. A Heckler & Koch she guessed was Lamb’s, and the Glock that had been Marcus’s.
‘And I don’t think these kids’ll go up against the best London can offer. I think they prefer a soft target.’
‘So why didn’t you say?’
‘No one’s listening to me right now.’
‘That’ll be because you killed Dennis Gimball.’
The Glock was loaded, which was nice. She didn’t check the other. Stealing Lamb’s gun, she thought, was worse than swiping his lunch, and nobody ever swiped Lamb’s lunch.
She removed the Glock, then replaced the lid on the shoebox and tucked it back in its drawer, which she locked.
‘If it makes you feel better,’ she said, ‘they should probably erect a statue to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But they’re not going to. They’re gonna put you in prison. Sorry.’
‘Got what you wanted?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘So now you’re off to the Abbey.’
It was where Louisa and River would be headed, without waiting for her, the bastards. And Coe was probably right about waving a gun around today, but she wasn’t going to be waving it, was she? It was a just-in-case. Next time somebody shot at her, she wouldn’t just drop behind a car.
‘I thought you’d have gone home by now,’ she said, getting to her feet.
‘Do you think I’m a psychopath?’
‘Hadn’t really thought about it,’ she lied. ‘Yeah, maybe. Why?’
‘Just wondered.’
‘I’m not, you know, a professional. That’s just my opinion.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re the one from Pysch Eval, come to think of it. What do you reckon?’
‘Not sure. I might be.’
‘You’re certainly a lot more talkative lately.’
‘That’s not necessarily an indicator.’
‘Suppose not.’ She felt a bit awkward holding a gun during this conversation. He might think she felt the need to defend herself.
It fitted unhappily into her jacket pocket. She was going to need a bag or something.
‘You haven’t asked where I think they’ll show up.’
‘Where do you think they’ll show up?’
‘Abbotsfield,’ Coe said.
‘… Seriously?’
‘There’s a memorial service there today. Same time as the Abbey. There’ll be a security presence, I expect, but nothing like London’s. And there’ll be media.’
‘Hit it twice?’
He said, ‘I’m not sure anyone’s done that before.’
‘Christ on a bike!’