‘And you expect me to trust you? What about the dozen witnesses?’
‘Witnesses?’ A smile deepened the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. ‘You asked if we keep all these files to blackmail our students, but how could we? If we release them to the world, don’t you think people would ask why we kept them secret for so long? Our destruction would be mutually assured.’ He plucked the empty glass from her hand and topped it up from a small decanter. ‘I reviewed your file again, Lucy, and after tonight’s events I’m more certain than ever that you would’ve made an excellent addition to our family. So, I have a proposition for you.’ He returned the filled tumbler. ‘Would you like to join the faculty here at St Nicholas College? I really think your... unique perspective on things might well prove instructive to our pupils, and you’ll find our salary rates are very generous.’ He clinked his glass against hers, then drank. ‘Or, if full-time academia doesn’t tempt you, perhaps you’d consider becoming a visiting professor?’
Charlie emerged from the shadows. ‘Oh, he has got to be joking! Work here? Covering up murders and corruption and God knows what else? Are we supposed to be OK with that?’
Yes, but given how well connected the school was, going against them would probably get her chopped into little pieces and disposed of ‘discreetly’, like Argyll.
‘Lucy, no!’ Charlie threw his arms out. ‘How can we let them get away with murder?’
Why not? They’d been getting away with it for years. Decades. Maybe even centuries.
At least, if she was on the inside, they wouldn’t touch her. And she had the power, now. Be nothing stopping her taking that job with ACC Cormac-Fordyce, getting the promotion, and becoming a visiting professor. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to have the great and the good owing her favours because she hadn’t burned this whole rotten place to the ground.
‘You can’t be serious. This is horrific, you can’t be part of it!’
Besides — her eyes slid to the crumpled backpack with its one working strap — she had a government-backed insurance policy.
‘Lucy?’ The headmaster waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Are you all right? You zoned out for a bit; perhaps you’ve got concussion? Let me get the doctor to look at you — he’s very good. Former army surgeon in Iraq, you know.’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Charlie looked her up and down. ‘Those cuts need stitching, and if you go to A & E they’ll have to inform the police you’ve been in a knife fight. And then you’ve got all that to explain.’
‘Lucy?’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure, I assure you.’ The headmaster pressed a button on his desk phone, setting it buzzing. ‘Vanessa, would you ask Major Redpath to come to my office, please? I have a young lady here that needs his attention.’
‘Yes, Headmaster.’
‘Thank you, Vanessa.’ He pressed the button again. ‘Now, where were we? Ah yes, you were about to accept my proposition and join us here at St Nicholas College!’
‘It’s been a long night.’ Lucy put her glass down. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Of course. One should never rush a lady.’ He fiddled with a letter opener, avoiding eye contact. ‘Don’t take too long, though. As I say, certain of our parents get nervous when there’s a potential threat to their offspring. And some of them have a whole country’s security services at their disposal, not to mention a somewhat casual approach to extradition and human rights.’
‘Understood.’
‘Excellent.’ The headmaster clapped his hands together. Pursed his lips. Frowned. ‘There is just one more thing: Shauna tells me that when her people went to “tidy” your home, they couldn’t find the two doctors you say tried to kill you. So, I was just wondering... what did you do with them?’
— we go in darkness —
(on the count of three)
49
Huddled under the brolly, Lucy checked her watch — just visible between her jacket sleeve and the black leather gloves — only wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the stitches in her shoulder. ‘Three, two, one...’
On the other side of the road, a huge guy in the full Method-of-Entry gear smashed his big red door key into the chandler’s warehouse door, popping the ancient lock right out of the wood and sending the whole thing wooming in to bang against the brick walls.
‘GO, GO, GO, GO!’
The six-person team swarmed inside, extendable batons drawn. They were followed by the Dog Unit — PC Clark being dragged into the building by PD Bawheid, the huge Alsatian’s paws scrabbling on the paving stones, desperate to find someone to bark at, and, if at all possible, bite.
Not a bad way to spend a Monday afternoon.
The big OSU Transit van was parked next to the Dog Unit’s smaller one, Lucy and the Dunk’s pool car behind that, and last, but not least, DI Tudor in an old Jaguar — rusty rather than antique — with his phone clamped to his ear. Doing a lot of listening by the look of things, and not enjoying it much.
The Dunk puffed out his cheeks, gazing up at Lucy. ‘Sarge?’ He’d got himself a brolly from somewhere — a bright-green-with-pink-spots one, which didn’t really go with his traditional black beatnik outfit. Puffing away on a fag as the rain drummed down. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘No, Dunk, I’m at death’s door. That’s why I’ve organized this massive raid on a random building down the docks: because I’m suffering from a serious head injury.’ Which didn’t seem quite so worrying, now the permanent headache was gone. Maybe it wasn’t scrambled eggs up there, after all?
‘Only you look like you fell asleep at a six-year-old’s birthday party, and they all coloured your face in with blue, green, and purple felt-tips.’
‘Told you: I tripped on a loose stair rod. House needs some new carpets, anyway.’ What with Shauna’s people having ripped the old ones out, after dousing them in trichloroethylene to get rid of any blood or DNA from Dr Lockerby and Dr Meldrum.
He shuffled his feet and went back to staring across the street. ‘Do you think this is our boy? I think it’s our boy. I can feel it in my doodahs.’
The Bloodsmith leaned against the car roof, immune to the downpour as he lit up a big fat cigar. ‘Well, he’s not wrong there. Just twenty-four hours too late.’
DI Tudor climbed out of his Jag, turned up his collar and hurried over, ducking in under Lucy’s brolly.
‘Any news?’
‘Only just gone in, Boss.’
Another BOOM echoed out from inside — that would be them battering down the door at the top of the stairs.
‘I’ve had DCI Ross, Superintendent Spence, and ACC Cormac-Fordyce crawling up my fundament all morning. “Why haven’t you found him yet, Detective Inspector?”, “You’ve known who he is since Friday, Detective Inspector!”, “Do I have to come down there and do it myself, Detective Inspector?”’ He spat out into the rain. ‘Bunch of bastards.’