‘Yes.’ Never having been a great one for heights, Carlyle didn’t really want to dwell on that point too much. ‘Presumably you’re a member here?’ he asked, moving the conversation briskly along.
Simpson’s face clouded as she gazed into the night sky. ‘Joshua was a founder member.’
‘Ah.’ Carlyle looked at his drink. His boss rarely mentioned her late husband, which was not surprising. Before being diagnosed with cancer, Joshua Hunt had been convicted of a large-scale fraud. Traumatic and embarrassing, the episode had threatened the Commander’s very future in the Metropolitan Police Service. In the end, she had survived. However, any hope of progressing beyond her current rank was gone. Like Carlyle, Simpson had to accept that her career had peaked. Like Carlyle, she knew that she could live with that and still come in to work every morning, keen to get on with the job.
‘He bought a fifteen-year membership for some ludicrous amount of money,’ Simpson explained. ‘Presumably it was deemed a justifiable business expense, tax deductible and so on. Anyway, I only found out about it after his death. One day, I came for a look round and found that I quite liked the place.’ She let out a feeble laugh. ‘After all, it’s paid for. And it’s one of the few things he left me with. So why let it go to waste? Being stuck out in Paddington most of the time, I find it quite useful for meetings in this part of Town.’ A waiter appeared at their table and she asked him for a large glass of Chardonnay and a copy of the food menu before turning her attention back to her colleague. ‘Have you had dinner yet?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Carlyle found himself regretting his trip to Ecco.
‘Good. Let’s get our business over with and then you can go and see the family.’
Carlyle sat up in his chair. ‘Thanks.’
‘They’re all well, I take it?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ Pleasantries out of the way, she went straight on to the business end of things. ‘There’s good news and there’s bad news.’
‘Okay.’ Carlyle allowed himself to be distracted by the lights of a jet following the river as it headed towards Heathrow.
‘Which do you want first?’
‘You can decide.’
The Commander watched the waiter approach with her wine. She let him place it carefully on the table and hand her a menu before heading off to serve a couple of girls who had just arrived at a nearby table. ‘We’ll start with the good news,’ she said, lowering her voice.
‘Okay.’
‘You are in the clear over the assault on Calvin Safi.’
Carlyle made a show of frowning but kept his voice even. ‘What assault?’
Simpson took a sip of her wine. ‘Don’t piss about, John. We are talking on our usual, completely private basis. You know I’m not going to grass you up.’
‘Fair enough.’ He felt flushed. Maybe it was the alcohol. ‘Sorry.’
‘You are the most suspicious-minded little sod that I have ever come across.’
‘But in a good way.’
‘And also one of the luckiest. The video footage of Calvi Safi being tasered prior to his arrest is no longer online. Apparently it was shot using a stolen iPhone. The young man responsible for recording it agreed to take it down as part of a deal that will see him return the mobile on a “no questions” basis and thereby avoid prosecution.’
The inspector took another mouthful of whiskey. ‘Excellent.’
‘The local plod did a very good job for me there.’ Simpson mentioned a couple of names. ‘You need to get in touch to say thanks.’
‘I will.’
‘However,’ she continued, ‘that is not the end of it.’
‘Oh?’
‘No. In order to pre-empt the inevitable squealing from Safi’s lawyer, the footage is now being reviewed by the Independent Police Complaints Commission, as is the CCTV footage from Cherwell Valley Services.’
‘These things happen,’ Carlyle said, adopting the air of a man for whom a brush with the IPCC was all in a day’s work – which it was, more or less.
‘How very philosophical of you,’ Simpson said sarkily.
‘It’s not such a big deal.’
‘Not so much for you, although you’ll probably get some kind of reprimand. Sergeant Sligo and DI Flux, however, are on trickier ground.’
A pained expression crossed Carlyle’s face. ‘I can’t believe you have anything on Ron,’ he said. ‘All the cameras were outside the toilets and there were no witnesses to whatever may have happened while they were in there.’
‘No?’ Simpson raised an eyebrow.
‘No,’ said Carlyle firmly.
An amused smile played on the Commander’s lips. ‘But why was Flux there in the first place?’
‘No idea,’ Carlyle shrugged. ‘Just a coincidence.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’
‘I do.’ When it suits me.
‘Anyway,’ Simpson continued, ‘what happened there may well turn out to be academic. I think the detective inspector could be on the road to early retirement, what with the stress of losing his colleague and so forth.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Which brings us to the conduct of your sergeant,’ said Simpson, staring into her glass, ‘which could be the really bad news.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
Swaying slightly, Umar caught sight of himself in the mirror in the hallway just as he was about to lick his lips. He was pissed. And he was horny. In recent months it was not an unfamiliar combination.
For about the tenth time in the last five minutes, he felt his mobile vibrating insistently in his pocket, next to the packet of Durex Love Ultra-Thin Condoms he’d picked up from the mini-mart round the corner. With a sigh, he pulled out the phone and switched it off.
‘Here you go.’ Dressed in a man’s white shirt, tennis shorts and a pair of expensive-looking driving shoes, Melissa Graham appeared from the kitchen and handed him a small can of Heineken.
‘Thanks.’ This time, he did let his tongue run along his bottom lip as he took the lager from her.
She pointed at the phone in his hand. ‘Was that work trying to get hold of you?’
Grunting something non-committal, he let the phone fall back into his pocket. ‘Thanks.’ Pulling the ring, he took a long slug.
‘Thank you for coming.’ Melissa played with the thin gold chain hanging from her neck.
‘It’s good that you’re finally back home.’ Umar had been more than a little surprised when Melissa had phoned and told him that she had been released from police custody. The enquiries were continuing into the violent deaths of Will Carter, Melissa’s erstwhile boyfriend, and the young woman he had been seeing on the side, but as far as Umar knew, the girl standing in front of him looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth was still the only suspect. The thought aroused him even more.
Leaning against the frame of the door, Melissa folded her arms across her chest as she watched the wheels turning slowly inside his drink-fuddled brain. A couple of days on remand in Holloway seemed to have done her no harm at all; she was looking bright-eyed and rested. ‘Didn’t you think they’d let me out?’ she pouted.
From behind his beer, Umar made a face, playing for time while he thought how best to respond. He didn’t want to accidentally say anything that would ruin his chances of getting laid. ‘Well, you know, the charges are very serious. And these things are always a bit of a lottery.’
‘Well, they finally arrested the guy who stabbed Bradley Saffron on the naked bike ride,’ Melissa told him.
Shames and Postic will be relieved about that, Umar thought. I wonder if they mentioned it to Carlyle? Hopefully not; it would be good to have a nice bit of information to share with his boss in the morning.
‘Some random nutter, apparently.’
Kettle, Umar thought, pot, black. But he kept his own counsel.
‘So I’m off the hook for that – assuming that I was ever on the hook in the first place.’ She gave him a searching look.