“Benson Childe,” he said. “Director of this band of thieves. We were told to expect you.” He looked down at Ghost and held out a hand to be sniffed.
Ghost looked at me for permission and I gave it. I use a combination of hand and verbal signals. With a stranger, a twitch of my little finger means it’s okay for him to approach. Ghost took the man’s scent and filed it away. I was pleased to see that Childe didn’t try to pet the dog. It indicated he understood K9 protocols.
“I hope I can be of help,” I said. “This is a terrible tragedy.”
“Yes,” he said as he led us into his private office. “By the way, Captain, your reputation precedes you. I’ve heard some very good things.”
I laughed. “Somehow I can’t imagine Mr. Church gushing about me.”
“Hardly. The Sexton isn’t one to gush. His brief on you was short but colorful.”
The Sexton. Another of Church’s names. I’ve heard people refer to him as Colonel Eldritch, Mr. Priest, Deacon, and Dr. Bishop. I wonder if any of them was close to the mark.
“No … Grace Courtland told me about you.”
Grace. Dammit. Hearing her name now felt like an ambush. I tried to keep it off my face, but Childe’s eyes searched mine and I saw the precise moment when he saw and recognized the particular frequency of my pain. He nodded to himself, an almost imperceptible movement. Was he confirming a suspicion, or simply noting my reaction?
I nodded but said nothing, not trusting my voice. Ghost must have sensed something, because he rose and moved slowly to stand partially between me and Childe. I scratched Ghost between the shoulder blades. If only dogs really could stand between us and our own inner pain. All dogs would be saints.
Childe discreetly cleared his throat. “I think we’ll be able to find a use for you, Captain,” he said. “Grace said that you were a detective before you joined the DMS. And I believe you’ve worked several large-scale terrorist cases since.”
“A few.”
“That will be useful, because we have a laundry list of terrorist cells believed to be operating in the U.K. and an even longer list of persons of interest. My computer lads are coordinating with your lot to run their profiles through MindReader, but your personal experience may be invaluable.”
“We have any candidates yet?”
“Not as such. However, we have people collecting eyewitness accounts at the fire scene, and inputting everything from actual observed data to hunches. With MindReader able to collate all of the random factors for us, we’re approaching this from the standpoint of ‘no detail is too small to count.’”
“Smart. Devil’s in the details.”
“Too bloody right it is,” Childe agreed. He looked at his watch. “In ten minutes we’ll be meeting with the Home Secretary and various divisional heads of our counterterrorism departments.” He went to a sideboard and poured brandy from a decanter and handed me a glass.
“Before we go in there, I have something to say, and something to ask.”
“Okay.”
He sipped his brandy and said, “Grace Courtland.”
I took a second before responding, “What about her?”
“I recruited Grace out of the Army and into the SAS,” he said. “She was the first woman to serve in the SAS, as I’m sure you know. From the moment she entered the Army anyone with eyes could see that she was a cut above. Not just a cut above the other recruits, but a cut above anyone. Male or female. She was born for this kind of work. Sharp mind, natural leader. Very probably the finest soldier I ever met, and believe me that’s saying quite a lot. I brought her into the SAS initially to prove a point, to show that modern women can handle the pace, endure the hardships, and hold their place in the line of battle, even at the level of special operations. Grace more than made my case. I know that you fought alongside her, so you must have seen how she was in combat. Fierce, efficient, and yet she never lost that spark of humanity that separates a warrior from a killer. Do … you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded.
“When Mr. Church formed the DMS and requested that Grace be seconded to him as the liaison between his organization and ours, I was proud of her … but I resented the request. Grace was mine, you see.” He studied my eyes. “She was like a daughter to me … and no parent could have ever been prouder of a child than I was of Grace.”
“A lot of people cared about Grace,” I said, keeping my face and tone in neutral. “You made your statement. What’s your question?”
“Tell me, Captain Ledger, were you with Grace when she died?”
When I didn’t say anything, Childe edged a little closer. “Church tells me that one of your strengths is that you seldom hesitate, and yet you’re not answering me.”
“It’s not hesitation,” I said. “I’m just wondering how much trouble I’ll get in if I tell you to go fuck yourself.”
Ghost caught my tone and growled softly at Childe.
That amused him. “Why the hostility?”
“Why the question? I’ve been waiting for one of you guys to take a shot at me for what happened to Grace.”
“That’s not my agenda,” he said, heading me off before I got a full-bore tirade going. “My question is straightforward: were you with her when she died?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was.”
“And did you care for her?”
“She was my fellow officer.”
“Please, Captain, this is off-the-record and just between us.”
He had no right to ask and I was under no obligation to say anything that wasn’t in my official after-action report. But his eyes were filled with an odd light and the defensiveness I felt was my own, not the result of any kind of attack on his part.
I said, “Yes.”
“I know this is a lot to ask … but how much did you care?”
“Why?” I asked, and my voice was a little hoarse.
He closed his eyes. “It’s … important to me to know that at the end, when she was dying, she was with someone who truly cared about her.”
I said nothing.
Childe turned away and sipped his brandy. “Grace was alone for most of her life,” he said softly. “She’d lost all of her family, her husband had walked out on her, and her infant son died shortly after birth. Grace was always alone, and it would destroy me to think that she died alone. Thank you, Captain.” He turned back and offered me his hand.
I took it and we shook.
Then Childe looked at his watch. “Time to go.”
Interlude Two
Agincourt Road
London, England
December 17, 12:24 P.M. GMT
The man in the city suit and bowler hat stepped into the doorway of a men’s tie shop, his face raw and red from the bitter wind. He dug a cell phone out of his pocket and punched a speed dial. The phone rang twice and then a voice with a distinctly Spanish accent said, “Yes?”
“The bloke you told me to follow … he’s just stepped inside the pest control office.”
“You are certain of his identity, yes?”
“Of course I am.”
“Good.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Go back to work. Others will handle this.”
“But I—”
“Go back to work.”
“Is this it? Am I done now? Will you bastards leave me alone?”
The Spaniard laughed softly. “You may hear from us,” he said. “From time to time.”
He was still laughing when he hung up.
The man in the bowler hat closed his eyes and cursed silently to himself. Behind his eyes he saw the photographs that the Spaniard had shown him. Photographs of what the madman had called his “angels.”