The Price Of Darkness (27 page)

‘How’s your Mr Mackenzie?’

‘Baz? He’s fine. Sends his love.’

‘Nice guy. Visionary too. I took the liberty of making a couple of enquiries.’

‘Really? You should have Googled him.’

‘I did. Neat site. I really liked it.’

Winter made a mental note to pass the compliment on. Bazza had persuaded a student lodger in one of his many houses to design him a website and had been so delighted with the results that he’d spared him a fortnight’s rent.

‘Did you see the hotel?’

‘I took the virtual tour. The Nile Room? The Aboukir Bar? The Victory Banqueting Suite? We’re talking serious history here.’

‘Baz just loves all that. When he bought the place it was called the Royal Solent. He dumped the Solent and put Trafalgar on the end. Last year, you can imagine, he made a fortune. You remember the Fleet Review? The fireworks in the evening? The mock battle? All those TV pictures?’

‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘They were brilliant. I watched them with my mum. She’s half blind. I had to describe what was going on, the fireworks especially, and you know something? With pictures that good you just run out of words.’

Winter nodded, looking at her. Then he raised his glass.

‘But you were in California.’ He smiled. ‘Weren’t you?’

The answering grin told Winter everything he needed to know. Too quick. Too bright. Too easy.

‘I flew back for a while.’

‘Decompressing?’

‘To see my mum actually. She wasn’t too well. I was in luck. I caught the Trafalgar celebrations. Hey …’ She frowned. ‘You have a problem with any of this?’

‘Yeah.’ Winter nodded. ‘I think I might. Tell me about 43a Lavender Road.’

‘The office?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Just …’ Winter shrugged ‘… the facts really. Is it furnished? Or did you have to kit it out yourself?’

She studied him for a long moment, the smile gone.

‘You’ve been there,’ she said at length. ‘You’ve checked it out.’

‘Of course I have.’

‘So you’ll know all about it already. The place is a dump. But it’s also cheap. And starting any kind of business in this country, you have to watch the bottom line.’

‘Me too.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I
am
the bottom line.’ He took a tiny sip of San Miguel. ‘We’ve got a choice here. Either you tell me what’s really going on or I walk through that door.’ He nodded towards the lobby. ‘And if that happens, believe me, you’ll have some serious questions to answer.’

‘I’m not hearing any of this.’

‘No? I’m a detective, love. Or I was. And that makes me a nasty bastard when it comes to believing people. I’d say you’ve had to put this thing together in a very big hurry. I’d say you had a couple of days’ notice to sort out a half-decent legend. I’d say your bosses, your backup, whoever pulls your strings, need a kick up the arse. Given the short notice, you’ve done fucking well. Last time we were here you were world class, seriously.’

‘And now?’

‘Now we have a problem.’

‘We?’

‘Yeah.’ The smile, this time, was weary. ‘You and me.’

They left the Savoy. The rain was heavier now, dancing on the roofs of traffic-stalled cabs in the Strand. Winter shepherded Brodie through the press of commuters outside Charing Cross Station. There was a pub off St Martin’s Lane where he’d feel a great deal more comfortable. He bought a pint of Guinness for himself, a glass of Stella for Brodie. They found two stools beside a mirror at the end of the bar.

‘What’s your real name?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘We’ll stick to Brodie then?’

‘Whatever.’

‘OK.’ Winter sucked at the Guinness, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘So when did they call you in?’

‘Friday afternoon. I was Duty D/S on call for U/C.’

‘On call where?’

‘It’s irrelevant. You don’t need to know.’

‘But you’re U/C trained?’

‘The two-week course at Hendon. Passed with flying colours. What a fucking joke.’

‘Is this your first job?’

‘By no means.’

‘So how come you blew it so easily?’

‘To be honest I’m not entirely sure. It didn’t help that I knew you’re a cop, too.’

‘Was.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t buy that for a moment. I was there on Monday, remember. I was watching you. In a way you were funny, completely out of your fucking depth, but in another way you were looking out for yourself. You’re right. People like us believe nothing. Scary, isn’t it?’

Winter didn’t answer. Instead, he wanted to know why this operation had been set up in such a hurry.

‘There was a feeling you needed a bit of support.’

‘Says who?’

‘Work it out.’

‘Gale Parsons? My minder?’ Brodie looked at her hands, said nothing. ‘Have you met her?’

‘No.’

‘She’s not running you, then?’

‘No. But I gather she was the one who said we had to get a foot in the door pretty damn fast. This Trophy thing needs a great deal of work. Within a week or so you’d have found someone on the media side. Then what do we do?’

‘You leave it to me.’ Winter raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Very good question. And one I put myself.’

‘The answer?’

‘Same as before. You needed support.’

‘Bollocks. You know the real reason better than I do. They don’t trust me. They think I’ve gone over to the Dark Side. For real.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And have you?’

‘That’s irrelevant.’ Winter was studying his empty glass. ‘And it’s your shout.’

 

After the pub Winter led the way to an Italian restaurant on the edge of Covent Garden. It was still early, and the place was nearly empty. They specialised in opera tapes, classic arias played slightly louder than was comfortable, giving Winter the chance to bury the conversation under the wail of successive divas. He wanted to know where
Custer
was proposing to go from here.

‘We need to do deals,’ he said. ‘And they have to be kosher.’

‘Sure. Of course.’

‘So who sorts that out?’

‘Me.’

‘But you’re a cop, love, not some hotshot media agent.’

‘I know that. You know that. But there are media agents everywhere. I’ve spent most of the last forty-eight hours picking their brains. I’ve even got a list. I know who’s good, who cuts the mustard, and I know who to avoid. All you need in this business is the right connections. The money takes care of everything else.’

‘What money? Whose money?’

For the first time she laughed. It even sounded genuine. She put her hand over his, beckoned him closer.

‘The money’s in the event. The money
is
the event. I don’t know how you guys ever managed it but you seem to have come up with something that barely needs selling at all. Didn’t you ever wonder what made me so plausible back at the Savoy? The first time we met? It’s because I wasn’t lying. Talk to these guys like I’ve done and you’ll come to the same conclusion. Bunch of crazy jet skiers? Hunkiest young guys in the world? Loads of stunt work? Loads of noise? All the Pompey bollocks? Never underestimate your audience, Paul. They’ll
love
it.’

Winter looked at her. He’d crossed a frontier again. He was back on the same patch of turf. Trying to work out whether she was lying or not.

‘You’re taking the piss,’ he said.

‘You think so? Or you’re not quite sure?’

He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he fumbled in his pocket and produced Esme’s draft contract.

‘Read it,’ he said. ‘Convince me you know what you’re talking about.’

‘No point. You know what happens in real life? I take it away. I show it to a lawyer. He suggests various changes. Then I come back to you. I think they call it negotiation.’

‘Very funny.’

‘What’s this bit?’ She’d got as far as the second page.

‘That’s Bazza’s idea. He wants to offer you free office accommodation. Down at the Trafalgar. Probably a bedroom too, if you ask nicely.’

‘Yeah?’ She grinned. ‘And what else?’

‘You’re a big girl, love. Handle it.’

‘You think I can?’

‘I don’t think you’ve got an option. Not if this is ever going to work.’ He glanced at his watch then reached for his coat. ‘Shall I tell Bazza it’s a yes? Only he’s bound to ask.’

 

The minister died at five minutes past eight. His wife and two daughters were at his bedside in Southampton and the news was on the nation’s screens within twenty minutes. The Prime Minister emerged from 10 Downing Street shortly afterwards and stepped before the waiting cameras to offer a heartfelt tribute to a valued colleague and a close personal friend. He died, he said, as he’d lived. In the service of democracy. An aide hovered in the background with an umbrella but the Prime Minister declined to use it.

In the Major Crimes suite at Kingston Crescent a full
Polygon
squad meet was in progress. A management assistant appeared at Barrie’s elbow with a folded slip of paper. The Detective Superintendent announced the news and then called for a minute’s silence as a mark of respect. Heads bowed around the room. Despite the recovery of the Kawasaki the inquiry wasn’t going well and everyone knew it.

Afterwards, the meeting over, Faraday found himself intercepted by Jimmy Suttle. The young D/C wanted a private word. Faraday, with a to-do list that would take the rest of the evening to untangle, asked whether it could wait. Suttle shook his head.

‘It’s about Mallinder, sir. And I think it might be important. ’

Faraday, with D/C Suttle in tow, found his office occupied by a DCI he hadn’t seen for a couple of months. After nearly a year at Kingston Crescent, Perry Madison had been posted to the Major Crimes Team at Hulse Road in Southampton. A bluff, intense hill-walker with a very obvious contempt for the smaller courtesies of everyday life, his departure had been greeted with some relief.

Now, for whatever reason, he seemed to be back.

Madison, perched on the edge of Faraday’s desk, was on the phone. Faraday waited for the conversation to come to an end. He felt like an intruder in his own office.

‘Joe.’ Madison extended a hand. ‘One of the girls next door told me to help myself. Said you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Not at all, sir. Joining us, are you?’

Madison didn’t reply. Martin Barrie had appeared at the open door. He told Madison he wanted a word. The DCI stepped past Faraday and disappeared. Faraday pushed the door shut with his foot and told Suttle to take a seat. The pile of messages on his desk appeared to have grown.

‘This’ll have to be quick, son.’ He was still thinking about Madison. Detective Chief Inspectors didn’t appear by accident. Especially in circumstances like these.

Suttle was talking about Mallinder’s financial affairs. He had a number of accounts at Barclays, and the bank had sent him full details.

‘I didn’t have much time, sir. So I tried to concentrate on the period around February.’

Faraday was desperately trying to track back to the last conversation they’d had about Mallinder. Yesterday’s meeting at Scotland Yard felt like another life.

‘You remember he came up with the money? The two and a half million pounds?’

‘Yes.’

‘It turns out to have been a bank loan.’

‘Secured on what?’

‘That’s the point, sir. I made time this morning to talk to the bank. Mallinder had put up some assets from the partnership as collateral. To do that he’d have needed Benskin’s signature. The guy at the bank said the loan was only in place for a couple of months. Then it was repaid. In full.’

‘And you’re saying that’s significant?’

‘I think it might be, sir, yes.’

‘Why?’