hooked finger.
Devereaux blocked the door. ‘Need you to do me a favour.’
A smile. ‘Could it wait until nine o’clock tomorrow?’
‘It’ll only take a minute.’
Grayson checked his watch. A curse on sighed breath. He turned back to the room and dropped his jacket across the back of a chair. ‘What is it?’
‘I just need you to tell Bowen you’ve got a call come in for him on one of the lines in here.’
‘Why?’
‘I just need thirty seconds in his office.’
‘Ah, shit.’ He raked his hair back, one-handed. ‘Don’t tell me that.’ He spun the chair round and sat down again. His computer was still running, he shook the mouse to clear the screen. A wife and baby daughter snapshot adorned the background. Maybe subliminal guilt messaging: look what you’re keeping me from .
Devereaux said, ‘I need to go down and see this guy Ford.’
‘Yeah, but he’s hardly going anywhere.’
‘Look, if you’re right and he got the shit beaten out of him, I need to check he’s okay, and if he knows stuff about October eight, I want to get it out of him before he sees McCarthy and decides to hold his tongue.’
Grayson chewed his lip and thought about it. ‘What are you going to do in his office?’
‘Just use his phone.’
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
‘Who should I say is calling?’
‘Nobody. Just go into his office and tell him he’s got a call.’
‘He’ll wonder why I didn’t just transfer it.’
‘Maybe you don’t remember his extension.’
‘I transfer shit through to him all the time.’
‘Look. Please just do it.’
‘Man. It’s dishonest. It’s probably misconduct.’
‘You told me yourself this guy Ford had been roughed up. Nobody seems to care. But he’s my guy, my contact. I had his name on a list, and that’s why they’ve got him, and I need to get in and check that he’s doing okay.’
‘Ah, Jesus.’ He flapped his hand. ‘Yeah. Okay. Get out of here before I chicken out.’
‘Just wait until I’ve got back to my desk, and go and tell him.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’
He left the room and went back to his desk. He still had the cigarette in his mouth, sodden and flaccid from talking. Grayson didn’t leave him much of a cushion: he’d barely sat down and the younger man was heading across the room, Bowen-bound. A second later and the pair of them were walking back across the room: Grayson’s half-speed stymieing the inspector’s quick-march.
Devereaux stood up. Perfect timing: shift changeover had left the room half full. Risk of being witnessed was appreciably low. He selected an unused desk phone and dialled custody and left the handset face up off the cradle, dial tone trilling faintly. Bowen’s door was agape. He walked in and leaned across the desk for the phone and punched custody’s second extension. Upside down from the visitor’s side, cord stretched taut. Lamp heat warm on his cheek. He wanted the young backup constable, not Blake. He figured the first extension would ring and Blake would take it, the backup guy would pick up the second call. Held breath ramped his heart up to full hammer.
‘Yes, Inspector?’
Not Blake. The young guy. Caller ID made him think he had Lloyd on the line. Devereaux gave his best Bowen: ‘Yah, Devereaux’s coming down to see Ford, you can let him in.’
Short and sweet. The guy bought it: ‘Yes, sir.’
He hung up and strode out, headed for the stairs.
The short walk pulled his pulse back in line. The queue at the booking window was gone.
Blake was still at the glass. Footfall noise drew his gaze. He said, ‘Wouldn’t want to have to deal with you every evening.’
‘Likewise. Open the gate.’
The constable from the phone was at the opposite desk, still at his computer. He glanced back over his shoulder and yawned against the back of his hand.
Blake said, ‘I’d be careful who you give the finger to in future. I’m tempted to call old Lloydy back and tell him how much of a
Devereaux blocked the door. ‘Need you to do me a favour.’
A smile. ‘Could it wait until nine o’clock tomorrow?’
‘It’ll only take a minute.’
Grayson checked his watch. A curse on sighed breath. He turned back to the room and dropped his jacket across the back of a chair. ‘What is it?’
‘I just need you to tell Bowen you’ve got a call come in for him on one of the lines in here.’
‘Why?’
‘I just need thirty seconds in his office.’
‘Ah, shit.’ He raked his hair back, one-handed. ‘Don’t tell me that.’ He spun the chair round and sat down again. His computer was still running, he shook the mouse to clear the screen. A wife and baby daughter snapshot adorned the background. Maybe subliminal guilt messaging: look what you’re keeping me from .
Devereaux said, ‘I need to go down and see this guy Ford.’
‘Yeah, but he’s hardly going anywhere.’
‘Look, if you’re right and he got the shit beaten out of him, I need to check he’s okay, and if he knows stuff about October eight, I want to get it out of him before he sees McCarthy and decides to hold his tongue.’
Grayson chewed his lip and thought about it. ‘What are you going to do in his office?’
‘Just use his phone.’
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
‘Who should I say is calling?’
‘Nobody. Just go into his office and tell him he’s got a call.’
‘He’ll wonder why I didn’t just transfer it.’
‘Maybe you don’t remember his extension.’
‘I transfer shit through to him all the time.’
‘Look. Please just do it.’
‘Man. It’s dishonest. It’s probably misconduct.’
‘You told me yourself this guy Ford had been roughed up. Nobody seems to care. But he’s my guy, my contact. I had his name on a list, and that’s why they’ve got him, and I need to get in and check that he’s doing okay.’
‘Ah, Jesus.’ He flapped his hand. ‘Yeah. Okay. Get out of here before I chicken out.’
‘Just wait until I’ve got back to my desk, and go and tell him.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’
He left the room and went back to his desk. He still had the cigarette in his mouth, sodden and flaccid from talking. Grayson didn’t leave him much of a cushion: he’d barely sat down and the younger man was heading across the room, Bowen-bound. A second later and the pair of them were walking back across the room: Grayson’s half-speed stymieing the inspector’s quick-march.
Devereaux stood up. Perfect timing: shift changeover had left the room half full. Risk of being witnessed was appreciably low. He selected an unused desk phone and dialled custody and left the handset face up off the cradle, dial tone trilling faintly. Bowen’s door was agape. He walked in and leaned across the desk for the phone and punched custody’s second extension. Upside down from the visitor’s side, cord stretched taut. Lamp heat warm on his cheek. He wanted the young backup constable, not Blake. He figured the first extension would ring and Blake would take it, the backup guy would pick up the second call. Held breath ramped his heart up to full hammer.
‘Yes, Inspector?’
Not Blake. The young guy. Caller ID made him think he had Lloyd on the line. Devereaux gave his best Bowen: ‘Yah, Devereaux’s coming down to see Ford, you can let him in.’
Short and sweet. The guy bought it: ‘Yes, sir.’
He hung up and strode out, headed for the stairs.
The short walk pulled his pulse back in line. The queue at the booking window was gone.
Blake was still at the glass. Footfall noise drew his gaze. He said, ‘Wouldn’t want to have to deal with you every evening.’
‘Likewise. Open the gate.’
The constable from the phone was at the opposite desk, still at his computer. He glanced back over his shoulder and yawned against the back of his hand.
Blake said, ‘I’d be careful who you give the finger to in future. I’m tempted to call old Lloydy back and tell him how much of a
Similar Books
