stared at Winter.
‘Where’s the money?’
‘I’d like to talk about Marty Harrison,’ Winter said softly. ‘I’ve got a proposal that might interest you.’
The boards for the MIT job took place at police force headquarters in Winchester, and Faraday was very nearly late. A crash on the motorway at Eastleigh delayed him half an hour, and he sprinted the two flights of stairs to the ACCO’s office on the first floor.
There were three men waiting for him behind the big conference table. Henderson, the Assistant Chief Constable (Operations), waved him into the empty chair, accepted his apologies, and gave him a moment to get his breath back. With him were Detective Superintendent Pollock, Faraday’s CID boss, and a uniformed superintendent from Southampton.
Faraday produced a handkerchief and blew his nose, doing his best to get his thoughts in order. He’d got up to find another e-mail from J-J. His son was thinking of selling the return half of his ferry ticket. Did he mean it? Or was this just another step into fantasy land?
Across the table, Henderson was offering his congratulations on the speedy resolution to the Paulsgrove murder. One of the words he used was ‘exemplary’.
Faraday at last forced himself to concentrate.
‘We were lucky,’ he said. ‘The guy virtually gave himself up.’
‘Not the way we heard it.’ Henderson glanced sideways at Pollock. ‘Eh, Det. Supt.?’
‘It was certainly neat, sir.’ Pollock’s smile was bright with self-congratulation. ‘It just shows what you can do when you keep the channels open.’
Faraday stared at him, remembering the curt instruction on the phone and the tinkle of party voices in the background.
‘Channels?’ he queried.
‘Talking to each other. Sharing intelligence. Looking for synergies. Getting our act together, if you’ll excuse the
argot
.’
Faraday studied his knuckles in disgust. Pollock had a habit of spicing his conversation with little morsels of French. He owned a place down in the Charente somewhere and it was rumoured that Henderson was one of many summer visitors.
Henderson was looking hard at Faraday. Two years on the fourth floor hadn’t quite robbed him of his street instincts.
Taking his cue, Pollock leaned forward over the desk.
‘What’s the matter, Joe?’
‘Nothing, sir. Except the kid was innocent.’
‘Of murder, of course he was. We knew that. He just happened to be running Class A drugs. Doesn’t that come into the equation somewhere?’
‘Cocaine’s a career opportunity to kids like Spellar. As far as he’s concerned, it’s a way of getting out of Paulsgrove.’
‘You’re defending the boy?’
‘Not at all. I’m doing the job his brief would have done. Had he had one.’
‘He refused, so the custody sergeant tells me.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’d have preferred the duty brief there?’
‘In his own interests, yes.’
There was a long silence. Henderson was bent over his pad. At last, he looked up.
‘I don’t think this is getting us very far, Joe,’ he said carefully, ‘unless there’s something you haven’t shared with us.’
After the second cup of coffee, Winter took Scott Spellar for a walk. Victoria Park was in the city centre, bounded by the railway line on one side and a couple of major roads on the other. In the middle, where it was quieter, Winter pulled the boy to a halt. There was a big aviary only metres away and Scott couldn’t take his eyes off a gaudy, mad-eyed toucan.
‘What do you say, then?’
‘I dunno.’
‘There’s no pressure, absolutely none.’
‘You’re joking. You think this isn’t pressure?’ He gestured hopelessly at the space between them, then his gaze returned to the aviary. ‘Tell me again about Marty.’
‘Blokes that carry for him are under surveillance. You know that. You’ve worked that out for yourself. Them being under surveillance can only mean one thing. You’ve worked that out, too.’
‘Yeah?’ Scott
‘Where’s the money?’
‘I’d like to talk about Marty Harrison,’ Winter said softly. ‘I’ve got a proposal that might interest you.’
The boards for the MIT job took place at police force headquarters in Winchester, and Faraday was very nearly late. A crash on the motorway at Eastleigh delayed him half an hour, and he sprinted the two flights of stairs to the ACCO’s office on the first floor.
There were three men waiting for him behind the big conference table. Henderson, the Assistant Chief Constable (Operations), waved him into the empty chair, accepted his apologies, and gave him a moment to get his breath back. With him were Detective Superintendent Pollock, Faraday’s CID boss, and a uniformed superintendent from Southampton.
Faraday produced a handkerchief and blew his nose, doing his best to get his thoughts in order. He’d got up to find another e-mail from J-J. His son was thinking of selling the return half of his ferry ticket. Did he mean it? Or was this just another step into fantasy land?
Across the table, Henderson was offering his congratulations on the speedy resolution to the Paulsgrove murder. One of the words he used was ‘exemplary’.
Faraday at last forced himself to concentrate.
‘We were lucky,’ he said. ‘The guy virtually gave himself up.’
‘Not the way we heard it.’ Henderson glanced sideways at Pollock. ‘Eh, Det. Supt.?’
‘It was certainly neat, sir.’ Pollock’s smile was bright with self-congratulation. ‘It just shows what you can do when you keep the channels open.’
Faraday stared at him, remembering the curt instruction on the phone and the tinkle of party voices in the background.
‘Channels?’ he queried.
‘Talking to each other. Sharing intelligence. Looking for synergies. Getting our act together, if you’ll excuse the
argot
.’
Faraday studied his knuckles in disgust. Pollock had a habit of spicing his conversation with little morsels of French. He owned a place down in the Charente somewhere and it was rumoured that Henderson was one of many summer visitors.
Henderson was looking hard at Faraday. Two years on the fourth floor hadn’t quite robbed him of his street instincts.
Taking his cue, Pollock leaned forward over the desk.
‘What’s the matter, Joe?’
‘Nothing, sir. Except the kid was innocent.’
‘Of murder, of course he was. We knew that. He just happened to be running Class A drugs. Doesn’t that come into the equation somewhere?’
‘Cocaine’s a career opportunity to kids like Spellar. As far as he’s concerned, it’s a way of getting out of Paulsgrove.’
‘You’re defending the boy?’
‘Not at all. I’m doing the job his brief would have done. Had he had one.’
‘He refused, so the custody sergeant tells me.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’d have preferred the duty brief there?’
‘In his own interests, yes.’
There was a long silence. Henderson was bent over his pad. At last, he looked up.
‘I don’t think this is getting us very far, Joe,’ he said carefully, ‘unless there’s something you haven’t shared with us.’
After the second cup of coffee, Winter took Scott Spellar for a walk. Victoria Park was in the city centre, bounded by the railway line on one side and a couple of major roads on the other. In the middle, where it was quieter, Winter pulled the boy to a halt. There was a big aviary only metres away and Scott couldn’t take his eyes off a gaudy, mad-eyed toucan.
‘What do you say, then?’
‘I dunno.’
‘There’s no pressure, absolutely none.’
‘You’re joking. You think this isn’t pressure?’ He gestured hopelessly at the space between them, then his gaze returned to the aviary. ‘Tell me again about Marty.’
‘Blokes that carry for him are under surveillance. You know that. You’ve worked that out for yourself. Them being under surveillance can only mean one thing. You’ve worked that out, too.’
‘Yeah?’ Scott
Similar Books
