shot him an ironic look, his chin tilted up. ‘Remind me.’
‘It means he’s under the cosh. If he’s got any sense, he’ll be taking’ – Winter shrugged – ‘precautions.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like cleaning up his premises. Like making sure he doesn’t get nicked with anything silly. If it comes to it.’
‘He does all that anyway. He’s really careful.’
‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about. But look at it this way – if you break the news gently you may spare him a nasty surprise.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘These busts, son. They can be heavy. I’ve been on them myself. Half past four in the morning? That can ruin your whole day.’
‘You’re telling me they’re going to bust Marty?’
‘I’m telling you it’s a possibility. I’m telling you lots of people are spending lots of money keeping tabs on blokes like him. And money like that doesn’t get spent without a result at the end of it.’
Scott blinked. He seemed to be having trouble keeping up.
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘No, son,
you
are. It’s what you sussed in the Bridewell, the night we put you through the mangle over your grandad. It was Saturday night, remember? Half of Paulsgrove was in there with you.’
‘I know.’ Scott nodded. ‘That’s what’s doing my head in. Loads of guys saw me down there. And half of them know Marty.’
Winter nodded, saying nothing, letting the situation speak for itself. Harry Wayte’s little bust would happen regardless. Wouldn’t Scott do himself a favour by passing on the news before Harry’s boys went in?
Scott dug his hands in his pockets. A tall, well-built blonde girl sauntered past, but he didn’t give her a second glance.
‘I dunno,’ he said again. ‘This is mad.’
‘Listen, son.’ Winter took his arm and began walking. ‘Look at it like this. You
have
to do it. If you don’t, and if he gets done, Marty will think you’ve grassed him up anyway. And just imagine where that could lead.’
‘Yeah, but …’ Scott stared at him. ‘What the fuck happens after that?’
Winter smiled.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘
Nothing
? I just walk away? And you won’t come hassling me any more?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He reached into his jacket and produced a plain white envelope. ‘Count it, will you?’
Scott looked at the envelope and then ripped it open. The money was in ten-pound notes. He counted it twice and then scribbled his signature on a pad that Winter held open for him.
‘About this little meet you’re going to have with Marty …’ he began.
Scott shook his head and tried to take a step away, but Winter stopped him. Scott stared at Winter’s hand on his arm.
‘What’s this about?’
‘Money,’ Winter said easily. ‘You’ll be paid for your trouble.’
‘Yeah? How much gets me a new face?’
‘Two hundred.’ Winter flashed a sudden smile. ‘Cash.’
Faraday was back at his desk in the inspectors’ office by early afternoon. There were mountains of paperwork to sort out from last week, and an urgent message from Jerry Proctor asking about the deadline on the Paulsgrove DNA report. He had the samples from Mick Spellar and his dead father ready for despatch, but the charge the labs made for the 48-hour turnaround had just gone up to £2400. Was Faraday happy to authorise the sum?
Faraday was still trying to get through to Jerry to tell him to hold off when a secretary called Bibi stuck her head round the door. Bibi worked for Superintendent Neville Bevan, the uniformed boss of the division and Faraday’s immediate superior. He wanted a word as soon as possible.
Faraday asked Cathy to talk to Proctor and plucked his jacket from the back of his chair. Bevan’s office was up on the next floor, and when Faraday appeared at the open door, he glanced up from his computer screen and beckoned him in.
Bevan was a squat, robustly built Welshman with a reputation for plain-speaking. He and Faraday would never be social
‘It means he’s under the cosh. If he’s got any sense, he’ll be taking’ – Winter shrugged – ‘precautions.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like cleaning up his premises. Like making sure he doesn’t get nicked with anything silly. If it comes to it.’
‘He does all that anyway. He’s really careful.’
‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about. But look at it this way – if you break the news gently you may spare him a nasty surprise.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘These busts, son. They can be heavy. I’ve been on them myself. Half past four in the morning? That can ruin your whole day.’
‘You’re telling me they’re going to bust Marty?’
‘I’m telling you it’s a possibility. I’m telling you lots of people are spending lots of money keeping tabs on blokes like him. And money like that doesn’t get spent without a result at the end of it.’
Scott blinked. He seemed to be having trouble keeping up.
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘No, son,
you
are. It’s what you sussed in the Bridewell, the night we put you through the mangle over your grandad. It was Saturday night, remember? Half of Paulsgrove was in there with you.’
‘I know.’ Scott nodded. ‘That’s what’s doing my head in. Loads of guys saw me down there. And half of them know Marty.’
Winter nodded, saying nothing, letting the situation speak for itself. Harry Wayte’s little bust would happen regardless. Wouldn’t Scott do himself a favour by passing on the news before Harry’s boys went in?
Scott dug his hands in his pockets. A tall, well-built blonde girl sauntered past, but he didn’t give her a second glance.
‘I dunno,’ he said again. ‘This is mad.’
‘Listen, son.’ Winter took his arm and began walking. ‘Look at it like this. You
have
to do it. If you don’t, and if he gets done, Marty will think you’ve grassed him up anyway. And just imagine where that could lead.’
‘Yeah, but …’ Scott stared at him. ‘What the fuck happens after that?’
Winter smiled.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘
Nothing
? I just walk away? And you won’t come hassling me any more?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He reached into his jacket and produced a plain white envelope. ‘Count it, will you?’
Scott looked at the envelope and then ripped it open. The money was in ten-pound notes. He counted it twice and then scribbled his signature on a pad that Winter held open for him.
‘About this little meet you’re going to have with Marty …’ he began.
Scott shook his head and tried to take a step away, but Winter stopped him. Scott stared at Winter’s hand on his arm.
‘What’s this about?’
‘Money,’ Winter said easily. ‘You’ll be paid for your trouble.’
‘Yeah? How much gets me a new face?’
‘Two hundred.’ Winter flashed a sudden smile. ‘Cash.’
Faraday was back at his desk in the inspectors’ office by early afternoon. There were mountains of paperwork to sort out from last week, and an urgent message from Jerry Proctor asking about the deadline on the Paulsgrove DNA report. He had the samples from Mick Spellar and his dead father ready for despatch, but the charge the labs made for the 48-hour turnaround had just gone up to £2400. Was Faraday happy to authorise the sum?
Faraday was still trying to get through to Jerry to tell him to hold off when a secretary called Bibi stuck her head round the door. Bibi worked for Superintendent Neville Bevan, the uniformed boss of the division and Faraday’s immediate superior. He wanted a word as soon as possible.
Faraday asked Cathy to talk to Proctor and plucked his jacket from the back of his chair. Bevan’s office was up on the next floor, and when Faraday appeared at the open door, he glanced up from his computer screen and beckoned him in.
Bevan was a squat, robustly built Welshman with a reputation for plain-speaking. He and Faraday would never be social
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