Blood Substitute (16 page)

‘It isn't,' I said. ‘Not judging by how upset he was after you'd driven away the other night. Despite your mask he knew it was you.'

‘Then you have your answer. The whole operation would be jeopardized by saying anything at all. When it's over and I'm out of it, then … well, everything will be different, won't it? Then I'll … I'll think about it.'

He then went on, rather coldly, to inform us that he would immediately contact Michael Greenway, who for professional reasons he would prefer not to know his real name. He would tell him that there was no need for the work to be duplicated and that it was his, F9's, case. He assured us that although it was not of foremost importance his department was as keen as SOCA to find Morley's killer, or killers. Then tossing off the last of his whisky and curtly wishing us goodnight, he left.

‘He's just like James, isn't he?' I said in exasperation. ‘Exactly the same iron-clad technique.'

‘Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines,' Patrick said to himself.

I was puzzled for a moment and then recollected that F9 operatives were referred to as foxes, from their call-sign, Foxtrot 9. ‘Where's the quotation from?' I asked.

‘The Bible,
Song of Solomon
. With that job he has to be a Super.' Patrick laughed softly. ‘I liked the way he finished his drink before he went.'

Definitely not amused, I retorted, ‘So where the
hell
does that leave us?'

‘It depends on Greenway.'

‘I see no reason why a policeman's murder investigation should degenerate into inter-departmental gamesmanship.'

‘Nor do I,' Patrick said grimly. ‘Thought about like that, it's bloody disgusting.'

Bristol CID on one side, F9 on the other and us in the middle, I mused. The situation could not be allowed to continue and, if it did, I could see Patrick relinquishing the job, even if it meant resigning. I had expected Michael Greenway to blow his top when the latest developments were reported to him but he merely requested that we meet him again and, on second thoughts, said he would come to our hotel as he had a later appointment nearby.

Patrick, who I know had lost sleep over it, came straight to the point. ‘I can't work like this,' he said. ‘The man we met last night, who would prefer you not to know his real name for professional reasons – his exact choice of words – feels he has sole ownership of this case and when he left us was about to inform you of the fact. I can't be expected to tiptoe between policemen with ego problems.'

Greenway was magnanimous enough not to deem himself included in the criticism and said, ‘Yes, he did ring me last night and I have to say I was unaware that he has been using an alias. Are his preferences important to you?'

‘Only in the sense that he uses his real name when posing as a criminal so, obviously, his personal safety is highly important,' Patrick answered. ‘But from the point of view that you'll be kept in the dark with regard to an important aspect of this case if I don't give you the information and I am, after all, working for you …' He paused. ‘He's Robert Kennedy.'

Greenway swore vividly and then hurriedly apologized to me, obviously not yet knowing that I was married to an enthusiastic exponent of the art. Then, after a few moments' reflection he said, ‘It was your old MI5 boss, Richard Daws, who recommended you for this job, wasn't it?'

‘So I believe.'

‘You must be aware that he's just about running the agency and has done right from the beginning. But it's still quite early days and everyone's carrying on taking the advice of the experts. Daws likes your methods so let's do it like that, his way.'

‘I had
carte blanche
in those days,' Patrick observed.

‘Bugger that for a minute. Tell me what you'd have done, faced with a similar situation.'

‘It only puts a slightly different complexion on things. First, to recap and clarify matters, SOCA received an urgent official request from the Avon and Somerset Force to help solve a murder case. Unbeknown to anyone F9 has been working for some time on roughly parallel investigations, which actually represent a much bigger picture, hoping to catch criminals who have, according to Kennedy, outposts in every city and large town in the south and west of the country. He spent six months in prison – which I gather is one of F9's specialities – in an effort to find out more from the inside. He didn't tell us much, only that the tall man who would appear to be the managing director of Slaterford and Sons is calling himself Steven Ballinger and is probably the bossman of the criminal empire in that area. Kennedy wants
all
of them, not just him, not just a few. In my view it's impossible to collar the lot but I agree with that sentiment –
and
that it's his case.'

Greenway stared at Patrick, thunderstruck. ‘I was expecting you to say that you'd lift Kennedy and put him somewhere safe for a while to let you get on with the job.'

‘No,' Patrick said with a smile. ‘You've been watching too many James Bond films.'

‘So SOCA just walks away?' the other asked incredulously.

‘Not at all. As you're no doubt aware, F9 is quite a small covert outfit, no one in uniform. You might not know that it operates out of what looks like a perfectly ordinary house near Woodford Green and on the edge of Epping Forest in Essex. They have to call up practically all they need in the way of everyday police equipment, including official vehicles when they need to use muscle, as they just have a few unmarked cars. They'll have to ask for help eventually, when the time comes to make multiple arrests. You're in contact with Kennedy. I suggest that in the light of a conflict of interests not being in anyone's interest, least of all poor Morley's, we start by offering two liaison officers, with immediate effect, one from Avon and Somerset Police and one from SOCA, Superintendent Paul Reece, and me – plus Ingrid of course.'

‘He might refuse – we can't force him to agree.'

‘He can't. It's too important. And he won't want to keep tripping over me, will he?'

T
his being real life there was no plan to break in to F9's headquarters and appear, all smug smiles, arrayed with the cruet on the table in the canteen where Kennedy had his morning coffee, if indeed he ever did such a thing. Such fantasy should reside only in the overactive imaginations of authors. We were relying on Greenway getting Kennedy to agree to see us for further discussions and Reece being able to obtain clearance from his superiors to work within another department for a period of time that was being described as ‘short'. The immediate aftermath of both proposals was an extremely loud silence: Greenway had detected reluctance on Reece's part from a personal point of view and could not get hold of Kennedy.

‘We don't want Reece if he's going to be fretting about a work overload back at base,' I said.

‘No, you're right,' Patrick replied. ‘I don't think I want his sergeant with a large chip on his shoulder instead either.'

My mobile rang and it was Elspeth.

‘That was to ask how I am and, in case it's important, to tell us that the rumour was wrong and Hagtop Farm has been bought by an executive of Marks and Spencer, not Slaterford and Sons,' I reported.

‘Good luck to them,' Patrick replied. ‘Good, that clears that out of the way.'

‘And Slaterfords has a closing-down sale, starting today.' Elspeth had not mentioned anything about having to move from the rectory.

‘I don't know whether that's good or bad news. Does it mean they're pulling out of that area or merely making it look as though they are? For after all, Kennedy mopped up a few of their boys on the delivery run – that must have shaken someone a bit. They could even be brazenly ignoring little glitches like that and going for the big redevelopment scheme.'

‘Now we know that the men who arrived at the warehouse were police, or at least the important ones were, couldn't we risk having another snoop round the store? I mean, the place will probably be mobbed for the sale so we're unlikely to be recognized.'

‘I'll grow a quick beard. But it rather depends on what happens today.' Patrick gave me a very straight look. ‘Do you know for sure if you're pregnant yet?'

‘I haven't had time to go and buy a testing kit,' I answered lamely. In actual fact I was shrinking from knowing the truth: in my heart of hearts I didn't want another baby. So for the present, stupidly perhaps, I wanted the question mark to remain one.

Sometimes he seems to be able to read my thoughts. ‘But if you are, you wouldn't … I mean, if you really didn't want it would you …?'

‘Have an abortion? No, of course not.'

No, that would never be on the agenda. Not ever. Ye gods, we would have to give Carrie a big rise.

Later again, when we had snatched a sandwich for lunch and Patrick had gone off to see if he could get a problem with the car's locking and alarm system fixed my phone rang again.

‘I've just had a call from Greenway,' Patrick said. ‘He's finally caught up with Kennedy. The signal was appalling and he could hardly hear what the man was saying but managed to gather that he wasn't too happy about the arrangement, which I suppose is to be expected. He asked if he could have a chat with you and me again before he made any decisions. I said I was tied up for a bit – they've got the car plugged into some electronic gear to see what the trouble is but the bloke thinks he can sort it out today – so Greenway suggested you went. Would you do that? You're good at talking people round.'

‘Where will I meet him?' I asked.

‘He's on his way back from a meeting and plans to walk across Hyde Park for some fresh air as he has a hell of a headache. He said he'd be at Speakers' Corner at around two. There's a café, actually in the park, not far from there. Ring me when you arrive and I'll get there as soon as I can – unless you phone again to tell me the arrangement's off. Sorry, I must go, the mechanic's waving me over. See you later.'

I looked at my watch – it was a quarter to one – and decided I needed some fresh air and exercise as well and would also walk. I grabbed my London AtoZ. Our hotel was in Norfolk Square so it would be fairly straightforward to get to Lancaster Gate via Sussex Gardens and head for the Marble Arch end of the park along The Ring, one of the carriage roads just inside the park boundary.

I was going down in the lift to the ground floor when my cats' whiskers kicked in with a very large warning of stinking fish. So when the lift stopped at the next floor to allow some people to get out I went with them, made my way to the stairs and returned to our room, feeling oddly shaky. Thought about carefully, my reservations were twofold; from what I knew about James I was sure that if he had a headache in the middle of a working day he would either swallow a couple of aspirins, or failing those, ignore it, not waste quite a lot of time by going for a walk. I had an idea his father would do much the same. Another thing that was bothering me was the mental picture of Michael Greenway bawling down the phone to someone whom he could hardly hear. Was mobile phone reception in London really that bad these days? Unless Kennedy had been in the basement of a building, well underground. In that case why not arrange to ring Greenway back when he was outside? For security purposes did these people utilize code words that were changed every day, or very frequently? Had Greenway in fact been talking to Kennedy at all?

I took my mobile from my bag and rang Patrick's number but it was engaged.

I was hanged if I was going to risk serving myself up on a plate, dish of the day, to crooks anonymous.

Time was running out. Five minutes later I had decided to go but quickly disguise myself somehow when my mobile rang again.

‘It's me,' Patrick said. ‘I've just heard from Reece. They found any amount of stolen property at the warehouse and enough explosives and weapons to give a very strong suspicion that they were all ready to be sold to terrorists. He also said he simply couldn't spare the time to liaise with F9, although he would very much like to be in a position to do so. He actually suggested sending Carrick – as he said himself, to get the whole problem over and done with. Greenway can't have given him the whole story so I didn't either because the least number of people who know the truth right now the better. I told him it wasn't a bad idea so he's going to get hold of James's boss – whoever that is – to try to arrange for him to be ordered to get on a London train as soon as possible and he'll be briefed when he gets here. I take it you're on your way.'

‘No,' I said. ‘I'm still in the hotel but was just about to set off. I have a bad feeling about this arrangement.'

Our working procedures ensured that he did not waste time arguing with me. ‘OK, get a taxi to Starbucks at Marble Arch and I'll leave the car here, do the same and meet you inside. If you see anyone you don't like the look of hanging around head for the nearest big shop, go to the fashion department, pretend to try on clothes in the changing rooms and ring me from there.'

Patrick got to Starbucks before I did as I was held up by a traffic accident in the Bayswater Road, finally paying off the taxi and walking the last hundred yards or so. Slouching in one corner as there were no empty seats he looked more like a workman who was waiting for someone to help him dig a hole in the road. I squeezed past a vastly obese woman who paused in her bid for slow suicide with a cream-loaded beverage to scowl at me and, somehow wedging myself into the same corner, finished off Patrick's orange juice before explaining the reason for my lateness.

‘So what d'you reckon then?' he said, scanning the crowded interior carefully.

I had already satisfied myself that no very tall men or anyone particularly suspicious-looking were present. ‘I just don't like the business of this garbled phone message.'