The Kill (38 page)

‘Unsurprisingly,’ Derwent said, as if I had deliberately misled them and only had myself to blame.

‘I’ll say I came along to help you. That’s true, basically.’

‘Tell her it’s flu or exhaustion or something but we don’t want to leave him. Tell her we’ll be back in the office in two hours after the doctor has seen him.’

‘Will we be back then?’

Derwent shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I just don’t want her turning up here. Go on. Call her back.’

I did as I was told, focusing on an empty fruit bowl so Derwent didn’t put me off while I was talking to her. I more or less gave the impression that I was with Godley and therefore couldn’t speak for long, or very loudly. The second time she said, ‘But I don’t understand why you couldn’t come back upstairs before you left to tell me what was going on,’ I told her I had to go. I hung up before she could protest.

‘Good work,’ Derwent said.

‘I don’t think she believed me.’

‘She definitely doesn’t trust you, and why would she? You’re the skinny whore who’s sleeping with the boss.’

A noise from the doorway made us both jump. Serena had let herself in without us hearing her. She looked fragile in a huge jumper and narrow jeans, and she was much thinner than the last time I’d seen her. She was still utterly ravishing – delicate features, huge blue eyes, immaculate fair hair.

‘Serena.’ Derwent went over to her and put his arms around her. She clung on to him, her face anxious.

‘What’s happening, Josh? What’s going on?’

‘Charlie’s not doing so well. He’s been working hard and – well, someone’s been threatening him. The stress has really got to him. He had a bit of a breakdown at work. We’re sorting it out, so please don’t worry, but I think he needs you.’

‘Who is she?’ Serena was staring at me.

‘A colleague. Detective Constable Kerrigan.’

‘We’ve met before.’ But that was at a Christmas party and I’d been a lot less dishevelled. There was no hint of recognition on Serena’s face.

‘She managed to stop Charlie doing something very stupid today,’ Derwent said. ‘We’re lucky she was there.’

Serena was still glaring at me and I played back the bit of conversation she’d overheard. The direct approach seemed necessary.

‘Sir, would you mind explaining to Mrs Godley that you were joking about me sleeping with the boss?’

‘Oh, shit. Yes. It was just a joke.’ Derwent gave Serena a little shake. ‘He’s been missing you something chronic.’

‘Really?’ She looked as if she was on the verge of tears.

‘Truly. I’ve been getting shit from him pretty much every day. Thank God you’re back.’

‘I don’t know. I have to see Charlie. I’m not back really.’ She drifted into the kitchen and started putting on lamps, pulling a face as she looked into the sink. ‘God, how has he been living?’

‘Not well,’ Derwent said. ‘He needs you.’

‘Oh …’ She even cried beautifully, I noted. ‘If you’re right and he wants me back, of course I’ll come. I never wanted to go in the first place.’

‘Do you want to go upstairs? He’s asleep at the moment, but—’

‘I want to be with him.’ She headed back into the hall where she paused for a second to open a cupboard I hadn’t noticed. A hum filled the air.

‘Is that the central heating coming on?’ I asked Derwent.

‘Sounds like it.’

‘Thank God.’

‘I see. My jacket’s not good enough for you.’

‘It’s not keeping my nose warm,’ I said. ‘Or my ears.’

Derwent laughed. ‘Well, keep it anyway. I don’t need it.’ He was keyed up, moving around all the time as if he couldn’t keep still. He kept checking his watch.

‘What’s up? What are you waiting for?’

He tapped his nose instead of telling me and went out again. I waited a couple of minutes and went after him, not as scared of his rage as I had been. He was putting on lights in the big reception room that ran the length of the house. It was beautifully arranged with small sofas and antique chairs and a huge marble fireplace in each half of the room.

‘Expecting company?’ As I said it the doorbell rang.

I fully expected Derwent to send me to answer it but he didn’t. He hared past me, giving me a pat on the bottom as he went. ‘Showtime.’

I hesitated, wondering if I was supposed to go back to the kitchen or if I could stay. I found a chair near the back of the room, beside a radiator that was lukewarm but better than nothing. If Derwent wanted me gone, I would be kicked out quickly. If not, I wanted to know what was going on.

The door opened to admit two anonymous men, blank-faced and grey-suited, who nevertheless intimidated the life out of me as they walked into the sitting room. Behind them came a man I did recognise: Nigel Williams, the Met assistant commissioner who I’d last seen in the Maudling Estate. Derwent brought up the rear and shut the door. I got a glance from him and a look that I couldn’t interpret, but he didn’t tell me to leave.

‘This is highly irregular.’ One of the grey men had settled himself in an armchair by the fireplace. He slung a foot over the opposite knee. ‘I hope there’s a good explanation.’

‘The explanation is that Charles Godley is in a bad situation,’ Derwent said. ‘Not his fault, and not the point of what we’re doing here.’

‘What are we doing here?’ Nigel Williams demanded.

‘Gentlemen, we have a unique opportunity. We can use it, or lose a good police officer for ever.’

‘An opportunity?’ Grey man two had a surprisingly deep voice. ‘Tell me what that may be.’

Rapidly, Derwent sketched in the background: how Godley had been passing information to Skinner, and why, and for how long.

‘So Skinner trusts him. He believes in him. He does what the boss tells him to do. That gives us the edge on him, doesn’t it? We can nudge him in certain directions. We can find out more about how he operates and who works for him. And in the end, we can defeat him.’

‘He’ll spot it a mile off,’ Williams said.

‘No. He’s too pleased with himself. He believes he has Godley over a barrel.’ Derwent was still standing, leaning against the fireplace. ‘He hates him with a passion and he loves to use the information Godley gives him. Godley is our best asset.’

‘He’s a bent police officer,’ the first grey man said. ‘Not the sort of person we want to protect. We need to make an example of him.’

‘No. Definitely not. That’s what Skinner would love. It won’t stop him recruiting someone else. It won’t help the Met. It will be embarrassing and public and wrong.’

‘I don’t like the thought of publicising that a superintendent has been passing information to the other side,’ Williams said. ‘It makes us look very bad. But these police killings – we need to hold someone accountable for them.’

‘That’s why you’re here instead of your boss. The commissioner can’t know anything about any of this. But you three can organise it between you.’ Derwent shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously frustrated that they weren’t falling in line with his plan. ‘You want to hold someone accountable. I understand that. But not Godley. It’s not his fault. This is on Skinner. We can’t destroy him from the outside – God knows, we’ve tried. We need him to destroy himself. And this is how.’

The two grey men were shaking their heads. It wasn’t going to work, I thought, despairing. Derwent had overreached himself again.

‘We need to make an arrest. We have too many dead police officers to let this go,’ the first grey man said.

‘That’s the beauty of it,’ Derwent said. ‘The price Godley will demand for coming back into Skinner’s fold is Tony Larch and his accomplice.’

‘Why would he do that? He’s got Godley where he wants him. He needs Larch on the outside doing his business,’ the second man rumbled.

‘Skinner has never liked anyone being more powerful than he is. Larch walked when Skinner didn’t. He’s always been lucky and he has a huge reputation in the criminal world. He’s a real super-villain. Also, he costs Skinner a fortune from what we hear. Give Skinner a chance to saw him off at the knees and I reckon he’ll take it.’

‘We haven’t even seen Larch, and we’ve been looking,’ Redfern said. ‘How’s Skinner going to find him?’

Derwent shrugged. ‘Not my problem. He can get hold of him when he needs to. I know John Skinner. I know what he’s like. It will put him back on top again and that’s where he needs to be. He’ll never be happy while he’s stuck in prison and Tony Larch is out having fun, carving a reputation at Skinner’s expense.’

‘We need to talk to Charles about this. Where is he?’

‘Upstairs. But he’s not well enough to talk to anyone.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

Derwent looked to me. I understood that he didn’t want to tell them what had happened in the property store.

‘He’s suffering from mental exhaustion. He’s been under tremendous strain. He needs medical attention,’ I said. ‘He needs some time off.’

‘And you are?’ the first grey man asked.

‘Not important,’ Derwent said smoothly. ‘She’s useful.’ To me, he said, ‘Go and check on the boss. See how he’s doing.’

I went. I didn’t want them to focus on me any more than Derwent did. I ran up the stairs and tiptoed to the door of Godley’s room, which was ajar. I wondered about knocking and didn’t, in the end, leaning around the door to see if the silence from inside was a good thing or a bad one. They were both asleep, their arms wrapped around one another. Serena was behind Godley, curved around him protectively. I withdrew as quietly as I could, holding my breath. I didn’t want to disturb them.

Nor did I want to return to the sitting room. I sat down on the top step of the stairs and waited, fidgeting a little, until the door opened and the four men emerged. Derwent shook hands with each of them and ushered them out of the front door. When he’d closed it, he turned and looked up to where I was lurking.

‘Everything all right up there?’

I’d been sure I was out of sight. I got up and ran down the stairs, keeping my voice low as I said, ‘They’re asleep. Did you sort it all out?’

‘More or less. They were happy to agree to it. Anything to hide the fact that Godley’s been corrupt for years and no one knew about it.’

‘Won’t they punish him?’

‘I don’t think so. Not if he cooperates now. He’s stored up a lot of good will over the years. And you said he tried not to help Skinner too much. If he gives them the details of what he told him and when, they’ll be happy.’

‘You actually did it. Why do you think Godley didn’t come up with this himself?’

‘He’s too proud. He was ashamed to be caught up in Skinner’s games and he wanted a way out. The trouble is, there isn’t one. I don’t care about being good. I don’t care how we get results. I’m not bothered about being irreproachable.’

‘Poor Godley,’ I said.

‘He’ll be all right. They won’t be telling anyone about any of this. We don’t do deals with criminals, officially, but when we do we get our money’s worth, so the bosses are happy. Godley will still be doing the job and he won’t have to look over his shoulder any more. Win, win, win.’

It seemed too good to be true. ‘There’s got to be a catch, though. Is there a catch?’

Derwent’s face darkened. ‘Did you have to remind me?’

‘What is it?’ I was instantly on edge, expecting the worst.

He shook his head, steeling himself before he could say it. ‘The boss is on leave for the foreseeable.’

‘Of course.’

‘Who could possibly step in to run the team at short notice? What beautiful lady of our acquaintance knows the cases and the staff and would be prepared to take charge at a moment’s notice?’

‘Not Una Burt,’ I said.

‘Got it in one.’

I assessed the implications for me and came up with nothing good. ‘Oh,
fuck
.’

‘I think you mean “Oh gosh.”’ Derwent heaved a sigh. ‘Come on. Back to the office. If we’re in luck she won’t have heard yet and I won’t have to congratulate her.’

Chapter 26

They found Tony Larch at a spa hotel near Bath three days later. He was having a massage when a team of burly policemen kicked the door in and arrested him. The pictures of him – naked, strategically pixelated, furious, gleaming with essential oils, his arm muscles impressively defined as he fought against the cuffs – quickly went viral. His accomplice, Michael Knaggs, was not at the hotel. He had been picked up seven hours earlier at a strip club in Soho, where he was watching a performance so filthy that the coppers who came to arrest him blushed when they talked about it, and they were not the blushing kind. There were no pictures of that one, at least officially.

Knaggs was twenty years younger than Larch and a novice at the killing game. He’d been a junior motorbike champion, though, and grew up on a farm in Norfolk, where he learned to shoot. Unlike Larch, he had no idea how he’d been found. Larch knew Skinner had given him up. That was why he was so angry.

I had little sympathy.

Neither of them was talking but that didn’t matter. We had taken the contents of Larch’s suitcase and emptied out most of Knaggs’s flat, so we had enough material to piece together a timeline for them. We had evidence, and we would be able to gather more. We would make a case against them easily enough.

‘Are you coming out tonight, Maeve?’

I looked up to see Mal Upton standing by my desk. ‘I don’t know yet. Maybe.’

I did know. I wouldn’t be going. It was a celebration of our tremendous success in locating Larch and Knaggs and I couldn’t quite bring myself to take pleasure in it. Not since I knew the price we’d paid for the information.

But you couldn’t say that kind of thing to Mal, who was standing there looking hopeful and shaggy, his hair untidy, his shirt pulling out from his trousers on one side.

‘I’ll try to make it.’

‘If you do, I’ll buy you a drink. I owe you one and I don’t want to risk making you a cup of tea in case I get it wrong.’

‘Did I really scare you?’ I asked.

‘Not really.’

‘I must be losing my touch.’ I went back to the report I was writing. I knew Derwent was sitting at his desk and I had a feeling he was grinning, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking. He had the courtesy to wait until Mal had gone out of the room.