‘Hope the cost wasn’t too excessive.’
‘You’re always good value, Reggie.’
‘Well, I haven’t completely finished yet. There are things you hear at the bar, after a long day conferring with one’s fellow scientists, after one has exhausted the exalted topic of how life works and turns instead to what the bloody hell it all means. Have you met Mrs Haygill?’
‘Seen her. We haven’t spoken. Blonde, big hair.’
‘That’s it. The whisper is that she’s a bit of an embarrassment to her husband. Likes the booze a bit too much to be allowed to accompany him on the Gulf trips. Also rumoured that she likes to play around while he’s away on his trips, possibly with Haygill’s boss.’
‘His boss?’
‘Yes, at the university. The head man, Vice-Chancellor or whatever.’
Later that afternoon Brock’s team met at Queen Anne’s Gate to plan the next steps. All of the employees at CAB-Tech would be interviewed or reinterviewed, and inquiries into the source of Abu’s money were proceeding at the Bank of Credit and Commerce Dubai in the City. Brock had asked Wayne O’Brien to attend, and now asked the Special Branch officer to comment on Reggie Grice’s thoughts on the dynamics of Haygill’s group, particularly the Middle East scientists. He went through them in turn, sketching the information they had been able to find on each.
‘The key man is Haygill’s deputy, Dr Tahir Darr, without a doubt. At thirty-eight he’s the oldest of them and he’s always at the centre of things. He also seems to have the most interesting private life and access to money. He’s got a wife and kiddie living in Shepherd’s Bush, but he also likes to go out clubbing on his own or with male company. When their sponsors come over from the Gulf it’s Darr gets the job of taking them out to see the sights. A favourite nightspot for the visiting Arabs is Thoroughbreds in Mayfair, a drinking and gambling club where Darr is a member. One of the staff there is a friend of ours and knows him as a regular.’
‘Do we know who these visitors are?’ Brock asked, and Wayne produced a list.
‘All respectable businessmen, venture capitalists, scientists.’
‘And Darr knows them all.’
‘Probably better than Haygill does. He speaks Arabic as well as Urdu.’
‘It’d be interesting to get inside his head, but not easy,’ Brock said. ‘From the way he reacted when we spoke to him at CAB-Tech, I reckon he’ll be a difficult nut to crack in interview.’
‘Yes, I was wondering about that,’ Wayne said. ‘Whether we could get closer to him.’
‘What about your friend at the club he goes to?’
Wayne shook his head dubiously. ‘Rupert? He’s one of the barmen, keeps us informed who’s passing through, especially the known drugs figures. But he wouldn’t be right for a job like this.’
‘Sounds one for you, Wayne,’ Bren suggested. ‘Undercover’s up your street, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think he’d come across for me, either. I reckon it needs someone he can relate to, another Asian, maybe with a science background, to catch him at a weak moment in his cups. We’ve got a couple of good Asian guys in my section, but they’re up north at the moment, working on a case in Bradford. You don’t have anybody like that, do you?’
Bren shook his head, pondering. Kathy didn’t speak. There was someone, of course, but she waited, expecting one of the others to say the obvious. Finally, when no one did, she said, ‘Well, there’s Leon.’
They looked surprised. ‘He’s not even part of our section, Kathy,’ Bren objected.
She shrugged, not wanting to pursue it. It was a stupid notion, really, and she could see Brock thinking the same.
But Bren was having second thoughts. ‘He is Asian, though, and he’s got scientific knowledge, with his DNA and all that, and he’s very familiar with the background. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.’
‘I met him, didn’t I? At Shadwell Road?’ Wayne said. ‘Yeah, he might be spot on.’
‘He’s forensic liaison, Wayne,’ Brock objected. ‘He’s not an undercover detective. This isn’t his line of work at all.’
‘You never know,’ Bren pursued, enthusiastic now, ‘he might jump at the chance. Why don’t we ask him? I saw him downstairs ten minutes ago.’
He jumped to his feet and went off in pursuit, returning after a few minutes, Leon Desai following.
Brock said, ‘Leon, sit down. We’ve been talking around a problem, and a suggestion came up…’
He spoke diffidently, as if they were discussing the unlikely plot from some new movie, and as he went on, Kathy could see exactly why. Watching Leon sitting there, listening carefully with his polite but sceptical, rather distant, expression, she could understand why he was completely wrong for the task, and she kicked herself for ever suggesting it. He was the opposite of Wayne, lacking small talk, keeping himself to himself, not inviting confidences. As an undercover operative he might just manage to extract an opinion on the weather.
Leon heard Brock out in silence, giving nothing away from his expression. Then his mouth formed a little smile and he said, ‘What idiot dreamed that one up?’
They all laughed, and glanced over at Kathy, and Leon followed their looks, still with his little smile, until he realised it was her. For the briefest of moments his expression registered a small shock, then clouded and turned away. It was enough for Kathy to read, however. He believed she had done it to humiliate him, to make him a joke among her friends, the real detectives.
Bren, oblivious to all that, was enthusiastically beefing up Brock’s sparse outline, suggesting approaches that could be tried, and getting Wayne O’Brien to offer his ideas.
Leon listened until they were finished, then turned to Brock and said, ‘None of it would be admissible in court, would it?’
‘That’s right.’ Brock looked uneasy. ‘It would purely be a matter of giving us background, Leon. But look, I’ve already explained to Wayne that your expertise lies in the forensic area. You haven’t been trained for this sort of thing. I really think…’
‘Well, we could give it a try,’ Leon said calmly, ‘if you think it’ll help. I’ll need to be properly briefed.’
‘Great!’ Bren beamed and clapped Leon on the back. Brock smiled reluctantly, and Kathy wanted to crawl under the table.
She tried to catch him alone as the meeting broke up, but Wayne intercepted her and Leon slipped quickly through the door.
‘I thought I might take you up on that offer of a return match,’ Wayne said with a cheeky smile. ‘If you’re free tonight.’
‘How come? What about the girlfriend?’
He raised an open hand, palm down and wiggled it from side to side. ‘Bit dodgy. I think the wheels are falling off again.’
She felt a sudden spurt of irritation with the glib grin. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that, Wayne. Only I don’t much fancy being a stop-gap for when your girlfriend’s wheels come off.’
He began to protest, but she brushed past him after Leon. He had gone.
Later that evening she rang his home number and left a message with his mother, but he didn’t phone back.
17
I t was the weekend, but Kathy couldn’t let the case go. She lay awake through half the night turning it over in her mind, and the next morning she still couldn’t shake it. She kept returning to the photograph that Manzoor had produced, of his daughter and Abu together in the pool, and the image haunted her. Innocence before the fall, before marriage in Kashmir and murder on the university steps. Someone had sent it to Manzoor, and Abu had died.
Unable to settle to anything else, she drove into central London and managed to find a parking space near the office. A few people were working in the building, but the room they had set up for their discussions the previous day was undisturbed. The photograph in its evidence pouch was still pinned to the board, and she assumed that no one had yet followed it up. She made a couple of colour photocopies, then left, continuing on to the refuge where Nargis was staying.