“Yes, sir. I mean, I’m not complaining. Everyone’s been very good. There’s lots of support. Lots of choices. It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be.”
Banks smiled. He knew she meant Chambers, who liked to pride himself on the fact that his name and reputation went before him and sent a chill up everyone’s spine, put the fear of God in them. “Hang in there.”
“I’d like to help.”
“Help what?”
“The investigation. DI Cabbot’s shooting, the-”
“Hold on a minute,” said Banks. “Aren’t you under suspension?”
“No, sir. They offered me a spot of gardening leave, but I don’t want it. I don’t think we did anything wrong, and I want to keep working. There’s no requirement says I have to take leave or should be suspended. It’s just that nobody quite knows what to do with me, where to reassign me. And I like to think DI Cabbot is a friend.”
“I understand your position, believe me,” said Banks, “and I appreciate it. But it’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“For a start, you’re a PC and an AFO. You’re not CID or Major Crimes.”
“It’s not as if DC would be a promotion.”
“I know that. But those transfers take time, paperwork, official approval. And we don’t have time.”
“There must be something. I can do other things than just shoot guns. Temporary assignment? Surely there’s some way I could help?” She seemed so crestfallen and forlorn that Banks felt sorry for her. But there was nothing he could do. He knew he was already in a precarious position himself, and if he encouraged young PC Powell in her ambitions, he could get them both dismissed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no place for you here right now. Besides, I don’t have any power in the matter. It’s not my case.”
“But you could put in a good word for me.”
“It wouldn’t be any use.”
“I’m a trained firearms officer. I’m good at what I do.”
“I’m sure you are,” said Banks, suppressing a smile, “but that’s another problem right there.”
“What is?”
“That you’re a firearms officer. And that you were one of the firearms officers who entered the Doyle house. Whether you agree with it or not, you and your partner are under investigation. Also, we don’t need an Authorised Firearms Officer on this case.”
“With all due respect, sir, this man you’re after is armed and dangerous.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“There are rumors…”
“What rumors?”
“Just stories going around. That your daughter is somehow involved. That makes you emotionally involved in the case.”
So the word was out. Banks wasn’t particularly surprised. In many ways, a police station was just like any other workplace. Rumors and gossip abounded. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he said stiffly.
“I don’t, sir. But I’ve heard that this Jaff McCready is a nasty piece of work. If it was his gun at the Doyle house, and if he was the one who shot DI-”
“I’m sorry, PC Powell. Nerys. I’m really sorry, but we’re ending this conversation right now. I can’t give you what you want. I promise I’ll do my best to keep you informed about DI Cabbot’s progress, but that’s all. Do you understand?”
Nerys got to her feet and dragged them toward the door. “Yes, sir,” she said. “If you change your mind at all…”
“I won’t,” said Banks, and he stared thoughtfully at the closed door for almost a minute after she had left.
“YOU’RE USING the throwaway mobile, right?”
“Course, boss.”
“Okay. Go on.” The Farmer was walking his favorite path in his garden. It was a warm evening, but still he wore one of the chunky cable-knit jumpers he loved so much. The neatly trimmed hedges of topiary and crinkling sound the cinders made underfoot always calmed him down. Not that he needed it. He was confident that Ciaran and Darren would do their jobs and the Jaff problem would be dealt with quickly.
The only angle that caused him any worry at all was Banks’s daughter. He remembered Banks’s tenacity and realized he’d had a lucky escape last time they had crossed paths. It wouldn’t be so easy this time, especially if anything happened to the girl. Jaff could be a mad bastard-The Farmer had seen him at work-and if the girl became a liability, her chances weren’t very good. Banks would certainly connect him to Jaff in time, and had probably already connected him with Ciaran and Darren. They never usually left a trail of bodies behind them, which was usually a good thing, but it also meant that the girl they had talked to, Rose, would probably be able to identify them, and that would be enough for Banks. He was a tricky copper, and he wouldn’t give up this time. The Farmer had to weigh what the girl might know against the possible comeback on getting rid of her along with McCready before he came to his decision. If Banks got his daughter back alive, and if he knew that The Farmer had a hand in it, then a senior copper’s gratitude might not be a bad thing to have in the long run.
“We got a name,” said Darren. “Bloke by the name of Justin. Lives in Highgate.”
“That’s not much to go on, is it?” said Fanthorpe.
“He’s bent. Involved in people-smuggling and dodgy passports. An old mate of Jaff’s.”
“Well, well,” said Fanthorpe. “You need a bit of intelligence for fake documents and people trafficking, don’t you? Knowing Jaff, that probably means he’s a mate from public school or university. Isn’t that where you meet most of your dodgy friends?”
“Wouldn’t know,” said Darren. “Never went to either. Never went to the comprehensive much, either, come to think of it.”
“It was a rhetorical question, shit for brains.”
“What’s that?”
“You’d know if you’d been to school, wouldn’t you?”
“What do you want us to do now, boss?”
“Quiet. I’m thinking.” Fanthorpe reached the fountain where the four cinder paths met and stood for a few moments watching the bare-breasted mermaids around the edge spout water from their O-shaped mouths, and the little boy pissing at the center. Zenovia’s idea. “If this Justin’s bent,” he went on, “and if he’s involved in people-trafficking, the odds are that he traffics in other things, too. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? I mean, I do. If you’ve got the routes secured and the right people paid off, you use them. Am I right?”
“You are, boss.”
“Either way, Gavin Nebthorpe will know. He knows everyone in the business. Justin in Highgate, you say? Leave it with me, lads. I want you two to head down to London fast as you can. Set off now and you’ll probably be there before dark.”
“Where in London? It’s a big place.”
“I know it’s a big place, Darren. That’s why it’s the capital of the United Kingdom. That’s why the Houses of Parliament are there. Big Ben. Buckingham Palace. That’s why the Queen of fucking England lives there. I know it’s a big place.”
“Well. Where, then?”
“You’ll hear from me before you get there. Keep the throwaway turned on. If for any reason you don’t hear from me before you arrive, get yourselves a hotel. Something inconspicuous and anonymous. Out of the way. You’d stick out like spare pricks at a wedding in The Dorchester. You might be doing a bit of wet work down there. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, boss. We’re on our way.”
Fanthorpe ended the call and stood by the fountain, a frown creasing his brow, then he keyed in another phone number. As he waited for an answer, he looked at the fountain again. Little boy pissing, indeed. Silly cow.
12
BEFORE HEADING DOWN TO LEEDS TO TALK TO VICTOR Mallory, Banks wanted to see if he could get anything out of Erin Doyle. He also wanted to see how Erin was bearing up under the strain of all that had happened over the last few days. She’d done a stupid thing, certainly, but he’d watched her grow up; she was a close friend of his daughter’s; she and Tracy had skipped and played hopscotch and whip’n’top in the street. What Erin had done needn’t ruin her whole life. He wasn’t going to write her off and abandon her to the likes of Chambers if he could help it. He wanted to talk to Juliet, too, but she would have to wait. He wasn’t a Family Liaison officer or a guidance counselor. Finding Tracy was his priority right now, and he doubted that Juliet could help with that. Erin and Victor Mallory just might.