Birdman

'I seen her.'

'When did you last see her?'

Gemini shrugged. 'Long time now, innit.'

'Have you ever seen anyone leaving with any of these girls?'

Gemini gave a derisory laugh. He knew how the question was angled. 'Now why you arxing me this dibby dibby question, boy? And dem say English police is clever!'

'Are you going to answer me?'

'I know what yous is like.'

The cop became very still. He was staring at his hands. Gemini could see his anger spreading out under the smooth white skin. When he looked up his pupils had narrowed to pinpoints. 'Mr, uh?'

'Mr No-one to you.'

'Ah, yes, of course. Mr No-one.' He lifted his hands; they'd left sweat prints on the table. 'Well, Mr No-one, Mr Fuck all, I didn't understand your last comment. Was it, by any chance' — he leaned in, his lips peeled away from his teeth, his voice low — 'a slur on the law-keeping force in this country, the country which has generously supported you, and will support any number of piccaninnies that you spawn, house you, feed you and pick up the pieces after you mug some poor little old lady of her pension. Is that what it was?'

'You's a racist man,' Gemini said, smiling lazily. 'I might be stupid nigger boy to you, but me know me rights. I know what de PCA is. I read de Macpherson report.'

The cop didn't flinch. 'If you really read the Macpherson report you'd know you haven't got a leg to stand on. No-one can hear what I'm saying. I can spade, darkie, nigger, sooty you all I like.' He smiled. He was enjoying this. 'I can throw it all at you. And you know what? At the end of the day it's your word against mine. With every little jungle bunny in the system jumping up and down and shouting ''racist'', you think anyone is going to listen to you, you low-life little shit?'

Gemini's composure drained out of him. 'I ain't have to listen to this.' He stood up. 'You want me to help you, Raas, you come get me.'

The cop was on his feet in a second, blocking the door. 'Where the fuck do you think you're going?' he said pleasantly. The words slipped out like honey. 'Nigger cunt.'

And Gemini snapped. Grabbing a pint from the nearest table he threw it in the cop's face. The cop wasn't quick enough to close his eyes. The beer made contact, and he spun away, his hands flying up to his face.

'You little shit!'

But Gemini was out of the door before anyone could react.

* * *

To Caffery, standing at the bottom of the stairs, the whole encounter seemed to have the slow-motion surrealism of a silent film. The two men had been smiling, talking almost casually, then in the next second Diamond was doubled over, clutching his face as if he'd been glassed. Caffery expected blood, but Diamond quickly wiped his eyes and spun out of the door, jacket flapping. Two of F team leapt up, interviews forgotten, to stand in the doorway, letting the rain splatter their shirts as they stared off down the street at their DI.

They didn't have to wait long. Mel Diamond reappeared in the doorway, breathing hard, his jacket dark with rain and beer.

'It's OK.' He leaned over and spat on the pavement. 'Got his index. The little shit.'

* * *

On the way back to Shrivemoor, Caffery drove. Maddox sat next to him, his wet raincoat folded inside out on his lap, Essex and Logan slouched in the back, smelling vaguely of beer. Caffery was silent. In the wing mirror he could see the Sierra following at a short distance. Diamond drove. Caffery caught glimpses of him talking and laughing each time the wipers cleared the windscreen: the Sierra was misty with condensation, the Jaguar's windows remained cold and clear.

'They've all agreed to come in for a mouth swab.' Maddox sighed and looked out as they passed the twin eggshell-blue cupolae of the Naval College. 'Every last one except Diamond's new-found chum. He drives a red GTI, two witness statements put Craw leaving with him—'

'White,' Jack murmured. 'White through and through.'

'Sorry?'

'Series killers hardly ever fish in other racial pools. They just don't. It's such a basic principle it's almost laughable.'

For a moment no-one spoke. Maddox cleared his throat and said, 'Jack, let me explain: there is nothing, nothing, on God's green earth guaranteed to get the chief's hackles up like profiling. I think we discussed this when you transferred.'

'Yes.' He nodded. 'And I think it's time you and I talked about it.'

'Go on then, talk.'

Caffery glanced in the mirror at Essex and Logan. 'In private.'

'Really? Good. Let's do it. Now. Come on. Stop the car.'

'Now? Fine.' He took a left into the park, stopped the car at the edge of the road, put the hazard warnings on. The two of them jumped out.

'Right.' Rain from an ancient oak overhead hissed and bounced off the pavement against their ankles. Maddox held his coat over his head like a monk's cowl. 'What's going on with you?'

'OK.' Caffery hiked his jacket over his head and the two men stood closer. In the car Essex and Logan tactfully found something else to stare at. 'It feels, Steve, it feels as if you and me are walking in different directions.'

'Keep going. Get it off your chest.'

'I meant what I said. This is not a black crime.'

Maddox rolled his eyes. 'How many times do I have to—' He stopped. Shook his head. 'We've gone through this already — I told you the chief's position.'

'And if he knew we'd taken one look at a couple of poxy rum bottles, for Chrissake — rum bottles brought in by the team's resident Nazi — and decided we had a black target, what would his position be then? Think about it.' He held his hand up, his fingertips pressed together, white with pressure. 'Think about the bird. Can you really picture that useless bit of shit in the pub having the nous — or even the imagination, for Christ's sake — to do something like that?'

'Jack, Jack, Jack. Maybe you're right. But look at it from my point of view. I don't want this to be an IC3 any more than you do, and nor does the governor, which is exactly why we have to eliminate hard evidence—'

'Hard evidence?' Jack sucked in a breath. 'You call that hard evidence?'

'There was an Afro-Caribbean hair pulled from Craw's scalp and a sighting near North's aggregate yard — plus all the shit we've collected in the last hour. Plenty enough to worry me. Don't take offence now, Jack, but remember, in B team the buck stops with me, not you. And if I have to choose between listening to a new DI who I've known five minutes and brown-nosing the CS, well, Jack, with all respect…' He paused, took a breath. 'Well, what would you do?'

Caffery looked at him for a long time. 'Then I want this on the record.'

'Go ahead.'

'We're steering in the wrong direction. Someone out there thinks he's a doctor. We should be looking for a hospital worker. A white hospital worker.'

Maddox raised his eyebrows. 'Based on—'

'Based on what Krishnamurthi said, the target's got rudimentary medical knowledge. Steve, today wasn't an average day in the pub — we got it wrong. On your average day the place is full, and some of the punters are hospital workers.'

'OK, OK, calm down. Hold fire until tomorrow's meeting, yeah? Then we can look at this in the cold light of day.'

'I want to start now.'

'What do you think you're going to do? Stake out every hospital in area four — RG, PD and PL?'

'I'll start with RG. Right here. St Dunstan's. It's the nearest to the pub: approach personnel. Narrow it down through them, then do a blanket interview. If that draws a blank then I'll have a look at Lewisham, maybe Catford.'