‘Well, someone took his finger out, wonders will never cease,’ he said in his normal grumbling tone. ‘Got some corporation for once in a blue moon, from the Excise opposite number, bloke called –’ he inspected the paper in his hand – ‘Wouter Zollars. Bloody Nora, what a name! Still, what wouldn’t we give for more of his sort?’
‘For a few Zollars more,’ Slider said. He just couldn’t help himself.
Fortunately Porson didn’t notice. ‘Right! None of that “them and us” bollocks from him,’ he said. He was staring again at the paper. ‘Blimey, I don’t fancy standing up in a meeting and having to pronounce this lot. I’m not even going to try for you. You can have the phonetic version. I’m not the United Nations. Anyway, this Zollars knows the Havik boat all right. It’s moored in the IJmuiden marina, like your man thought, and it’s on their “to watch” list. It’s registered to a Jaap Boeckman, but they reckon that’s a pseudonym for a bloke called Jaheem Bodeker. You’d wonder why he’d bother changing,’ he added in hurt tones.
‘And Bodeker’s someone they know?’
‘You might say. He’s a bit tasty. Up to all sorts of naughtiness as a lad, graduated into the diamond trade in his twenties, courier, got caught and ended up inside. Come out about ten years ago. Hasn’t been in any trouble since, but he’s one of those villains, you know in your gut they’ll never change. You can’t teach an old leopard new tricks. They’ve been watching him ever since, haven’t caught him out, but friend Zollars’d bet his pension he’s up to something. He goes down to the marina every Wednesday, supposed to be going out night fishing, but when we told Zollars about the meeting with the Windhover he come over all unnecessary and had to sit down in a darkened room for ten minutes.’
Slider reminded Porson of his own caveat. ‘We only know about one meeting.’
‘Both going out night fishing, the same night, regular?’ Porson said. ‘One’s a known courier, the other comes ashore with a box o’ something no one ever gets a look at? Work it out, laddie. It’s not rocket salad.’
‘I wonder what they did this last Wednesday, with Rogers dead,’ Slider mused.
‘They must’ve thought about that before they offed him,’ Porson said, ‘because Bodeker – thank Christ I can say that one – went down as usual. Dutch police want him very bad. They’re going to set up a big multi-agency operation and take him on the next run, let him get right to the boat with the goods on him and grab him.’
Slider looked aghast. ‘But if they do that we’ll lose our end of it. They’ll close it down and we’ll never be able to catch the rest of them.’
‘Never mind,’ Porson barked. ‘That part of it is out of our hands now. The big boys have taken our ball and we can’t play.’
‘We’ve got two murders on our books.’
‘You’ve got the hand print off the motor.’
‘But no one to match it against. And even if we could get the murderer, there’s little hope he’d give up his boss – the top man.’ Slider fiddled unhappily with his pen. ‘There are still lots of things I want to know. I’ve got ongoing investigations—’
‘I know that,’ Porson said, slightly more sympathetically, ‘and there’s no reason you can’t go on trying to tie up loose ends, as long as you don’t frighten the horses. Because if anything we do spooks the gang and the operation goes wrong, it’ll be all our bollocks on a platter. I don’t like this set-up any more than you, but we’ve got Europol and the Excise boys and God knows who else getting involved now, and that lot’s too rich for our blood. We’re not even second division. We’re Noddy and Big Ears. Just remember that.’ He headed for the door, but turned when he reached it to say from beneath seriously-levelled brows, ‘If you do anything that throws a spaniel in the works, I’m not going to bat for you, not this time. I mean it. You listening to me?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Slider.
When Porson had gone he lapsed into thought again.
Wonder who played Rogers’s part on Wednesday/Thursday? Couldn’t have used Windhover or that old boy in the harbour would have said so: you can bet he and a few others were watching her once they heard about Rogers being murdered. A different boat, a different harbour. Must have been another small inlet – too much scrutiny at the bigger harbours.
He twiddled his pen. If I’m right, speed is of the essence. He swivelled his chair and stared out of the dusty window at the blank sky. Speed is of the essence. And always the same day of the week.
Norma came in and made her report, and was disappointed that her boss seemed so distracted, he wasn’t even moved by the revelation that Windhover was behind the agency. She eyed him curiously. ‘You knew that already, didn’t you?’
Slider roused himself. ‘No. No, I didn’t. But I’m not surprised. I know she’s involved somehow, I just haven’t figured out how yet. You’ve got that bank account number? Right, get on to the bank and get them to tell you whose name it’s in.’
She nodded. ‘Are we going after her?’
‘Not now. Not yet. There are other things going on. We have to be careful. And I don’t know yet—’
She waited but he didn’t finish the sentence. ‘You look tired, boss,’ she said eventually.
‘Didn’t sleep much last night.’
‘Have you had lunch?’
He looked at the clock in surprise. ‘Is it that time?’
‘Want me to get you a sandwich?
He roused himself. ‘No, thanks, I’ll go up to the canteen. I need a change of scene.’ Maybe it would create a change of thinking.
Connolly found him there, toying with a portion of moussaka. He looked up at her resentfully.
‘Aubergines,’ he said. ‘I mean, what’s that all about? It’s not a shepherd’s pie and it’s not a lasagne.’
‘It’s an abomination,’ she said, to humour him.
‘And look at this salad. It’s all frisée.’
‘I hate that yoke. You’d cut your mouth on it. And it tastes like shit.’
‘It’s the astroturf of lettuce,’ Slider said. ‘All right, gripes satisfied. Did you get anything? I see you did. Sit down.’
‘Piece o’ cake,’ Connolly said modestly, sitting down opposite him. ‘I shared a flat with two nurses for six months so I can talk a good talk. And I’ve a friend who’s an agency nurse. I borrowed one of her dresses and just walked in.’
‘Into the Cloisterwood?’ Slider asked in alarm, remembering Porson’s final warning.
‘No, no, not there,’ Connolly said in a tone that implied the words ‘you eejit’ had been left out. ‘The Royal Orthopod. I’d a stuck out like a sore mickey in the private hospital. I wouldn’t know what agency they use, if they use one at all. But in an NHS hospital the trick is to find two nurses wearing the same thing. So anyway, seeing as I got there about lunchtime, I went up to the staff canteen and got talking to some o’ the nurses.’
‘No trouble getting them to open up?’
‘Are you kidding? They wore the ear offa me. The Cloisterwood is all they talk about. Mostly it’s the money – how much the patients pay and how much the staff are paid and why couldn’t they get a piece of it and the wickedness altogether of the private sector. And when I got on to kidneys! It was all, the queue-jumping, and the rich foreigners getting in ahead of our people. It’d make your head bleed. Nurses are the great levellers.’ She eyed the cold moussaka with which he was fiddling, despite the defensive crust it had grown. ‘Would you not leave that? It’d break your teeth. It’s like the horny plates on a Tasmanian devil.’