‘Under protest?’
‘I don’t think he was happy about the move,’ said Gift. ‘He had visions of pounding the beat, but that’s not how it worked out. He didn’t even go through basic training.’
‘Straight into the undercover unit?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which, I suppose, was out of the frying-pan and into the fire?’
‘That was how his wife saw it. He seemed to be at greater risk as an undercover policeman than he was in the SAS, where at least he was always with fellow soldiers. Working undercover meant he was alone most of the time.’
‘He was undercover in prison when his wife died, wasn’t he?’
Gift nodded. It was a curious conversation. Button was telling her things she already knew from Shepherd’s file. She didn’t seem interested in the facts, more in Gift’s interpretation of them. Which meant that the meeting wasn’t about him, it was about her. ‘He was tasked with getting close to an international drug-dealer who was behind bars. While he was undercover in prison, his wife was killed in a car accident.’
‘And he decided to remain in prison to continue with the job, rather than abort and take care of his son?’
‘It was his decision,’ said Gift.
‘Heck of a call to make,’ said Button.
‘It was an important case. If he’d pulled out, the dealer would have got away with it.’
‘So Dan will put job before family?’
‘He tries to juggle them,’ said Gift. ‘Are you married, Charlie?’
‘Twelve years,’ said Button.
‘Children?’
‘A girl,’ said Button. ‘Ten.’
‘Then I suppose you can empathise with Dan, trying to mix parenthood with a career.’
Button smiled, showing white teeth so perfect they could only have been the result of good genes or expensive orthodontic work. ‘You’ll need a much higher security clearance to start debriefing me, Kathy,’ she said.
Gift returned the smile. ‘I wasn’t trying to analyse you,’ she said. ‘I was just making the point that you and Dan have something in common. I think he’s as capable as you are of mixing the two.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘What happens to me under the new regime? Do I continue to provide assessments on Dan and the rest of the undercover team?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And were you as sure of that prior to this meeting?’
‘You mean, was this an interview?’ Button shook her head. ‘No, absolutely not. Dan needs all the continuity he can get. It’s enough of a shock to his system that he’s losing Superintendent Hargrove. In fact, I’d like to start sending you more of my people. I’m impressed by your work.’
‘And will you be needing briefings like this, or will written reports be enough?’
‘Didn’t Superintendent Hargrove see you regularly?’
‘We met occasionally, but he was satisfied with written reports.’
‘I’ll need written reports, obviously, but I’ll also want to talk to you face to face.’
‘For the grey areas?’
‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘A lot of my operatives will be moving into a different league, and I need to know they can take the pressure.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘Take Dan, for instance. Until now he’s been working on basic criminal cases. He poses as a drug-dealer, a bank robber, a contract killer, and he gathers evidence against criminals. Hardcore, some of them, but the Serious Organised Crime Agency will go after bigger fish. The IRA’s criminal activities, for instance. The Russian Mafia. The Colombians. Al-Qaeda. If I’m putting Dan up against them I need to know he won’t crack under the pressure.’
Gift raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s tough. He’ll cope.’
‘That’s my view, too,’ said Button. She glanced at her watch. ‘I must go,’ she said. She stood up and offered her hand, which Gift shook.
She left the coffee shop and Gift moved with her coffee to a seat by the window. From there she could look down at the platforms below. Button went down the stairs, then walked away from the trains towards the taxi rank. Gift smiled to herself. She’d caught Charlotte Button in a deliberate lie. She wasn’t there to catch a train. It had been an unnecessary lie, too, because it was of no concern to her where Button was going. Gift wondered why she had lied. Habit, maybe. Instinct. Or because the lie was simpler than the truth, whatever it was. Perhaps the Lancome lipstick and the mascara weren’t for the office but for a lover. Perhaps there was more to Charlotte Button than met the eye.
A phone woke Shepherd from a dreamless sleep. It was Tony Corke’s. He squinted at his watch – just after ten o’clock in the morning. He took a couple of deep breaths to clear his head. He was Tony Corke, seaman, with a son he rarely saw and a court case looming. Early mornings and late nights were always the most dangerous times, when he was most likely to let his mask slip. He ran through his legend, ticking all the mental boxes. Dan Shepherd was pushed into the background. His feelings and memories had to be locked away because they might betray him. He took the call. ‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘Tony, it’s me. Salik.’
‘Hiya, Salik. How’s it going?’
‘Very well,’ said Salik. ‘Very well indeed. We have something for you, Tony.’
‘Music to my ears,’ said Shepherd. ‘So, where do we meet?’
‘Where are you?’
‘At home,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’m coming in to London so it’s not a problem.’
‘Why don’t you meet us at our office at, say, five o’clock? We can have a chat.’
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd.
‘Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the address.’
Shepherd didn’t need a pen. He knew the address already. It was the bureau de change in Edgware Road.
Shepherd walked into the pub. Hargrove was standing at the bar, staring at a television set on a shelf close to the ceiling. A cricket match. Shepherd didn’t care for cricket. He wasn’t a big fan of games – never had been, even at school. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being part of a team: the SAS was all about teamwork. The police, too – even on undercover cases, Shepherd was always part of a team. He just couldn’t understand what was enjoyable about throwing a ball at three pieces of wood. Or hitting one with a piece of metal at the end of a stick and walking after it. He was even less convinced by the pleasure to be had in watching others play. Spending ninety minutes watching two groups of men chasing a ball seemed to Shepherd a total waste of time. But that wasn’t an argument he ever wanted to have with the superintendent, who was a diehard cricket and rugby fan, and always wore cufflinks with a cricket motif.
‘Job well done, Spider,’ said Hargrove. ‘Jameson’s and ice?’
Shepherd nodded. Hargrove ordered it, and another pint of lager for himself. He was wearing a tweed jacket with a red waistcoat, dark trousers and brown brogues: his off-duty uniform. When he was working, he always wore a suit.
‘We’ve got all we need to put the Uddin brothers away on currency smuggling, and the French had the Albanians covered at every step of the way,’ said Hargrove.
‘Are they arresting them?’
‘Not yet. They want confirmation that the euros are coming from the North Koreans.’
‘And then what? A strongly worded letter to the ambassador? They can’t put a whole country on trial.’
‘This is bigger than one court case, Spider. It’s about dest abilising economies. It’s political.’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘I don’t agree. It’s about profits. The euro economy is – what? Trillions? Trillions upon trillions? A few million isn’t going to hurt economies as big as France and Germany. A few billion could be absorbed without anyone noticing.’
Their drinks arrived. The superintendent paid with a twenty-pound note and waited until the barman had given him his change before he replied. ‘You might be right.’
‘I know I am. They should do Kreshnik now, take him out of circulation.’
The superintendent sipped his lager. ‘There’s a problem,’ he said.
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Shepherd. ‘He never went near the money.’