Larry turned from the wardrobe abruptly, checking his watch.
“It’s late,” he said, and went to the door. “See you in the morning.”
“Sweet dreams,” Von Joel said, laughing softly.
As the door closed he got to his feet. He stood with his hands on his hips, face taut with concentration. Crossing to a calendar hanging on the wall he flipped through the leaves, studying the dates. All the days up to the present had been crossed off. As he stared his eyes became distant. His mouth tightened to a grim line. Anyone seeing him would have said he looked uncommonly tense, even dangerous.
11
On Friday morning the document traffic in the incident room hit a level that threatened to overwhelm every effort at containment. A flurry of case papers, generated by arrests based on Von Joel’s evidence, collided with a corresponding increase in the movement of information, most of it computer activity centered on the criminal record banks. New and updated information was input as fast as old data were retrieved; stepped-up surveillance of suspects produced an intake of queries and status reports that threatened to block the telephone and fax lines.
DI Frank Shrapnel could not reach DCI McKinnes by telephone, so at ten-thirty he came up and delivered a summary of the progress report he would be presenting later in writing. McKinnes liked to do things that way, in case preediting was necessary. The meeting was conducted at the center of the pandemonium in the incident room. In view of the pressure on the Chief’s time Shrapnel kept his remarks brief, and ended on a welfare note. “I’m not putting it in the record, Guv, it’s just a suggestion — give Jackson the weekend off. Let him step aside for a breather. Not that anything’s up, you understand. He’s pretty fresh, they’re getting very pally, but that could be a problem if there’s no break. He’s doing the job every day, just the two of them down there head-to-head. Then they eat together, talk for hours every night — they’re hardly ever out of each other’s sight. It’s just an observation, Guv, it’s very claustrophobic down there—”
“He should try it up here!” McKinnes waved his arm at the frenetic activity going on around them. “You hear about that dickhead Jefferson defending Bingham? We had nothing on the geezer, we had to pull him in on nonpayment of parking tickets! Jefferson looked a bit green around the gills. He’s as bent as hell, but he knows if he mouths off about Myers we’re all going to be in trouble. I’m pushing the dates forward to get Myers out to show us the location of the shooter, just in case.”
McKinnes snatched a fax that was being pushed at him. He read it, his face turning red.
“Shit!” He turned to Shrapnel. “Minton’s been released! Can you frigging believe it? Fifty grand bail!”
A dark thought occurred to Shrapnel.
“Have we got a good bloke on Jackson’s place?” he asked.
Before McKinnes could reply the Superintendent appeared before them. He looked delicately pained.
“I’ve just been told about the Bingham situation. It stinks. Represented by Jefferson, indeed...”
“Not anymore,” McKinnes said. “Jefferson’s backed off, said he didn’t know it had anything to do with Myers. Jefferson’s an oily bastard, but he knows to keep his mouth shut.”
“So how’s Jackson working out?” the Superintendent said. “He give us anything new?”
“So far so good,” McKinnes said. “We got a lot in from last night. It’s all tallying up.” He waved the fax he had just read. “This is bad news about Minton, Guv. Nothing on that cash we found? It’s got to be hot.”
“Nothing,” the Superintendent said.
“Can’t we hold him on not declaring income, then? He said it’s his tax money. Twenty-five grand? Do me a favor.”
The Superintendent, looking even more pained now, had picked up a clipped bundle of fax sheets and was flipping through them. He looked up sharply at McKinnes.
“We better get onto that shooter fast, Jimmy. We need to nail him this time. He’s got very strong alibis and last time they held up.”
DC Frisby appeared as the telephone rang. The Superintendent picked it up. Frisby handed McKinnes a sheet of paper, explaining that British Telecom had been asked to give details of all calls going out from Minton’s home.
“I thought you’d better have a look, Guv,” Frisby said. “Second call down.”
“Jimmy...” The Superintendent covered the telephone mouthpiece. “Good news. Bill Richards, Brian Tyler, and Henry Vosper have admitted their part in the Heathrow robbery...”
McKinnes looked up from the BT report, his eyes wide.
“Minton’s been calling his pals in Marbella.” He showed the Super the sheet of paper. “These calls go back to just after we brought Myers over.” He stared at the paper again. “Minton must have been tipped off we got Myers.”
“Put an extra man on Jackson’s home,” the Superintendent snapped. “And do it now.”
“I’ll let Jackson off for the weekend,” McKinnes said.
DC Frisby, a known opportunist, was all ears. On his single visit to the Jackson house he had managed to ease himself on to chummy terms with Susan. The chance of a second visit was not something he would pass up.
“Can I do anything, Guv?” he said, his face creased with concern. “He’s got two kids—”
“I know!” McKinnes shouted. “You think I don’t know?”
Susan was creaming her face at the dressing-table mirror when she heard the front door bang. She froze, listening, her hands held in front of her, fingers up, like a surgeon at the operating table. The bedroom door opened suddenly and she jumped.
“Hi!” Larry said brightly.
“My God...” Susan almost put a hand over her heart, then remembered the cream on her hands. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”
“I didn’t know myself. The Guv’nor just said I could take home my dirty washing.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Susan stood up. “How long are you here for?”
“I go back Sunday night.” Larry dumped his bag at the foot of the bed. He opened his arms. “Come here...” Susan stepped close and he wrapped his arms around her. “Missed me?”
“What do you think?”
They kissed, moving toward the bed. Larry noticed two women’s magazines open on the duvet; memory produced a jarring note. He closed his eyes, kissing Susan harder, pressing her down onto the bed. After a moment she disentangled herself.
“Check the kids,” she said. “I don’t want them barging in.”
Lawrence went to the door. He paused, looking at Susan.
“You fancy anything apart from me?” he said. “I’m a bit hungry.”
The boys were fast asleep. Larry closed their door softly, crept downstairs and put on the kitchen light. He opened the fridge. The shelves were crammed; there were meat pies, fish fingers, beef burgers, instant custard, cream cakes, cans of Coke and two bottles of gold-top milk. He shut the door again.
The cupboard shelves offered a variety of tins: baked beans, beans and sausage, burgers and beans, savory mince, spaghetti hoops, meatballs in gravy, and frankfurters. He shut the cupboard, looked around and spotted the fruit bowl. He helped himself to an apple.
As he put out the light again he peered through the window. A uniformed policeman was walking slowly down the street behind the house.