“Really.”
The lorry had passed the shop, finally.
“You’ll like this. He attempted to rob a petrol station with a fork.”
Breen couldn’t help but look at the Irishman again. “A garden fork?”
“No. Just a table fork. Honest to God. A garden fork would have been better, I should say. He was drunk, I believe. And all he wanted was some cigarettes. So he threatened the guy on the petrol pumps with a fork. Like an ordinary table fork that you’d eat your dinner with. True story. And now he’s inside for armed robbery. All for a packet of ten Bensons. Can you imagine?”
“With a fork?” He turned his head. Still no one across the way.
“That’s right. And of course he was so ashamed he didn’t want to call nobody. So that’s why we never heard a whisper. You would be ashamed, really, I’d imagine, under the circumstances.”
“Yes.”
“It would be hard enough in prison. ‘You’re in for armed robbery. You must be a tough nut. Was that a double-barreled shotgun you used?’ ‘No, it was a fork.’” The man burst out laughing. He signaled to the barman for another drink.
Breen had seen nothing moving behind the glass since he’d returned from the phone call. Maybe Okonkwo was still at his desk at the back of the shop.
“I can’t say I wasn’t relieved to hear he was alive, at least,” said Nolan. “I’d have felt terrible if it was him. Did you find out who the poor bugger under the bonfire was?”
Breen shook his head. “I thought I had.”
“Well, I’m awful sorry to spoil that for you.”
Breen shook his head. “Sometimes you don’t find out.”
“That’s a terrible thing. A poor man dying and nobody caring enough for him to notice he’s gone.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Let me buy you a drink, Sergeant. It would be an honor to buy a drink for the son of Tomas Breen.”
Breen didn’t want a drink, but he asked for a pint of Heineken just the same so as not to offend the man and then, to be polite, took a sip from the top of it.
He had drunk almost a half by the time Carmichael arrived, with Jones in tow.
“I have to go,” he told the older man.
“Good luck, Mr. Breen,” he replied, swaying gently on his stool.
When they reached the shop, Breen couldn’t see anyone inside. Cautiously he tried the door. It was locked.
The hairs on his neck were prickling now. He started walking up Portobello Road, then broke into a run as he rounded the corner into Blenheim Crescent.
When he reached the corner where he’d left Tozer to stand, she was not there. He turned on his heels and started sprinting back up to where they’d left the police car.
“Paddy?” said Carmichael. “Where are you going?”
Running up the pavement, Breen careened into a woman pulling a shopping basket across the pavement. The basket tipped on its wheels. A cabbage rolled out onto the pavement.
“Oi!”
He didn’t stop. But when he reached the small side street the police car was gone.
Thirty-one
And she hasn’t called in?”
“Don’t think so,” said Jones.
“The radio wasn’t working,” said Breen.
“Typical.”
“She’ll phone in,” someone said.
“Oh, Christ.”
The CID room was full of noise. Everybody in the station seemed to be crowding in there. “It’s been the best part of an hour already. You’d have thought she would have had time to call in by now.”
“She’s just gone off somewhere, I expect,” said Marilyn. “You know what she’s like. She’s done it before anyway. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Breen glared at her.
The rush-hour traffic had been torture. Even with the sirens blaring it had taken them over half an hour to crawl back to the station.
“Jesus. You think she’s OK?”
Bailey said, “What in heaven’s name was she doing on surveillance anyway? She’s a woman.” He looked pale.
“She wasn’t on surveillance. It was just till backup arrived.”
“A plonk on a stakeout?” said Jones. “For God’s sake.”
“It wasn’t a stakeout,” said Breen.
Carmichael turned to him and said, “She was doing a sight more than you ever do, Jonesy.”
Breen was surprised by Carmichael coming so strongly to Tozer’s defense. Breaking the brief silence that followed, Carmichael said, “What are we going to do, then?”
“Can I remind you that the murder at London Airport and the subsequent disappearance of Officer Tozer are a Scotland Yard operation now?” said Bailey. “They are coordinating this.”
A groan went round the room.
“I’m sorry, but that’s procedure.”
Carmichael ignored him. “We can assume he ran because he was guilty, yes? Of killing Morwenna Sullivan. Right, Paddy?”
“In his own house, I’m pretty sure.”
Okonkwo had said Ezeoke would try and make it to Portugal, but then Okonkwo had almost certainly been lying all along. Where could Ezeoke be now?
“He’s already killed one woman we know of,” said Carmichael.
“You can’t just lose a bloody police car,” someone said.
Breen cornered Marilyn in the kitchen. “Are you quite sure she didn’t phone in?” he said.
“You mean, you think I wouldn’t tell you?” she said, turning her back to him as she spooned coffee into a cup.
“You’ve made it pretty clear you hate her.”
She spun round so fast he had no time to raise his hand to protect his face before she slapped him.
“For fuck’s sake, Paddy. I think she’s an arrogant bitch, but you think I wouldn’t tell you?”
He stood there blinking at her.
“You’re such a moron sometimes, Paddy bloody Breen. You don’t have the foggiest, do you? You’re the most heartless man I ever met.”
She was still shaking with anger when he left her, standing in the kitchen, spilling the sugar she was trying to spoon into a cup.
“She ever come back to your place?”
Carmichael and Breen were standing on a traffic island, marooned by speeding cars. Carmichael picked his moments to talk about this stuff.
“Yes.” Breen was looking at the westbound traffic, waiting for a gap. The skin stung on his face from where Marilyn had slapped him.
“Bit weird, isn’t she, Tozer? Did you an’ her ever…?”
Breen shook his head. He would have asked Carmichael the same question but he wasn’t confident he’d get the answer he wanted to hear.
“I always thought you had,” said Carmichael. A motorbike roared past, just a foot away from them. “Thing is. She’s a pain in the arse. But…” Carmichael changed the subject. “This traffic is ridiculous. In ten years London will have ground to a halt. They’re thinking about building monorails above all the streets.”
When they made it across the road there was a uniformed copper in front of the steps outside the hospital. Scotland Yard would have stationed him there to keep a lookout for Ezeoke. “You been here all day?”
The copper nodded. “It’s not like the man’s going to try and walk in the front door. Not after what he’s done.”
Carmichael grunted again and they strode on. “Prosser came in this morning.”
“Marilyn said.”
“What’s that all about?”
Breen shrugged.
“Don’t do that, Paddy. There’s been something going on between you and Prosser. He’s jacking it in.”
“So I heard.”
“And?”
Breen shrugged.
“I’m supposed to be your mate, Paddy.”
“I can’t say.”
“Did Prosser tell you why he was going?”
“Sort of. I can’t say, though. I promised.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to see the back of him. Just tell me.”
Breen didn’t answer. However much he loathed Prosser, he’d made a deal with the man.
“Fine,” Carmichael said. “Suit yourself.”
The lobby was busy. A patient on crutches leaning against a wall in his striped pajamas. A white-coated doctor talking to a young woman. Staff trotting past with determined steps. Breen turned to the woman on reception. “Where’s the Senior Registrar’s office?”