‘Even if it exists and I could access it, I couldn’t possibly pass on confidential JIC material to you,Michael.Can’t you approach them through your committee, or through the Prime Minister’s Office?’
‘I’ve tried that, but they’ve had their fingers burnt by Roach before. They say they have nothing of relevance to the Home Affairs Committee. Look, I’m not asking you to break any confidences,just to compare notes informally,give each other pointers. I’m willing to share what I know with you,and in the light of what you may know from JIC sources or wherever, you may be able to provide a critique,help me focus my arguments.We’re very much on the same side, David, approaching the same problem from different directions.’
Brock wasn’t sure about the consistency of that last sentence. ‘There is another difficulty. If you use police evidence on your committee, there’s a risk, isn’t there, that you could compromise a future criminal trial?’
‘Our guidelines cover that. The key phrase is “matters currently before a court of law”. At the rate the police have been going, how long will it be before that happens?’
Brock nodded.‘Point taken.’
‘But I appreciate the sensitivities, and in view of that I’d like to suggest that we don’t communicate directly on this. How about you nominate a member of your team to chat from time to time with my research officer, Andrea? Keep things at arm’s length.’
It seemed innocuous enough, and Brock agreed.
On the way out they passed through the Central Lobby again, midway between the House of Commons and the House of Lords, and Grant stopped suddenly,staring at a line of people waiting at an information counter.
‘Kerrie?’
The only black woman in the queue turned, looked embarrassed for a moment, then broke into a big smile.‘Michael!’
Grant introduced her to Brock. ‘Kerrie’s the manager of my constituency office in Cockpit Lane.’
‘Yes, hello. I’ve been helping Sergeant Kolla contact people.’
‘But what are you doing here, Kerrie?’
‘I’m doing the PDVN course.’
Grant looked blank.
‘The Parliamentary Data and Video Network course, Michael.We talked about it,remember? Andrea set it up for me.’
‘Oh yes, sorry. There’s this big divide between the staff in the House and staff out in the constituencies,’ he explained to Brock.
‘It’s very important for people like Kerrie to come over and get brought up to speed.’
‘Apart from which I can move your constituency office broadband and email onto the central system and save you money.’
‘And access the intranet, yes. So what’s the problem?’
‘I can’t find the room.’ She showed Grant the memo.
‘That’s Norman Shaw South,’ he said.‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
He led the way down the steps to the lobby in front of the entrance to Westminster Hall, now screened by a temporary partition, beyond which they could hear an excited hum of conversation.
‘Sounds like the widows are having fun,’ he said, and continued on through St Stephen’s porch into the sunlight of Parliament Square, where he shook Brock’s hand and said goodbye.
That evening Tom Reeves took Kathy to a screening of Jean-Luc Godard’s 1960 film Breathless at a New Wave movie festival that was running at the National Film Theatre. She hadn’t seen it before, and Tom promised that she would find it interesting. She did, both for itself and for what it told her about Tom. At first it had seemed paradoxical, to say the least, that a cop should be so enthusiastic about the Jean-Paul Belmondo character, Michel, a crook who murders a cop. But then she began to notice subtle reflections of Tom in him-witty but also moody, and with a laconic smile that seemed to suggest unshakeable scepticism about the world and all its works. Even their looks found an echo, vaguely roguish and battered, though no one could look quite like Belmondo, with his concave boxer’s nose and thick Gallic lips.
‘At the end of shooting,’ Tom explained, ‘the American girl, Jean Seberg, was so disgusted by the whole thing that she said she didn’t want her name attached to it, and Belmondo, too, was appalled by the amateurishness of Godard’s production. Then the film came out and everyone went crazy about it, and they both realised that it was the most important thing they’d ever done. That’s genius, you see. The masterstroke that no one recognises until it’s been pulled off.’
The way he said it, it didn’t sound so much like a bit of film criticism as a statement about life. Kathy wondered if Michel would have put it like that.
Tom had another quote about Belmondo. ‘He said that women over thirty are at their best, but men over thirty are too old to recognise it.’
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but took it as a compliment, and as he drove her home she found herself warming to the thought of him coming up to her flat. She even got as far as trying to remember if she had any eggs to give him for breakfast, but when they reached her door he kissed her tenderly for a long moment, then said he couldn’t stay.
On Monday morning Brock reassigned his team to other cases. No one referred to the Roach episode, as if it was over and best forgotten. But by the end of the briefing Kathy and Tom hadn’t been mentioned. Brock nodded to them as the meeting broke up and they followed him up to his office.
They noticed that he hadn’t removed his own copies of the Brown Bread material from the big wall facing his desk. Kathy was struck by the symmetry between the pictures of the Roach family on one side and of the Brown Bread victims on the other, like the line-up for opposing soccer teams.
‘Despite what I said downstairs,’ Brock said, pouring coffee, ‘I still believe that discovering the truth behind the events of twenty-four years ago will be the key to finding Dee-Ann and Dana’s murderers. So . . . your boss says you can stay with us for a while longer, Tom.’
‘Glad to be rid of me, is he, Chief?’ ‘He didn’t say that exactly. It was my request. You all right
with that?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
Brock smiled benignly, passing the cups around, but Kathy wasn’t fooled. He was watching their body language, the way they chose seats and leaned in together for the milk, trying to work out what was going on between them. Or maybe she was just being hypersensitive, the three of them together like that in his room.
‘Good. I didn’t mention it downstairs, but I’d like you two to stick with Brown Bread for a while longer, tie up some loose ends. Tom, you’re our Roach expert now. Commander Sharpe has asked for a summary of our investigation to put on file for the Organised Crime Liaison Group. Did you ever come across an OCLG or JIC file on Roach?’
‘Don’t recall one.’
‘You might use your Branch contacts to see if there is such a thing-informal approach, nothing official.’
‘Okay.’
‘Did you meet the MP, Michael Grant? His office in Cockpit Lane helped Kathy track down the identity of our victims. Grant is also interested in Roach. He’s a bit of a crusader against drugs and crime in his community, and he’s convinced the Roaches are still operating, in partnership with the local black gangs.’
‘Really?’ Tom looked doubtful. ‘News to me. The Trident people didn’t think it likely, did they?’
‘No, but still, Grant claims to have information that he’s willing to share with us. I want you to talk to his research officer, Andrea.’ He handed Tom her card. ‘See what you think. They’ll want some quid pro quo, I daresay, but don’t give them anything without talking to me first.’
‘Haven’t really got much to give, have we?’
‘True. Kathy . . .’ He put his hands flat on the desk, as if at a
loss.‘What do you think?’ ‘Loose ends? Well, who pressured the Singhs and Ferguson?’ ‘Yes. Anything else?’ ‘Neighbours? Rainbow?’ ‘Ah, Rainbow, of course. How did we manage without it?’ ‘I’ll have a look, shall I?’ ‘Please . . . By the way, did Michael Grant put you in touch with Mrs Lavender among his contacts, by any chance?’