‘By screwing-sorry, targeting-sweet Magdalen?’
Tom took another deep breath.‘I asked my friend to keep his ears open, and he came back with a hint about one of Roach’s grandchildren being rebellious and a possible source of inside information on the clan. I took a good long look at them all and came to the conclusion that it had to be Magdalen. She’s been a bit wild, recently divorced, reputation for partying. Four months ago she was picked up for drink driving,with traces of coke in the glove box, and when local CID interviewed her she said one or two odd things about her relatives that the detective thought significant enough to pass on to the Central Crime Squad.She had her driver’s licence suspended. The drugs matter wasn’t pursued.
‘So I decided to find out more about her, where she goes, who her friends are. I arranged to bump into her a couple of times at clubs, and gradually got talking to her. She let me take her home, because she shouldn’t be driving, although in fact she does use a car belonging to a relative who’s overseas. Since her divorce she’s been living in her parents’ house in The Glebe, but she’s pretty hostile about some members of the family, especially her father, Ivor. She’s really vitriolic about him and the way he treats her mother. That was the main reason she went to stay with them, she said, to keep an eye on her mother. They seem to be very close. She’s told me things we didn’t know, like the fact that her grandpa has a trophy cabinet, with guns.’
He let that sink in, watching Kathy’s mind working. ‘Brown Bread?’ she asked.
‘It’s possible. That’s one of the things I’d like to find out.We joke about her being like Rapunzel, living in a castle, and how I’d like to see inside. That would be impossible, of course, with her parents there, only they went to New York at the weekend for a few days, and most of the rest of the clan are travelling up north today for a family function. I’m seeing Magdalen at the club tonight, and she’s promised to take me home and show me around.’
‘Bren knows about all this, does he?’
Tom shook his head.‘Nobody does,until now.’
Kathy gaped at him. ‘Nobody? You’ve carried out your own private operation on the Roaches and you haven’t told anyone? And tonight you’re planning to walk into The Glebe without back-up, without letting anyone know?’
‘I’ve put everything down on file. It’s in the cabinet over there, everything I’ve done and learned, and when the time comes I’ll
go to Brock with it. But not yet.’
She made to protest, but he leaned urgently across the table. ‘Kathy, you know that Michael Grant was right about the connection between the Roaches and the Yardies, but we’re getting nowhere.We’re like a ship without a rudder. This is what I do-undercover work. If I find something, I’ll take it to Brock. If not, no harm done.’
‘You’ve got to tell Brock before tonight, Tom.’
‘And if I do, what will he say? My guess is that he’s been told to back off. If so, he can’t afford to let me go in.’
‘Try him.’
‘Kathy, it’s better he doesn’t know.’
She thought about that. It dawned on her just how badly Tom wanted a coup, something spectacular to recharge his career or wipe out whatever had gone wrong for him in Special Branch. His secretiveness was breathtaking, but then that was the way he’d been trained to be, and maybe only he could pull off the stunt he was planning. She also remembered Lloyd’s niggling joke about Tom wanting Brock’s job.
‘But I know.’
‘No you don’t. This conversation never happened.’
‘Of course it did. I’m involved now. If we don’t tell Brock, then I’m as responsible as you are. So I’ve got to be part of it.’
‘No way.’
‘She won’t see me, but I’ll be there, your back-up.You’ll keep in touch by texting me, and if you’re not out of The Glebe by a set time I’ll call in the troops.’
‘No. Having you in the background will only increase the risk to me, Kathy.’
‘Tough.’
‘You don’t trust me, do you?’
‘I wonder why?’
He sighed, and reluctantly began to negotiate their working arrangements for the evening.
Tom had arranged to meet Magdalen at a pub in Eltham, a short taxi ride from her home, and drive her from there to the club where they planned to spend the evening. It was the same one, the JOS, part-owned by Teddy Vexx, where George Murray had told Kathy that he and his group were appearing, and she found the coincidence alarming, especially when Tom confirmed that Vexx and Jay Crocker knew and were friendly with Magdalen, who apparently had a taste for Jamaican music.
For this reason, Kathy didn’t go into the JOS, but waited in her little Renault in the street opposite. She saw Vexx and Crocker arrive in the throbbing Peugeot,and later Tom and Magdalen in his Subaru.While she waited she watched the customers coming and going, listened to the muffled thump of the music and studied the band posters covering the outside walls, Black Troika among them. She wondered if George Murray was any good.
Shortly before midnight her phone signalled a text message from Tom: ‘WAKE UP ON OUR WAY’. They appeared soon after, Tom having to support Magdalen down the front steps. Her long legs looked as unsteady as a newborn pony’s or the rubbery hand she flapped at another couple leaving in the other direction. They laughed and waved back, and Tom gave them a rueful grin that Kathy felt was probably meant for her before he turned to steer his partner away down the street.
He drove at a sedate pace across South London, Kathy on his tail. It was twelve-forty when they reached the golf club gates at Shooters Hill, where Kathy pulled onto the verge beneath a low tree and watched Tom, parked further up the lane leading to The Glebe, ease Magdalen out of his car and help her walk towards the gates. They fumbled with the keypad for a while and then they were inside and everything was still.
The agreed deadline for Tom’s return was two, but at one-fifty Kathy received another message: ‘WORKING L8 MAKE IT 3’. The minutes crept by, getting closer and closer to the hour, until Kathy had her phone out, pressing the numbers for help-and then he was there, letting himself out of the gate and hurrying towards his car, head down, arms wrapped around his chest as if against the cold. His footing seemed unsteady, and at one point he stumbled and almost fell. Then he was in his car and turning, coming fast back up the lane. He hurtled past as Kathy made her turn and she watched his tail-lights disappear into the distance.
He was waiting for her at the junction with the main road, turning onto it as she appeared, and for a couple of miles she followed him towards central London. His driving seemed erratic, the Subaru weaving in and out of its lane and at one point almost colliding with a turning truck,and Kathy became alarmed,worried that something was wrong. Finally he signalled a turn into a quiet suburban street and drew in to the kerb. Kathy parked behind him, jumped out and pulled open his door.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Just not fit to drive. Take me home, will you? I’ll leave the car here.’
He hauled himself out and stumbled to her car, still clutching his leather jacket as before, and sank into the seat with a sigh.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
He nodded, eyes closed. ‘God, she took a bloody age to pass out.’
‘So, how did it go?’
‘Okay, I think.’
‘Did you find anything? Brown Bread?’
‘Not that, but maybe something better.’ He looked up at her with a Belmondo grin, took hold of the zip on his jacket and slid it slowly down, revealing a fat yellow envelope.‘Let’s go home and see what we’ve got.’ He closed his eyes again and fell asleep.
As she turned her car back to the main road Kathy felt a surge of relief. At least it hadn’t been a total disaster.
Tom woke as she drew to a stop outside his flat. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.‘I don’t think I’d have made it.’