Tughan smiled. It was the perfect moment for him, too. "Is this where you tell me about Gordon Rooker?"
Thorne just about stopped his jaw dropping. "What?"
"You must think I'm fucking stupid, Thorne. All that crap when we saw Billy Ryan about "barking up the wrong tree". You have been, but only by treating me like a mug."
"Hang on."
"I did some homework, none of it particularly taxing. I know all about your trips to Park Royal, both alone and with ex-DCI Chamberlain." Thorne glanced at Brigstocke, got a look back that said he'd known about this as well.
"It had nothing to do with this case," Thorne said. "There was no connection."
"There is now, though, right?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you."
"Which is why you were hassling Billy Ryan outside one of his arcades last night?" Tughan seemed to enjoy watching the puzzlement that Thorne knew was spreading across his face. "I knew about it while it was happening."
Thorne cast his mind back to the previous evening. He remembered Moloney walking away from them, talking angrily on his mobile. Thorne had thought he'd been calling for the car.
"Right, let's hear it."
So Thorne told them the whole story, ancient and modern. He told them about the calls to Carol Chamberlain and about his visits to Gordon Rooker. He told them about Jessica Clarke and about Rooker's revelation regarding her attacker. He told them about Rooker's offer.
"Why's he waited twenty years?" Brigstocke asked. It was the first of many questions all of the obvious ones which Thorne had asked himself, and Gordon Rooker. He gave the answers he'd been given: tried to explain why Rooker had confessed to such a heinous crime; why a man like him was able to survive better inside than on the street; why he had decided that he had to make sure Billy Ryan would not be waiting for him on the outside.
"So, we get him out, offer him witness protection, and he will testify against Billy Ryan for the attempted murder of Jessica Clarke?"
"Rooker knows all sorts of stuff," Thorne said. "He'll tell us everything, and he'll tell the court everything." Rain was starting to come down outside. The drops were heavy but not yet concentrated. For a few moments the noise of their sporadic tapping against the window was the only sound in the room.
"Who's making these calls to ex-DCI Chamberlain and getting creative with lighter fuel in her front garden?" Tughan sounded sceptical.
"We're presuming he's the man who really set fire to the girl, are we?"
"I don't know," Thorne admitted.
"It's a bit bloody coincidental, don't you think?"
"Rooker denies all knowledge of it."
"There's a shock." Tughan looked to Brigstocke. "Russell?"
"Some crony of Rooker's? An ex-con, maybe? Someone he's been in contact with…?"
Thorne tried not to sound impatient. "We've got time to check all of this," he said. "Look, Billy Ryan as good as killed that girl, and we've got a chance to nail him for it. Christ knows, he's done plenty of other things, but we can get him for this. It's got to be worth considering."
Thorne stopped himself adding: We should do it for Marcus Moloney. But only just…
The rain was falling harder now, beating out a tattoo against the glass.
"Obviously, people a damn sight higher than me are going to be doing the considering," Tughan said. "A damn sight higher than Jesmond even
…" He took a breath and reached for the phone. As he and Brigstocke got up and headed towards the door, Thorne thought about what Brigstocke had known and had chosen not to pass on. He wondered if he should have a chat with him about whose side they were supposed to be on. He decided it was probably not the right time. By lunchtime in the Royal Oak, the mood of the team had lightened a little, though it might just have been the power of beer. The Oak was the team's regular, but for no other reason than proximity. No one could remember a time when it hadn't been full of coppers, so no one could swear that they were the reason for the atmosphere, or the lack of it. It wasn't that Trevor, the cadaverous landlord, hadn't made an effort. He'd decorated the front of the lacquered-pine bar with Polaroids of various female regulars, all hoisting up their T-shirts to reveal bras or bare breasts. Elsewhere, he'd gone for a Spanish theme, with a good deal of fake wrought iron, a couple of sombreros gathering dust on a shelf above the bar, and two days a week when he cut up pork pies and Scotch eggs into small pieces and called it a tap as menu.
There was no Tughan, Kitson or Brigstocke in the pub, but most of the others were there. They raised a glass to Marcus Moloney. His death had eased a little of the tension between the Serious Crime Group mob and their counterparts from SO7. They were understandably united in their resolve to bring to justice those responsible for his death. For all the recent deaths.
Thorne applauded the sentiment, even if that's all it was. He hoped that the cracks wouldn't begin to show again too soon. He pushed away a half-eaten plate of chicken and chips as Holland slid in next to him with a tray of drinks. By now, everyone had moved on to Coke, mineral water or orange juice. Thorne, feeling himself starting to wilt a little, poured out his can of Red Bull. He glanced up at Holland and remembered the invitation he'd turned down. "Did you go for that beer last night? Sounded like you were set on a major session?"
"Just had a couple in here with Andy." He nodded towards the other side of the bar where Andy Stone, Sam Karim and a female DC from SO7 were deep in conversation. "Good job I didn't, really. Bearing in mind what time we were called out."
"I wasn't exactly stone-cold sober myself at four o'clock this morning," Thorne said. "Given what was down by that canal, it was probably a good thing."
"Found out something brilliant in here last night, though." Holland grinned and inched his chair a little closer to Thorne's. "You know Andy Stone reckons he has quite a bit of success with the women?"
Thorne followed Holland's gaze: Stone and the female DC seemed to be getting on extremely well. "Yes?" Thorne stretched the word out.
"He told me one of his tricks. He'd had a bit more to drink than me."
"I'm listening," Thorne said.
"He keeps a book on philosophy in his car." Holland laughed as Thorne's eyes widened. "Seriously. On the passenger seat, or down by the tapes, or wherever. Girl gets in…"Oh what's this?" Picks it up, has a look, she's convinced Stone's a deep thinker." There was a pause, then Thorne almost snorted Red Bull down his nose. "This is the worst bit," Holland said, 'it fucking works." Thorne laughed even harder, wiped the drink from his jacket. He looked up when he heard a familiar Mancunian accent.
Hendricks was pointing at the can of Red Bull. "That stuff won't wake you up if you apply it externally," he said.
"What are you doing up here? I thought you had Moloney's PM to do." Hendricks glanced at his watch. "Starting in a couple of hours. There's a queue of corpses out the bloody doors down at Westminster Morgue."
Holland got up to make room for Hendricks and headed for the Gents'.
"Tughan wanted to see me over the road." Hendricks dropped into the chair Holland had vacated. "He wanted a preliminary report."
"Well? Do I get to hear it?"
Hendricks looked confused. "What d'you think I came here for?"
"Go on, then."
"Moloney died from gunshot wounds to the head. Almost certainly a nine mil. No bullets found in the car, so I'll have to dig them out to be certain."
"Same pattern of knife wounds?"
"Yeah."
Thorne had heard Hendricks sound more certain. "Not sure?"
"I'm still not convinced I know what sort of blade he's using. It could be a filleting knife. Also, the cuts weren't quite as neat as they were on Clayton and the others."
"Perhaps he had less time."
"Right. And maybe Moloney struggled a bit more than some of the other victims."