‘Bloody politicians.’
This time, Simpson nodded sympathetically.
‘No matter,’ said Shelbourne cheerily, ‘we’ll take it on the chin. Just say that the time for arguing over words has long gone. What we need now is a big debate across London in terms of how we empower local communities and reduce the fear of crime, especially among young people in the inner city.’
Wasn’t having a big debate the same as arguing over words? Simpson wondered.
Clearly unconvinced, Sir Chester clasped his hands together. ‘A big debate?’
‘Yes,’ Shelbourne chortled. ‘With a bit of luck, if we have a big enough debate, by the time it’s finished, the Guardian will have gone bust. Those hand-wringing lefties couldn’t find a sustainable business model if it hit them over the head.’
Sir Chester grunted. He couldn’t care less about the travails of the newspaper industry. ‘And what about our friend Mr Meyer?’
‘You know the drill on that one,’ Shelbourne replied. ‘We never comment on Chief Inspector Russell Meyer, or on Operation Redhead.’
‘But we’ll get asked about it, nevertheless.’ Feeling a further spasm in his lower back, Sir Chester allowed his eyes to close. Maybe he could wish all his troubles away. That’s what Tanya would tell him to do: sit back, relax, and breathe your troubles away. His wife had been a stress counsellor, back in the days before she enjoyed the honour and privilege of becoming the second Mrs Forsyth-Walker. As such, she was a firm believer in the power of positive thinking.
Then, again, Tanya had never had to try and run the bloody Met.
‘Operation Redhead is completely independent of the MPS,’ Shelbourne parroted, ‘and does not come under your control. We have no particular insights into its operations, and have made it clear from the start that we will never comment on its progress.’
Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Sir Chester tried to think of something positive.
‘Maybe I should get going,’ said Simpson, as she slid out of her chair.
‘Just one final thing, Commander.’
‘Yes?’
The Commissioner’s eyes opened slowly. ‘Your man chasing the Mosman bomber. .’
Simpson stiffened. ‘What about him?’
‘Is he up to it?’
Stopped in her tracks, the Commander placed a hand on the back of the chair. ‘Inspector Carlyle is a very experienced officer, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘If you look at his track record. .’
Another spasm shot through Sir Chester’s abdomen, causing him to wince in pain. As he waited for it to pass, his mood darkened even further. ‘I don’t care about his bloody track record,’ he snapped. ‘Even a blind squirrel manages to find the occasional nut.’
Shelbourne let out a girlish titter.
‘What?’ Simpson asked.
‘I don’t care about the past,’ Sir Chester grunted. ‘I care about the here and now. Is he going to sort this nonsense out?’
Simpson nodded. ‘I understand the need for a quick result, sir. Rest assured, the inspector is on top of it.’ Defending her colleague did not come naturally to the Commander. Their relationship had improved considerably over the last couple of years, but Carlyle still made her uneasy. His ability to get results was matched only by his capacity to be immensely annoying and totally unmanageable. Given the circumstances, she knew better than to try and take him off the case now. ‘He handled the situation well, I thought.’
‘We can’t afford to wait too long for results.’
Simpson took a half-step backwards, towards the door. ‘That is well understood. I am sure that Inspector Carlyle will deliver.’
The Commissioner looked less than convinced. ‘Keep me fully informed, Commander.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Good.’ Turning to his PR flunky, Sir Chester ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. ‘I’m all yours, Simon. Will I be doing any television?’
FOURTEEN
STREET ENVIRONMENT SERVICES
Activities: Composting, Education amp; Awareness, Recycling, Street Cleaning, Waste Collection.
Our Role: To maintain and improve the street environment for all those who live or work in or visit Camden. We will provide high quality and progressive waste management and recycling, street cleaning and energy management services and promote the importance of looking after the environment now and for the future.
‘It’s all glamour, this job,’ Carlyle mumbled to himself as he read the sign next to the door at the top of the stairs. Stepping inside, he nodded at Joe.
‘Boss.’
Carlyle looked his sergeant up and down; saw he was still wearing the same clothes and hadn’t shaved. ‘You look like a man who’s been up all night.’ As the inspector got closer, he realized that his colleague didn’t smell that great either, but for once he was too polite to mention that.
Joe shrugged. ‘I got an hour’s sleep in one of the cells at the station.’
‘Comfortable?’
‘Very nice.’ Joe managed a tired smile. ‘They even brought me a cup of tea when it was time to get up.’
‘Mm.’ I’m too old for that kind of thing, Carlyle thought. ‘How did it go with the. .?’ He tried to remember the name of the family of the missing girl, but his mind was blank.
‘The Gillespies,’ Joe reminded him. ‘It went so-so. I spoke to them again about half an hour ago. Hannah still hasn’t turned up, but we haven’t hit the panic button just yet.’
‘Mm.’ That seemed about all that the inspector was able to manage at the moment.
‘It’s not great for the parents but we just have to wait.’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve done all the usual checks,’ Joe confirmed.
‘Okay.’ Parking the runaway teenager for the moment, Carlyle turned his attention to the gaunt man who sat behind a battered desk, busily tapping away at a computer keyboard.
‘This is Danimir Janko,’ Joe explained. ‘He’s the supervisor here.’
‘Bastards!’ Danimir hissed, apparently oblivious to the inspector’s arrival. He gestured at the screen. ‘See what they do?’
‘We’ve got the security images up,’ said Joe, as Carlyle walked round the desk to take a look. ‘You can see pretty well what happened.’
‘See?’ The twenty-inch screen was split into four quarters, each showing a different grainy, green-tinged still of the depot yard at night. Danimir pointed to the top-right quadrant and clicked on the mouse. As the video began running, two figures appeared out of the gloom. One was suited and booted while the other wore a hooded top, jeans and sneakers.
‘No prizes for guessing which one is the killer,’ said Joe as the hoodie pushed open the gate and the duo stepped into the depot.
Carlyle leaned forward to get a closer view. ‘Wasn’t it locked?’
‘Vandals.’ Danimir shrugged. ‘It’s been broken for almost a month now, but the Council?’ He spoke wearily. ‘They do nothing.’
Carlyle just about managed not to grin. On the screen, the two figures walked across the yard before disappearing between two trucks. ‘Is that it?’
‘Wait,’ said Danimir. ‘I speed it up.’
It took only a few seconds to fast-forward through the next four minutes.
‘There!’ The hoodie reappeared and Danimir instantly returned the tape to normal speed. Carlyle watched as the man retraced his steps, exiting through the broken gate and disappearing back into the gloom.
‘Two go in,’ said Joe, ‘and one comes out. That’s our man.’
‘Presumably there are no images of what they got up to in the meantime?’ the inspector asked.
‘No.’ Danimir shook his head. ‘You can see the pair of them coming in from different angles, then heading across the yard, but once they go between those vehicles, there’s nothing. They’re hidden.’
‘That figures,’ Carlyle sighed. ‘Can we enhance the images to get a better look at the guy wearing the hood?’