You sound like a politician yourself, Carlyle thought. If this whole thing is so very important, why did they put the investigation into the hands of a Chief Inspector no one had ever heard of? You’re trying to operate way above your pay grade and it won’t work. All these people you are supposed to be investigating can bury you at any time they want.
Folding his arms, Meyer sat back in his chair. ‘I have carte blanche with this investigation. I will get to the bottom of things.’
‘Good luck with that.’ The inspector couldn’t resist a chuckle as he pushed himself out of his seat.
Meyer watched him get up. ‘Carole Simpson warned me that you were extremely cynical.’
‘You’ve talked to the Commander?’ Carlyle sat back down.
‘Carole and I go back a long way,’ Meyer told him. ‘She is very supportive of you — too supportive according to some people.’
What people?
‘But even she recognizes that there are long-standing concerns about your attitude.’
Fuck my so-called ‘attitude’, Carlyle thought. If he hadn’t come here for a job interview, he certainly hadn’t come for a lecture either.
‘She was quite amusing about it, in fact.’
Oh, was she? He was intending to have words with Commander bloody Simpson.
‘She said that you could start a fight in an empty room.’
‘Just another macho cop,’ Valette agreed.
‘Carole warned me that I would struggle to get you on board,’ Meyer said. ‘Not very good as a team player, are you?’
Having heard enough, Carlyle stuck up a hand. ‘Hold on, hold on. I appreciate the feedback but I merely came here to share information and to find out more about Duncan Brown.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, whatever my personal opinions, I understand and respect what you are trying to do here. Nor have I any interest in doing anything that would in any way compromise your investigation. But if you have any information about who killed Mr Brown, you need to share that with me immediately. And you can have confidence that I will use it carefully and appropriately.’ He paused, waiting for a response. None was forthcoming. ‘Look, if you’ve spoken to Simpson about my. . attitude, she must have also told you that I’m a safe pair of hands. I’m clean.’
After satisfying himself that the inspector had said his piece, Meyer finally replied. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘but it comes down to one simple fact: you’re either with us or you’re not.’
Carlyle shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I’m not.’
Valette made to get up but Meyer gestured for her to remain seated. ‘Because what we are doing, it’s not important enough for you?’ he sneered.
Carlyle gave an apologetic gesture. ‘No, because I don’t think it will make any difference. All the time, effort and money. All of those “victims” coming forward to tell their story. All the guys seconded to your investigation. The years and years and years of work. .’
Meyer jabbed an angry finger across the desk. ‘Heads will roll.’
‘Okay, so a few people may get the chop. Even a few terribly important people. So what? They’ll all be replaced sooner or later, anyway. And what will that leave us with? Same circus, different clowns.’
‘What?’ Meyer snapped.
‘That’s exactly what we have here,’ Carlyle went on. ‘The names of the clowns may change, but it’s still the same bloody circus. That’s just the way the Establishment works.’
‘Bravo!’ Valette gave him a quick round of mock applause. ‘The most cynical man in the room speaks. So we’re banging our heads against a brick wall?’
Carlyle said nothing.
‘But isn’t it just the same with all the cases you condescend to investigate?’ she demanded.
He thought about Duncan Brown’s friends and family, Hannah Gillespie’s parents, the Snowdons, and he said, ‘I can either make a difference to the lives of a small number of people or I move on.’
Arrogant, ego-driven little prick, Meyer thought. ‘So. .’
‘So tell me who killed Duncan Brown.’
‘Or?’
‘Or I’ll come back with a warrant.’
Meyer stared vacantly into space for a few moments. ‘We had Mr Brown under surveillance,’ he said finally. ‘We watched him go into the Cockpit Yard depot with another man.’
‘Who?’
‘A guy called Warren Schwartz,’ said Valette.
Carlyle thought about it for a moment but the name didn’t ring any bells. ‘Who’s he?’
‘He is a freelance consultant,’ Meyer explained, ‘a former soldier who provides a range of ill-defined services to clients. Last heard of in Montevideo, but he is known to have worked for Wickford Associates at least three times in the last eight years.’
The inspector couldn’t prevent himself from breaking into a smile.
‘That’s right,’ said Valette. ‘He is a known associate of Trevor Miller.’
‘So,’ Meyer sighed, ‘finally do you see why we want you to leave it alone?’
‘No,’ Carlyle said quietly. ‘Quite the reverse.’
‘It will get sorted in due course.’
‘Mm.’
Meyer pulled a mobile from his jacket pocket. ‘Do you want me to speak to Commander Simpson again? She has already agreed that you may not act on anything we have told you here today. If there is a problem with that, I can have you taken completely off the Duncan Brown case in less than a minute.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Trying to look suitably chastened, Carlyle stood up for a second time. ‘I understand.’
Meyer looked at Valette and then back to the inspector. ‘If anything significant develops, let Vanessa know straight away.’
‘Of course.’
‘This is our investigation and you cannot be allowed to compromise it in any way.’ Meyer dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Vanessa will see you out.’
‘No need,’ said Carlyle, already halfway to the door and pondering his next move.
THIRTY
By the time he got back to the station, Carlyle had managed to put all thoughts of Meyer, Valette and Operation Redhead behind him. Walking through reception, he was surprised to find Gemma Millington, Duncan Brown’s girlfriend, waiting patiently for him. Dressed for work in a grey trouser suit and cream blouse, she didn’t look any more upset about her boyfriend’s death than when they last spoke. Head down, she was typing furiously on her BlackBerry in one corner of the room. Carlyle was just thinking about leaving her there, when she looked up and saw him.
‘Good job you showed up,’ she began, getting up and moving briskly towards him. ‘I was only going to give you another couple of minutes.’
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
She finished typing her email and hit send before dropping the handset into an outsized black leather bag. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
Aware of his stomach growling, he took her gently by the arm and propelled her towards the front door. ‘We can talk outside. Let’s go and get some coffee.’
Five minutes later, they were sitting in a new cafe called Cactus that had sprung up on Monmouth Street. After careful consideration of the menu, Carlyle ordered a double macchiato and a mozzarella, tomato and basil panino. Millington settled for a Diet Coke with ice, no lemon.
Not having previously patronized the establishment, Carlyle gave it the once-over, quickly concluding that it wouldn’t last a year. ‘Not quite as fancy as the canteen in your offices,’ he observed. ‘If you’d given me a call, I’d have happily come over for lunch.’
Millington smiled. She looked less tired and more relaxed than the last time they had talked; in fact, she looked like she’d had a few days off in the sun. ‘I thought this would be better dealt with off-site.’
‘Fair enough.’ The waitress arrived with the Diet Coke and his macchiato. After taking a sip, Carlyle winced: it should have been hotter and sharper. He briefly thought about complaining but decided that he couldn’t be bothered, satisfying himself instead with revising the cafe’s life expectancy down to nine months.