‘Me?’ Sitting back on the banquette, Ross folded his arms. ‘I don’t want anything. Why should I? At my age I’m untouchable.’
‘So why are you doing this?’
‘Because, given what has happened, I want to fuck Trevor up just as much as you do. This is supposed to be my retirement. Now I’m having to run about here, there and everywhere, trying to clear up all his shit while he ponces about like he’s God’s bloody gift.’
The inspector wanted to believe what Ross was saying, but maybe the old bugger was setting him up. Or maybe he was just a bored old man who wanted some attention and someone sitting with him in the pub. ‘So where is Trevor now?’
‘Somewhere safe.’ Ross took another mouthful of beer. ‘Waiting for me to tell him what to do next.’ He clocked the look of concern that flashed across Carlyle’s face and grinned malevolently. ‘Don’t worry, he’s still in the country — for now. He knows that things are going tits-up big time though. If we don’t move fast, he’ll try and do a runner for sure.’
‘So when do I get him?’ Carlyle asked, sounding way too eager.
‘When the time is right,’ Ross replied vaguely.
‘And when will that be?’
‘When I bloody say so.’ He nodded towards the bar. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you go and get me another pint.’
Licking his lips, Sir Chester Forsyth-Walker eyed the generous glass of Martell XO clutched in the Prime Minister’s hand. I’ve come all the way over to your club to tell you in person about this, he thought, so the least you could do is offer me a bloody drink.
Sadly for the Commissioner, hospitality was not high on Edgar Carlton’s current agenda. As a waiter approached, the PM shooed him away with an imperious wave of his free hand. ‘How many people know about this?’
With a look of dismay, the Commissioner watched the flunky retreat. ‘Not that many. The officer in charge was smart enough to bring it straight to me.’
‘Mm.’ Edgar knew that wouldn’t count for much: news like this would leak faster than the Titanic after it had hit the iceberg. Some bugger will have tweeted the news by the time I sit down for dinner, he thought grimly. If they haven’t already. ‘And there’s no doubt about all this? We’re sure Miller’s guilty?’
Still trying to catch the waiter’s eye, Sir Chester replied, ‘Yes. The evidence, from what I understand, is fairly compelling.’
‘Fine.’ Edgar lifted the heavy crystal glass to his lips and drank deeply. He should have known this day would come. That was the thing about politics: all of your people fall by the wayside sooner or later. Then, when you — the chief! — are the last man standing, someone steps up to take you out as well. The actual circumstances might come as a surprise, but the narrative was as inevitable as it was predictable.
In the PM’s book, Trevor Miller had always seemed solid, dependable. Obviously, the guy had flipped. Something must have short-circuited in his brain. This was what his spin doctors liked to call ‘a game changer’. Edgar had never known what exactly the term meant until now.
Out of the corner of his eye, the PM saw Sir Gavin O’Dowd slip into the room. Waiting until the Cabinet Secretary was within discreet earshot, he asked: ‘Is it done?’
‘Yes,’ Sir Gavin nodded. ‘Your new interim Head of Security has been appointed as of,’ he looked at his cheap-looking watch, ‘twelve minutes ago.’ He mentioned a name but Edgar swatted it away. At this moment, the precise details of Trevor Miller’s replacement were irrelevant.
‘Good. And what are you going to say about Mr Miller himself?’
‘When the calls start coming in, the Press Office has been told to adopt a strict “no comment” policy. We will hold to that for as long as possible.’
Sighing theatrically, Edgar looked under-impressed.
O’Dowd gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I know that it is less than satisfactory.’
‘Even by your exalted standards of insight,’ the Prime Minister said drily, ‘that is something of an understatement.’
‘It is far from satisfactory,’ Sir Gavin repeated, the rictus grin on his face looking like it was about to crack. ‘But we are where we are. The press team will hold to the line for as long as they can.’
Which will be about six seconds, Sir Chester estimated grimly.
‘Only if someone starts running a story about Miller being suspected of murder and on the run will we go to a line against inquiry saying that this is a police matter and that he has been relieved of his duties pending their enquiries.’
A look of extreme annoyance crossed Sir Chester’s face as he noticed the large G amp;T that had just been placed in the Cabinet Secretary’s hand. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
‘You?’ Sir Gavin shot the police chief a patronizing smile. ‘I think it’s probably best if you try to do nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Just do what you can to stop the information from leaking out. When it eventually does, get your guy to give the press something suitably bland that doesn’t make things even worse.’
‘You think you can manage that?’ Edgar demanded.
‘Of course,’ said the Commissioner stiffly. Privately, he wondered if even that much was achievable. The whereabouts of ‘his guy’ was currently a mystery. Much to his boss’s annoyance, Simon Shelbourne’s mobile had been switched off for the last hour. This was easily the biggest crisis of Sir Chester’s career and the stupid little bugger had gone incommunicado.
‘Good.’ Sir Gavin tasted his gin and gave a small grunt of approval. ‘How long do you think it will take to place the. . er. . suspect in custody?’
‘Impossible to say.’ Suffering from the chronic lack of alcohol in his bloodstream, Sir Chester wasn’t going to stand there and try to pretend that they had any clue as to Miller’s location. ‘We are trying to track him down at this very moment, but we have yet to pick up his trail.’
‘Pick up his trail?’ Edgar complained. ‘This is not a bloody fox hunt. He can’t have gone far, so get your officers off their arses and damn well find him!’
Sir Gavin shot his boss a look that said Calm down. ‘I am sure that the Commissioner is making this his number-one priority at the present time.’
‘That is absolutely the case,’ Sir Chester confirmed. ‘Yes.’
‘And, as this is a police matter,’ Sir Gavin continued, ‘we should be doing nothing more than assisting the police in dealing with this most serious and grave situation.’
‘Miller’s clearly gone totally crazy,’ Edgar mused. ‘With a bit of luck, he’ll do the decent thing and top himself. Save us all a lot of time and trouble, as well as a bundle of taxpayers’ money.’
The Commissioner’s face brightened slightly. ‘Maybe that’s what’s happened. Maybe he’s lying face down in a pool of his own blood somewhere, which explains why he’s proving so difficult to find.’
The PM tried to shoot his underling a meaningful look. ‘That would be a result, as they say.’
Not responding, Sir Gavin stared into his drink.
‘Yes, well. .’ Uncomfortably aware of his latest orders, Sir Chester began retreating towards the door. ‘I will let you know of any developments.’
‘You do that,’ said Edgar sternly, signalling to the waiter that his glass needed refilling.
Once the Commissioner had slunk off into the night, the Cabinet Secretary pulled a letter from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Edgar.
The PM took the envelope but didn’t open it. ‘What’s this?’
Sir Gavin O’Dowd cleared his throat. ‘I’ve decided that it is time for me to retire.’
Edgar angrily stomped on the carpet. ‘Bloody hell, Gavin, not tonight.’
Sir Gavin stood his ground. ‘The letter is undated. We can action it in due course, once this problem is out of the way.’
‘So you are bailing out on me, too?’
‘Not at all.’ Sir Gavin smiled. ‘It’s simply time for me to do some other things.’
‘Lucrative non-executive directorships,’ Edgar grumped.