‘What a great way to spend a Sunday,’ came a voice from nearby.
‘Huh?’ Jerking awake, it took him a moment to focus on the grinning face of Susan Phillips, standing by his desk. She was dressed in jeans and a black leather biker’s jacket over a green Noah amp; The Whale T-shirt; and altogether it was a rather fetching ensemble.
‘Nice kip?’
‘I was thinking,’ said Carlyle, massaging a crick in his neck.
Phillips’s grin grew wider. ‘You were snoring happily away.’
Whatever. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I rang the desk. They told me that you’d come in about an hour ago.’
Shit, had he been asleep for an hour? ‘And what are you doing here?’
‘Richard is taking me to see the Leonardo Da Vinci exhibition at the National Gallery.’
‘Mm.’ Carlyle didn’t ask her who Richard was. He didn’t keep track of the Phillips men; there was no point, as they never lasted long. ‘I hear it’s really good.’ He didn’t have a clue on the score, but it was Leonardo, so what were the odds?
‘Yes. But we’ve got timed tickets, so I need to get going.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘It’s more what I can do for you, Inspector.’ Taking a step backwards, Phillips perched on the edge of Joe’s desk.
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Carlyle grinned.
‘I checked out the Rosanna Snowdon evidence.’
‘That was quick.’
‘That was very quick,’ she smiled, clearly pleased with herself. ‘I had to call in a couple of favours. .’
‘Thank you.’
‘But it was worth it.’
‘Yeah?’ Sitting up in his chair, Carlyle already knew what was coming but wanted to hear her say it.
‘We got a match: Miller’s prints both inside and outside the dead journalist’s flat.’ She folded her arms. ‘So it seems you were right.’
‘It happens — every now and then.’
‘What I don’t understand though, is why they weren’t checked at the time.’
‘This whole thing has been a complete balls-up from the start. The officers investigating Rosanna’s death were so fixated on Simon Lovell that they simply didn’t bother to check all the other leads properly.’
‘Someone will cop some flak for that now,’ Phillips said.
‘Let’s hope so.’ He wondered, however, if that someone would be Fiona Singleton. The sergeant had helped him and now she could get dropped right in it. Nothing much he could do about that. ‘Who else knows about this?’
‘No one yet.’
‘Okay, can you sit on it for now? I’m going to get Simpson to deal with it.’
‘Fine.’ Phillips pushed herself off the desk. ‘I’m supposed to be having time off, anyway. I’ll get Richard to take me to Suffolk for a couple of days.’ She gave him a sly grin. ‘You have to make your own entertainment there, as there’s no mobile coverage. I’ll write up my report when I get back.’
‘Perfect,’ Carlyle smiled. ‘And thanks again.’
‘No problem. You can get back to having your nap now.’
‘Ha! Enjoy the exhibition.’ As he watched her saunter towards the lifts, his mind drifted to thoughts of a couple of days’ R amp;R in Suffolk with Susan Phillips. ‘Richard,’ he mumbled to himself, ‘you are a very lucky bloke.’
For once, Simpson picked up on the first ring. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve left you three messages already.’
Nice to speak to you, too, Carlyle thought. Jumping to his feet, he inspected his phone as he began pacing the room. There were no missed calls listed on the screen. The vagaries of the network? ‘Sorry, none of them came through.’
‘Mm.’
‘Your messages will probably turn up the day after tomorrow.’
The Commander let out a deep sigh which suggested she wasn’t interested in any of his technology-based excuses. ‘What are you up to, then?’
Quickly, Carlyle explained about Trevor Miller and Maude Hall. Not quickly enough, as it turned out, for she cut him off with a curt: ‘Enough.’
‘What?’
‘I know all about this. Sir Chester’s gone into overdrive. Someone also shot Simon Shelbourne last night.’
The inspector momentarily struggled to place the name.
‘The Commissioner’s PR man,’ Simpson reminded him.
‘Yes, yes.’ He took a breath, trying not to sound too excited. ‘Miller has totally lost it.’
‘We don’t know that it was him.’
‘It’s got to be.’ Carlyle then ran through the backstory of Anton Fox, Charlie Ross and Rosanna Snowdon. ‘The guy has been out of control for years. Now it’s all coming down around his ears.’
There was a long silence at the other end of the call.
‘Carole?’
‘Don’t sound so bloody smug,’ she said finally. ‘This is all your fault.’
Carlyle managed a nervous chuckle. ‘My fault?’
‘You were supposed to be focusing on the Mosman case,’ Simpson said grimly.
‘That’s well in hand,’ Carlyle lied airily.
‘Instead, you go chasing old enemies and stir up a total shit storm that is going to take months, if not years, to clear up. Never mind that moron Miller, this mess is going to do serious damage to the reputation of the Met and you just stand around, stirring the pot.’
Bollocks to this, Carlyle thought. ‘Don’t give me that crap,’ he hissed by way of a response. ‘I’m just doing my fucking job, going where the evidence takes me — and if you don’t like it, that’s tough.’ Simpson tried to protest, but he ploughed on. ‘I didn’t put Duncan Brown in the back of that bin lorry and I didn’t get Maude Hall killed.’ Well, maybe I did, but now is not the time. ‘What I’m going to do is catch the bastards responsible. If that means bringing down the whole fucking circus, fine. And after all this time, if I get Miller — well, I fucking deserve it.’
‘Have you quite finished?’ Simpson said quietly.
‘I’m not going to cover this up.’
‘For God’s sake, John, no one is suggesting a cover-up.’
‘That’ll be a first, then.’
‘As you said, we go where the evidence takes us,’ Simpson said firmly.
‘Good. Now that the whole thing is falling apart, maybe you and your mate Meyer should step up to the plate.’
‘I’ve already tried to contact him. Apparently he’s on leave.’
‘Good timing.’
‘I tried calling him at home. Funnily enough, his wife said she knows nothing about his whereabouts.’
‘What about his sidekick?’ He managed to pluck the name from his memory. ‘That woman Valette.’
‘We can’t get hold of her either.’
‘Fucking excellent,’ Carlyle harrumphed. ‘It’s all about to fall into their laps and Operation Redhead goes on holiday. I always knew that they were idiots.’
‘That, Inspector,’ Simpson deadpanned, ‘is one of your many talents.’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re such a good judge of character.’
‘Ha ha. Maybe you could stop taking the piss for a minute and tell me what you think we should do next?’
‘You’re asking me?’ Simpson asked grumpily.
‘I wondered if you could speak to the powers-that-be at Fulham about Snowdon. Phillips’s findings are going to be a big problem for them.’
‘Of course,’ said Simpson. ‘After all, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it — to clean up your mess.’
‘Thanks,’ said Carlyle, choosing to ignore her acid tone. ‘By the way, there’s a Sergeant Singleton down there who’s involved in this. She has been very helpful, above and beyond. If we can stop her being dragged into the mess. .’