Fixing a big smile on his face, Carlyle stepped up to Holyrod with his hand outstretched. ‘Mr Mayor,’ he said warmly, gratified to see that the former soldier had put on quite a few pounds. The extra weight didn’t suit him, for it looked as if he had gone in age from thirty-five to fifty-five in about twelve months. ‘How very nice to see you again.’
Holyrod broke off from his discussion and looked up. Recognising the policeman, he fought to keep a look of displeasure off his face. ‘Inspector . . .’ He shook Carlyle’s hand firmly, trying to step away from his guests at the same time. But Carlyle had deliberately boxed him in and he had no alternative but to remain at Orb’s side.
‘. . . Carlyle,’ he prompted. ‘Inspector John Carlyle, from Charing Cross police station.’
Holyrod scanned some interesting spot in the middle distance. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Nice speech,’ said Carlyle, looking at the Ambassador.
‘Thank you,’ Holyrod replied, even more concerned now lest he become Carlyle’s quarry.
Still grinning like an idiot, Carlyle returned his gaze to the Mayor. ‘I thought perhaps you could introduce us?’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Holyrod, looking unhappier by the second. ‘Mr Ambassador,’ he said stiffly, ‘this is Inspector John Carlyle of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector.’ Claudio Orb extended a hand and flashed the smile of a man who had nothing to fear from London’s finest. He was a trim, dapper man in an elegant three-piece navy suit, white shirt and bright red tie. About 5 feet 8 inches, with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes, he looked to be well into his seventies. I hope I age that well, Carlyle thought, knowing that it was extremely unlikely. He glanced at the much younger man standing next to Orb. At most in his late thirties, the guy looked fit and tanned. He had the most well-tended beard that Carlyle had ever seen. He made no attempt to introduce himself, so Carlyle, writing him off as some flunky, quickly returned his full attention to the Ambassador. ‘I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time, sir,’ he asked in his most deferential tone, ignoring the baleful glare coming from Holyrod.
‘Of course!’ Orb’s eyes twinkled with delight. Carlyle wondered if the Ambassador had had a few; maybe he was even a little drunk. ‘It would be my pleasure to help the police with their enquiries.’ He nodded to the others. ‘Excuse us, gentlemen.’ He took Carlyle’s elbow and began marching him back up the walkway, in the direction from which he had arrived. ‘Why don’t we step outside for a minute. I could do with some air.’
Out on the vast empty terrace, Carlyle felt the cool breeze from the river on his face and realised how stuffy it had been inside.
‘What a pleasant evening,’ Orb said, holding on to the rail and inhaling deeply. ‘It’s nice to enjoy some fresh air, is it not?’
‘Or as near to fresh as it gets in London,’ Carlyle replied.
‘Hah!’ The older man grinned. ‘You should try Santiago sometime.’ He looked the policeman up and down. ‘Have you ever been to Chile, Inspector?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, you should. It’s well worth a visit. I know I’m biased, but it’s a great country.’
‘Maybe one day.’ Carlyle shrugged.
‘So . . . what can I do for you?’ the Ambassador continued cheerily. ‘Ask and you shall receive, as they say. I’m already in your debt for saving me from your Mayor, if only for a short time.’
Carlyle laughed. ‘So he’s not to your taste either?’
‘No, no.’ Orb wagged an admonishing finger, ‘it’s not that. I’m a diplomat, so taste doesn’t come into it. And, in many ways, Mr Holyrod is a very admirable man. Apart from anything else, he was a fine soldier.’
‘But?’ Carlyle, relaxed about being distracted from what was, at best, a fishing exercise, was curious about the man’s opinion of the Mayor.
‘But he’s playing games with us a little bit.’
‘How so?’
‘The last time I looked,’ the Ambassador said gently, ‘I was Ambassador to the Court of St James’s, not to the Court of St Christian Holyrod. The Mayor wants to use people like us as he tries to develop his own mini-foreign policy on the side, while expanding his own business interests at the same time. He wants to be the next Prime Minister and needs to fill in gaps in his CV. That’s why he’s touting TEMPO.’
‘What is that?’ Carlyle asked.
‘TEMPO is a big arms fair, held in London every other year,’ Orb explained. ‘Chile has a successful military technology industry, so it is an important event for us. But we do not seek publicity.’
‘No?’
‘It should be a discreet place to do business. If Mayor Holyrod goes and turns the event into a political platform, well, that is not good for anyone.’
‘No,’ Carlyle agreed. He had never stopped to consider the problems faced by international arms dealers before, but he could see the Ambassador’s point.
‘Then there’s the whole question of conflict of interest,’ the Ambassador continued. ‘I thought that you British were always quite . . . proper when it came to that kind of thing.’
‘What conflict of interest?’ Carlyle asked, trying not to sound too interested.
‘Christian Holyrod is a non-executive director of the company called Pierrepoint Aerospace.’
Carlyle shrugged, none the wiser.
‘“Aerospace”,’ Orb continued, ‘is a widely-used euphemism for “arms manufacturer” these days, Inspector. Sophisticated arms, true, but they still kill – when they work, that is. Holyrod is busy trying to drum up business for his company – and, no doubt commission for himself – at the same time as he’s supposed to be running this city.’
Carlyle made a face. ‘I thought that you had to give up outside interests like that when you took office?’
‘Apparently not,’ Orb sniffed.
‘And you think that’s wrong?’
‘It’s not my country.’ Orb held up a cautionary hand. ‘And it’s not my business. It would be wrong for me to express a view. Anyway, I have seen a lot worse activities in my time.’
Carlyle smiled. ‘I’m sure you have.’
‘I am just an amused observer.’
Watching a pleasure craft head upriver, Carlyle pondered what the Ambassador had said. ‘Are we talking about corruption here?’ he asked finally.
A gust of wind from the river blew across the terrace, and Orb shivered. ‘That is such a vague term,’ he said. ‘Look at it this way, there is no danger of him going to jail. All I’m saying is that I’ve been around a long time and there are certain ways of doing business. No one likes it when confronted with someone who is becoming too pushy.’
‘Isn’t that just the modern world in microcosm?’ Carlyle said.
‘You are absolutely right,’ Orb laughed. ‘Anyway,’ he took his hands from the rail and spread his arms wide, ‘you didn’t come here to listen to me being undiplomatic, Inspector. I am sure that you will ignore my indiscretion.’
Carlyle nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘The end of my career is looming,’ Orb said solemnly. ‘I don’t have to worry so much about my every utterance, but even so . . .’
‘I have no interest in causing you any embarrassment, sir,’ Carlyle said. ‘After all, that is not what I was seeking out your opinion on.’
‘Good,’ the Ambassador nodded. ‘Thank you. So . . . what is it that you want to talk about?’
‘Well,’ Carlyle looked at his shoes, which needed a polish, ‘I am conducting an investigation, which maybe has a Chilean angle, and I thought that you might be able to help me out with some advice.’
The Ambassador listened intently as Carlyle explained the Mills case, as well as the story of William Pettigrew and the belated attempt to bring his killers to justice. After the inspector had finished, he pondered for a while.