Ten Days (23 page)

‘A Molotov-throwing undercover agent who manages to maintain cover. Wonders will never cease.'

‘If you say so, sir.' Another quick tweak up of those red lips. ‘But while I believe Mrs Mason to have been telling the truth, and that Jibola has successfully kept her in the dark, I suspect her daughter, Lyndall, of knowing something. Perhaps even Jibola's whereabouts. Take a look at this.'

Another click of her mouse, another black and white image. ‘This was captured yesterday at 10.51 a.m. by fixed CCTV camera 4947, which is on the southernmost corner of Rockham High Street at the intersection with Berkshire Road. This,' she set the picture moving and pointed at a young woman walking away from the camera, ‘we believe to be Lyndall Mason. She progressed along Rockham High Street to be captured on CCTV here,' she fast-forwarded before pausing the footage, ‘here,' and then again, ‘here. As you can see, in two of these three moments she is looking around, which could indicate that she is checking to see that she is not being followed.' She set the images rolling again. ‘At 11.03, Lyndall Mason was caught on CCTV turning the corner here,' another click, ‘into Pringle's Yard, a dead end with no operational surveillance cameras.'

‘DC Jibola would have had good knowledge of any visual black spots in the area.' This from Anil Chahda.

‘We assume so. And now if I fast-forward,' another series of rapid mouse movements brought up a succession of CCTV photographs, ‘these were taken by the same camera at the intersection of Pringle's Yard and Rockham High Street over a period of thirty minutes. You will see from the timeline that runs under them that Lyndall Mason did not come out of Pringle's Yard. The first CCTV re-sighting of her was over forty-three minutes later, here,' a still of the figure walking towards the camera, ‘on Rockham High Street at 11.47, shortly before she arrived back in the Lovelace, where I was speaking with her mother. Scrutiny of CCTV cameras in the area yielded no further information on her route. She must have circled round to the High Street avoiding all the cameras.'

‘So what was she up to?'

‘That's what we wanted to know, and so early this morning,' she closed down the screen and replaced it with another on which was a fresh picture of the deserted dead end, ‘I sent an officer to examine Pringle's Yard. As you can see, one end of the yard, here, appears to be blocked by a substantial fence. On closer examination, however, my officer detected an unevenness in the fence poles.' She tapped her laptop and the image was magnified. ‘This pole, here, has been worked free of its top mooring. It can be pushed aside to create a space wide enough for a slim figure to squeeze through. We can't prove that this is what Lyndall Mason did, but there is one further piece of available evidence,' another click, which brought up an aerial photograph of what looked like wasteland, bordered in the distance by a canal. ‘This was captured by India 95 during routine surveillance. It shows the area beyond Pringle's Yard. We think that this,' she pointed at the screen, at a distant dot which, when she enlarged it, might have been a person, ‘is Lyndall Mason. The times fit. And if you look at her right-hand side, you will see that this young woman appears to be carrying something, just as Lyndall Mason was.' More clicks and they were back to the CCTV where a plastic carrier bag was hooked over the girl's right arm. ‘If it is Lyndall Mason, she was heading for the canal. This is why we've expanded our search to include the buildings, some of them abandoned, that line its banks.'

‘Why don't you just ask the girl where she went?' This from Chahda, a question that earned him a quick glance that looked close to a rebuke, and when Gaby Wright said, ‘I did start to question her,' her smile was undeniably chilly, ‘but her mother would not allow me to continue. Lyndall Mason is a minor. Given DC Jibola's relationship with Mrs Mason, I thought it better not to push it. Not until I had taken advice.'

DCI Blackstone, a big man and overweight, who'd been slumped back in his chair as if none of this had anything to do with him, now sat bolt upright. ‘It's not possible, is it, that DC Jibola is Lyndall Mason's father?'

‘It is possible, yes. The dates of the first liaison between Cathy Mason and DC Jibola make it so. But when I asked Mrs Mason, she denied it.'

‘Thank fuck for small mercies.'

‘As an extra precaution, we obtained sight of Lyndall Mason's birth certificate,' Gaby Wright said. ‘The mother is given as Cathy Mason. There is no mention of any father. But I still think the girl knows something.'

‘Then pull her in.' Again roughly from Anil Chahda, which earned him another sharp look.

Gaby Wright kept her eyes focused on Joshua rather than his deputy. ‘Can do, sir. If you think that's what I should do?'

‘Hmm.' Hers was a careful move that made him responsible for any mistake. ‘Leave the girl alone,' he said. ‘At least for the time being,' ignoring Chahda's grimace to get to his feet. ‘Thank you, CS Wright. You must be anxious to get back to your beat. Let me show you to the lift.' And then to the two men: ‘Wait here for me, will you?'

7.20 a.m.

Peter hefted the tray onto his wife's bedside table. ‘Here you are, darling.'

Frances surveyed the orange juice he had freshly squeezed, the two boiled eggs (three and a half perfect minutes), the sourdough toast and a pot of tea – strong, as she liked it. ‘My, you have gone to town.' She picked up the glass and took a tiny sip of juice before putting it back on the tray. ‘Pity I'm not that hungry.'

‘Thought you'd be ravenous.'

She broke off a bit of toast and fed it to the dog, which was lying beside her on the bed. ‘How so?'

‘Well, you know, after last night.' As soon as he said it, he knew he shouldn't have, this realisation confirmed by the onset of her deep frown.

Stupid of him. He must take it slower. Be more mindful of her feelings. She was bound to be bruised, if not by his behaviour – her performance in bed showed that she had believed him – then by the fact that someone had been malicious enough to send those pictures. He leant across to kiss her, lightly, on the lips. ‘Can I get you anything else, darling?'

‘No, thank you.' A pause and then, ‘Did someone ring while you were downstairs?'

‘Yes.' So she was still a bit suspicious. ‘The PM did. He wanted to thank me for being – how did he put it? – oh yes, a proficient caretaker while he'd been tied up in the negotiations. He said he was going to take over the chairing of COBRA and that I, of course, am welcome to attend.' And then, seeing Frances laughing: ‘What's so funny?'

‘Oh, you know.' She patted the dog's silky head.

‘Not sure that I do.'

‘I was just thinking that you politicians are a bit like dogs.' She puckered her lips to bless the dog's head with a kiss. ‘Especially of the male variety.' Which she followed by more butterfly kisses. ‘Aren't they, Patsy-watsy?'

‘Frances!'

Frances lifted her head. ‘The PM was leaving his scent on your patch.'

Something rather gleeful in the way she delivered this sentence. He almost called her on it but then, seeing her smile turn to a frown, and recognising this to be her thinking frown, he held his tongue. And held it some more as she continued to be lost in thought.

There followed an extended silence through which he could hear the tick of his bedside alarm and the soft snuffling of the dog, who settled herself in Frances's lap and went back to sleep.

Tick, tick.

He looked down at his bare feet.

Thought, soon time to cut my toenails again.

He looked up again and at his wife. The straps of her cream negligee had slipped off one shoulder to expose that paler cream of her breast.

Tick, tick.

He contemplated stretching out to slip the strap off the other shoulder, but he knew better than to dare, especially when she was thinking.

Tick, tick.

And then, at long last, her gaze came back into focus.

‘The PM thinks,' she said, ‘or at least wants you to think, that it's still all to play for. We know he's a weak leader at the best of times, and that these aren't the best of times. He's likely to handle the situation badly. But if by some miracle the riots help rather than harm him, you're going to have to up your game. You've not got much time left: the Party will never countenance a new leader too close to the election. We need a plan of attack.' She hiked the strap of her negligee into place. ‘You've already gone a long way to convincing the public that police failures helped stoke the disturbances. Your best bet is to continue to hit the PM's Commissioner. Chahda's the key: by promising him the top job, you've got him on side. But it's not enough for him to hint that he has the ammunition to topple Yares. You need to find out what it is.'

‘He's so cautious. He told us about the misconduct of the Rockham police, but that's a matter of record. I bet there's something else – I know there is. What I don't know is how I am ever going to get him to spill the beans.'

‘Well,' she shrugged, ‘either you've got to be more persuasive. Or' – a beat – ‘you will have to trap him into telling you what he knows.'

‘Trap him? How?'

‘He has a reputation as a lady's man. Why not exploit that?' Another drawn-out pause and then, ‘Patricia's charming, isn't she? And from what I've seen of her, I reckon she's game. Why not set her on Chahda?'

7.35 a.m.

As Joshua opened the door, the two men's heads sprang apart.

Probably getting their story right, he thought, and said, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting. I had to take a call from Number 10.' He went to join them at the table. ‘The PM has now had time to consider his response. In light of the likely danger to DC Jibola's person should it be made public that he is a serving police officer, the Prime Minister has agreed, reluctantly, to keep the information under wraps. No one else is to be told, at least until we locate Jibola and find out what the hell he's up to.' He opened up Jibola's file. ‘What was he doing in Rockham anyway? It doesn't say.'

‘That's a bit of a puzzle, sir.' As big as he was, DCI Blackstone gave every appearance of wanting to dissolve into the wood of the conference table.

‘Which I need you to untangle. Now, if you wouldn't mind.'

‘I'll do my best, sir.' Blackstone took in a deep breath, sucking in his stomach. ‘As you know, Jibola's file had been mistakenly put in the pile for destruction. As soon as we rescued it, I followed the thread of his Rockham-related history. It appears that the former commander in charge of Rockham, CS Wright's predecessor, requested assistance with a particularly violent gang in north Rockham a couple of months ago. Jibola was seconded to this task. It was a short operation at the conclusion of which Jibola would normally have been posted elsewhere. But my predecessor, in consultation with MI5, decided that there was a case for further surveillance of the community in Rockham and specifically around the Lovelace.' A deep breath in and then: ‘In light of the imminent demolition of the estate, several vacant units were given over by the council as temporary accommodation to new immigrants, many of whom originated in the Horn of Africa. It was my predecessor's opinion that because of the hold that al-Queda-affiliated groups have in some of these countries, particularly Somalia, these newcomers warranted further scrutiny. DC Jibola was tasked, by my predecessor, with establishing himself in south Rockham and getting to know this community.'

‘I see.' What he really saw was that, by emphasising Rockham's previous Commander, and his own predecessor, Blackstone was making sure to slough off responsibility for what had happened. And he would get away with it because he was relatively new in the job and everybody knew that the last regime had overseen an absolute fuck-up in all departments but especially in his. Cleaning these particular stables was in fact a central part of Joshua's brief – and the reason that the PM had championed him in preference to Anil Chahda – and it was clearly going to be difficult. After a decade of lethal exposures about the misdeeds of their undercover ops, SO15 had been buffeted by such a multiplicity of root-and-branch changes it was a wonder the tree was still standing. By the time the merry-go-round had slowed sufficiently to let anybody new on, none of the previous senior management had managed to keep their seats. Which meant a loss of institutional memory. And a lack of anyone to blame.

Anyone, Joshua thought, except me. He glanced over to his desk, where the photograph of him beside the Queen stood in pride of place. If this isn't resolved and soon, he thought, I'll be packing it up and taking it home again.

‘Did anybody keep an eye on Jibola? Anybody at all?'

‘One of our operators did,' Blackstone said. ‘He was supposed to ring in at set times, and he did so until recently. But then he stopped. When his operator tried to reach him, she couldn't. She tried to track his safe mobile, but it had gone off air. She assumed it was a system failure, a consequence of signal overload in Rockham due to the riots. If she'd been a trained officer, she might have raised the alarm earlier, but you know we have had to outsource technical jobs. We just don't have the quality of staff any more.'

And, yes, it was true what Blackstone was saying, but it was also true, as the PM had said the other night, that they had to stop blaming their failures on the cuts. ‘You need do something about your scrutiny systems as a matter of urgency,' he said. ‘But for the moment, let me sum up where we've got to.' He held up his right fist. ‘One,' raising his thumb, ‘one of your agents has gone rogue on British television. Two,' his index finger joined the thumb, pointing at Blackstone as if he were about to shoot him, ‘having mislaid his file, you didn't even know he was in Rockham. Three,' he unfurled his middle finger, ‘you have no idea where he's got to. Four,' he let go of the fourth finger, ‘and five,' and his little finger, ‘you don't know why he did what he did, or what he's planning to do next.' Hearing himself laying it out so baldly made him realise that, never mind having to take the picture home, if this wasn't resolved, he'd be the first Commissioner of the Met never to pick up a knighthood.