James Craig - Man of Sorrows

‘She seems to put up with a lot of your crap.’

Carlyle smiled. ‘She’s a smart officer, just like you.’

Roche stared into her empty latte glass. ‘Now who’s taking the piss?’

Carlyle finished his espresso, placing the demitasse back on its saucer.

‘Anyway,’ said Roche slowly, still not looking up, ‘Dugdale did do one thing before heading off to the great sex dungeon in the sky.’

‘Yeah?’ Carlyle asked, knowing what was coming next.

Finally looking up, Roche gave him an apologetic smile. ‘My move to SO15 has been confirmed.’

‘Congratulations.’ Leaning forward, Carlyle patted her on the arm. ‘Well done. I know that’s what you wanted.’

‘My start date is still to be confirmed, but I should be moving in something like six weeks.’

‘Okay.’

‘You’re not pissed off?’ She sounded a little miffed that he was taking it so calmly.

‘Nah. You told me it was on the cards. It’s good. I’m happy for you.’

‘Thanks.’

The awkward silence was broken by Carlyle’s mobile, which started vibrating in his pocket. Grabbing the handset, he opened the text message that had just arrived in his inbox. I know you ’ ve been trying to get hold of me. Am at the usual spot. Carlyle reread the message and laughed. ‘That’s ballsy,’ he said to himself.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Got to run. Something’s come up. I’ll see you back at the station.’

Crossing her arms, Abigail Slater scanned the room, letting her gaze glide over the blank face of Eddie Wood and the slightly more reptilian features of Monsignor Joseph Wagner. This was a meeting she knew that she didn’t want to be in. Annoyed at herself for being in the room, she toyed with the idea of just getting up and walking out. But she felt crippled by an unusual indecision, mixed with morbid curiosity.

Looking at Slater, Wagner cleared his throat. ‘Edward . . .’

‘Eddie,’ the boy corrected him, sucking greedily on a can of Sprite as he leaned backwards on his chair.

‘Eddie. I know that this has been a difficult time.’

Eddie shrugged, as if ‘difficult’ was simply his lot.

‘And I know that the way the police have abused your trust must make it very hard for you to engage with reputable figures of authority.’

Eddie gave him an uncomprehending look.

This is not going to work , Slater thought, relaxing a little.

Wagner took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘But we are entering a very important time.’

Slowly, Eddie sat back upright. ‘How much?’ he said, scowling.

Wagner frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Eddie came up with his best attempt at a smile. ‘You want me to withdraw my statement and bugger off, don’t you?’

‘Father McGowan,’ Wagner said quietly, ‘will be retiring soon. It is surely best for all concerned that we deal with this matter with the minimum of fuss. You should take time to think things through before deciding whether or not to go public with any lurid claims.’

Eddie let out a loud burp. ‘How much?’

Wagner took an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table. ‘I am authorized to offer you five thousand-’

‘Ten!’ Eddie shouted gleefully.

Exasperated, Wagner looked at Slater. The lawyer gave him a wry smile. ‘It looks, Monsignor,’ she said, ‘as if you have a negotiation on your hands.’

Jumping to his feet, Eddie reached across the desk and grabbed the envelope. ‘Five now, five this time next week. I’ll lie low until then, and if you come up with the rest of the cash, I’ll go and tell Plod that I’m withdrawing my statement.’ Stuffing the envelope into the front pocket of his jeans, he offered Wagner a hand. ‘Deal?’

Ignoring the hand, the Monsignor signalled his assent with the curtest of nods.

‘Good.’ Eddie slouched his way towards the door. ‘Ten grand – sweet!’ He winked at Wagner. ‘Keep up your end and I might even throw in a free blowjob.’

As Eddie disappeared into the night, Wagner shook his head. ‘What kind of a child is that? With the morals of the gutter . . .’

Slater was already on her feet, about to make her exit. ‘That’s the kind of child that you’re doing deals with,’ she said contemptuously, ‘to protect yourself from the truth.’

‘The world,’ Wagner smiled sadly, ‘is a complicated place.’

‘Yes,’ said Slater, ‘I suppose it is.’ At the door, the lawyer remembered her promise to McGowan to raise the issue of his proposed banishment from London. Pausing, she half-turned back towards Wagner.

‘Is there anything else?’ the Monsignor asked.

Slater thought about it for a heartbeat. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think we’ve got everything covered.’

Standing by Regent’s Canal, Carlyle nodded at the lone angler sitting on the towpath. Eating a cheese sandwich, the man eyed him suspiciously and didn’t return the greeting. Realizing that he’d been sent on a wild-goose chase, the inspector stood pawing the stone while a pair of cyclists wobbled past. Undecided as to his next move, he watched a Capital Waterbus open-topped narrowboat pull up to a nearby stop on its journey west towards Little Venice. There were a grand total of four passengers on board, and it was only when the boat had come to a stop that he realized that one of them was gesturing at him, telling him to get on. He was an old guy, sitting alone at the back, wearing a quilted Barbour jacket and a West Ham baseball cap pulled down low. Frowning, the inspector hesitated. When, exasperated, the man pushed up the peak of his cap to reveal his face, Carlyle finally recognized him.

Digging a fiver out of his pocket, he handed his fare over to the boat’s skipper and scrambled on board. Buttoning his jacket up against the cold, Carlyle made for the rear of the boat. ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he said, belatedly wondering if he should have arranged for some back-up.

‘That would have been a bit rude, wouldn’t it?’ Trevor Cole pulled his hand far enough out of the pocket of his jacket for Carlyle to be able to clearly see the grip of his semi-automatic. He gestured at the bench in front of him. ‘Sit there.’

Carlyle sat down, immediately feeling the barrel of the gun pushed firmly into the small of his back. ‘Put that away,’ he said as casually as he could manage. ‘Otherwise you’ll just cause panic.’

‘Okay.’

Carlyle felt the pressure on his spine lift. ‘Thanks.’

‘Keep your eyes front and don’t turn around. We’re just gonna have a little chat. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to behave yourself.’

Carlyle took a deep breath. ‘No.’

Cole breathed into his ear as the boat resumed its journey: ‘Now, first things first. Give me your phone, please.’

After the slightest hesitation, Carlyle reached into his jacket, pulled out his private handset and handed it over. Cole looked at the cheap, pay-as-you-go phone with dismay. ‘You would have thought the police could afford something better than that,’ he quipped.

Shrugging, Carlyle said nothing.

‘Ah, well, at least it won’t cost so much to replace.’ Casually leaning across the side of the boat, Cole let the handset fall into the scummy water.

Carlyle shifted in his seat. He wondered what his chances were of reaching back and punching Cole’s lights out before he could get off a round. Reluctant to risk getting his nuts – or anything else – shot off, he settled for a question instead. ‘Is that the gun you used to shoot Kristin Lagerbäck with?’

‘Come on, Inspector,’ Cole scoffed. ‘This isn’t a Q amp;A session.’

What is it then? Carlyle wondered. He looked around. They would be approaching Camden soon. More people would be getting on the boat. He had to try and get this nutter off the water and into custody without causing a fuss. ‘So what are we doing here?’