Alex Howard - Time to Die

‘He did indeed, Sergeant,’ said Hanlon. ‘And why are you grinning like that?’ She sounded irritated.

‘I was just wondering what you two young kids found to talk about,’ said Whiteside teasingly. ‘Was it everything and nothing? This and that? Setting the world to rights? The whole crazy, mixed-up world of policing the UK’s capital city.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Hanlon, annoyed. ‘It wasn’t so much of a chat as a Q-and-A session about community policing. He said it was because of his position as head of that traders’ group.’ There we go, thought Whiteside. I knew she wouldn’t follow Corrigan’s advice to be loquacious.

She’d told Whiteside about the meeting with the assistant commissioner. She hadn’t told him, though, her reason for getting involved as the AC’s information officer on the Ali Yilmaz murder. Hanlon always played her cards close to her chest. When she had proof that Baby Ali’s death was not a one-off but connected to the Essex killing, she’d tell him, but not until then. Meanwhile, let him think it was because the AC thought Ludgate might screw it all up.

‘Oh, and he told me how much he admired me,’ said Hanlon. ‘And that went for everyone he’d met and everyone at the party. How at least I’d had the guts to tackle the rioters and how the country needed more police like me.’

‘That’s nice of him. I bet he fancies you too,’ said Whiteside. ‘Get him to put it in writing. You can give it to that disciplinary board. You don’t have many prominent fans, ma’am. They’ll be impressed. Start a campaign. They might give you your old job back.’

Hanlon smiled, or rather her lips twitched momentarily, despite herself. She continued, ‘Conquest’s an independent councillor in Finchley, with access, according to him, to the mayor’s office, so maybe I should.’

‘Well then.’ Whiteside shrugged. ‘That’s good, isn’t it. He’s not a criminal after all.’

‘Well,’ Hanlon said, ‘I didn’t buy any of it.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Whiteside, sipping his wine. Hanlon noted that, as usual when he drank, he held his little finger up. It was an odd quirk he had, like refined old ladies are supposed to do when they sip their tea.

‘I’m not the local police community liaison officer. I’m also not a household name. And how did he know I’d be around here to attend this party?’ said Hanlon. Whiteside thought she had a point, but equally he couldn’t see where she was going with this. ‘It had to be Ludgate’s doing. He got me the invite and I want to know why.’

‘Maybe he wants to make friends?’ said Whiteside with a humourless smile. He knew how much they detested each other.

‘Yeah, right,’ replied Hanlon sarcastically. ‘I think Conquest wanted me to reveal what I’m doing on Ludgate’s patch, what I’m spying on for the AC. Ludgate must have put him up to it. What I want to know is what Ludgate is doing cosying up with some multimillionaire property developer. It doesn’t smell right.’

Whiteside scratched his beard. ‘You think DCS Ludgate’s bent?’

‘Yes,’ said Hanlon simply. ‘Besides, I’m sure Conquest is. You lie down with a dog, you get up with fleas.’

Whiteside looked at her dubiously. ‘You’re sure that’s not just because you don’t like him?’ That’s putting it charitably, he thought. ‘There could be any number of reasons why Ludgate wanted him to ask why you’re here. I’d be curious too, in his position. And annoyed. It is you, after all. And why shouldn’t he be mates with a property developer? The DCS is up for retirement soon; he might be after wangling a nice little job as a security consultant. I wouldn’t mind that myself. Couple of hundred quid a day for advising on anything from how to secure against squatters, to scams, to the best person to approach in the council. Ludgate knows everyone round here. He’s been here since the ark.’

‘I ran Conquest through the PNC,’ said Hanlon. Her face was stony. She was not amused. Whiteside recognized the look. He supposed there was some point to all of this but he couldn’t see what.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, he’s clean. Not even a driving endorsement or an unpaid parking ticket.’

‘Well then.’ Whiteside shrugged. ‘That’s good, isn’t it. He’s not a criminal after all. Hoorah. We can all sleep easy in our beds.’

Hanlon said, ‘I know shit when I smell it, Sergeant. And when I’ve got Conquest under my nose, I don’t smell roses. I’ve spent twenty years in the police and I know that man’s got a record, I don’t care what the police national computer thinks.’

Whiteside guessed she’d say something along those lines. One of Hanlon’s greatest strengths was her terrier-like tenacity. She never gave up. The Anderson arrest was typical Hanlon. She’d been out to get him ever since the first attempt had ended in failure. Now Conquest was in her sights. Maybe Ludgate too. If she was convinced of their guilt she’d move heaven and earth to prove it. Hanlon handed him a piece of paper with a name and address.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘look at this.’ Whiteside took it and read it.

‘Who’s Dr S. Cohen and what’s the Shapiro Institute?’ he asked.

By way of answer she said, ‘I met Conquest’s dogs, Prince and Blondi. German shepherds. Nice animals.’ She looked at Whiteside. ‘Do those names mean anything to you?’

Whiteside thought momentarily. ‘No. No, they don’t. Eighties pop stars?’ What on earth is she on about now?

‘They’re the names of Hitler’s dogs,’ said Hanlon.

Whiteside laughed. ‘Oh, come on,’ he protested. ‘They’re really common names — well, Prince is for a dog. Even if he is a Nazi sympathizer and the dogs are named in honour of the Fuhrer, I don’t think that’s a crime in this country anyway, not unless he’s, say, inciting racial hatred. Is he?’

Hanlon twisted a lock of her dark hair. She chose to answer Whiteside’s question obliquely. ‘Prominent fascist supporters are very often engaged in criminal activity, Mark. And like I said, Conquest smells funny to me. I told you I don’t believe any of this hoohah of wanting to speak to me about community policing and telling me how much he admires me. I think he, like Ludgate, wanted to know what a senior officer associated with Corrigan — whose main issue is anti-racism, let’s not forget — is doing in his neck of the woods.’

Whiteside nodded. ‘Let me get this straight.’ He used the kind of voice you might use to patronize a small, annoying child. ‘So he’s worried that you might discover, what? That he doesn’t like Jews?’

‘If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,’ said Hanlon. ‘In the meantime you can humour me. We’re not the only people with criminal databases. The Shapiro Institute has a very good one. You can ask them if they know Mr Conquest.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Whiteside, curious despite himself.

‘They’re a think tank that monitors far-right and neo-Nazi activity in this country and Europe. If Conquest or Ludgate is involved in illegal right-wing activity, they’ll know. Conquest is a prominent citizen; he’s anti-Semitic. I bet they’ve got something on him, even if it’s just rumours. I want to know. Sol Cohen is the director. He’s a busy man but he’ll give you half an hour on Saturday at eleven.’ It’s my day off, damn it, thought Whiteside. Then, she knows that of course.

‘Surely they don’t work on Saturdays?’ he asked.

‘Sol Cohen does. He’s not orthodox, in fact he’s an atheist,’ said Hanlon. ‘So you don’t need to worry about that side of things.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And what do I tell him? That we, you, think a property developer might be anti-Semitic? It’s hardly the crime of the century is it? Even to a Jewish think tank.’