Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘Faces?’

‘Perfect recall,’ said Gift.

‘A useful skill in undercover work,’ said Button. ‘That and his charm would keep him out of trouble, I’d guess.’

‘Charm?’

Button laughed. ‘Come on, you know what I mean. He’s good-looking and he’s got that boyish-charm thing going.’

Button was a skilled interviewer and Gift had the distinct impression that she was being tested. From the way the conversation was going, it felt as if she was being assessed as much as Shepherd. ‘I’m not sure that his looks have anything to do with his work,’ she said carefully.

Button arched one eyebrow. ‘Really? In my experience people trust good-looking people more readily than ugly ones. It’s not fair, but it’s the way of the world. If you’re going to lie and deceive, you’ve a better chance of getting away with it if you’re attractive.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Gift.

‘The point I’m making is that, on paper at least, Dan is the perfect undercover agent. His SAS background, his trick memory, his charm.’

‘He’s good at his job,’ agreed Gift.

‘Not too good, though?’

‘Too good?’

‘Over-confidence can be as much of a liability as lack of ability,’ said Button. ‘Every year we have James Bond wannabes trying to join up, and we go to a lot of trouble to weed them out. They think that joining MI5 means they get a licence to kill.’ She looked expectantly at Gift, waiting for her to speak.

Gift was adept at playing the silence game, leaving a long pause so that the other person would speak to fill the gap. It was a standard element in any psychologist’s armoury, but she doubted it would be effective against Button. She hated to let the MI5 officer win the mental game, but the alternative was to sit there in silence, which would only make her appear defensive. ‘Dan isn’t exactly an adrenaline junkie,’ she said. ‘He’d have stayed in the SAS if that was so. Police work is a lot more restrained than serving with Special Forces.’

‘But leaving the SAS was his wife’s idea, wasn’t it?’

‘She thought that it wasn’t the right career for a husband and father, and he agreed.’

‘Under protest?’

‘I don’t think he was happy about the move,’ said Gift. ‘He had visions of pounding the beat, but that’s not how it worked out. He didn’t even go through basic training.’

‘Straight into the undercover unit?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Which, I suppose, was out of the frying-pan and into the fire?’

‘That was how his wife saw it. He seemed to be at greater risk as an undercover policeman than he was in the SAS, where at least he was always with fellow soldiers. Working undercover meant he was alone most of the time.’

‘He was undercover in prison when his wife died, wasn’t he?’

Gift nodded. It was a curious conversation. Button was telling her things she already knew from Shepherd’s file. She didn’t seem interested in the facts, more in Gift’s interpretation of them. Which meant that the meeting wasn’t about him, it was about her. ‘He was tasked with getting close to an international drug-dealer who was behind bars. While he was undercover in prison, his wife was killed in a car accident.’

‘And he decided to remain in prison to continue with the job, rather than abort and take care of his son?’

‘It was his decision,’ said Gift.

‘Heck of a call to make,’ said Button.

‘It was an important case. If he’d pulled out, the dealer would have got away with it.’

‘So Dan will put job before family?’

‘He tries to juggle them,’ said Gift. ‘Are you married, Charlie?’

‘Twelve years,’ said Button.

‘Children?’

‘A girl,’ said Button. ‘Ten.’

‘Then I suppose you can empathise with Dan, trying to mix parenthood with a career.’

Button smiled, showing white teeth so perfect they could only have been the result of good genes or expensive orthodontic work. ‘You’ll need a much higher security clearance to start debriefing me, Kathy,’ she said.

Gift returned the smile. ‘I wasn’t trying to analyse you,’ she said. ‘I was just making the point that you and Dan have something in common. I think he’s as capable as you are of mixing the two.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘What happens to me under the new regime? Do I continue to provide assessments on Dan and the rest of the undercover team?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And were you as sure of that prior to this meeting?’

‘You mean, was this an interview?’ Button shook her head. ‘No, absolutely not. Dan needs all the continuity he can get. It’s enough of a shock to his system that he’s losing Superintendent Hargrove. In fact, I’d like to start sending you more of my people. I’m impressed by your work.’

‘And will you be needing briefings like this, or will written reports be enough?’

‘Didn’t Superintendent Hargrove see you regularly?’

‘We met occasionally, but he was satisfied with written reports.’

‘I’ll need written reports, obviously, but I’ll also want to talk to you face to face.’

‘For the grey areas?’

‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘A lot of my operatives will be moving into a different league, and I need to know they can take the pressure.’

‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

‘Take Dan, for instance. Until now he’s been working on basic criminal cases. He poses as a drug-dealer, a bank robber, a contract killer, and he gathers evidence against criminals. Hardcore, some of them, but the Serious Organised Crime Agency will go after bigger fish. The IRA’s criminal activities, for instance. The Russian Mafia. The Colombians. Al-Qaeda. If I’m putting Dan up against them I need to know he won’t crack under the pressure.’

Gift raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s tough. He’ll cope.’

‘That’s my view, too,’ said Button. She glanced at her watch. ‘I must go,’ she said. She stood up and offered her hand, which Gift shook.

She left the coffee shop and Gift moved with her coffee to a seat by the window. From there she could look down at the platforms below. Button went down the stairs, then walked away from the trains towards the taxi rank. Gift smiled to herself. She’d caught Charlotte Button in a deliberate lie. She wasn’t there to catch a train. It had been an unnecessary lie, too, because it was of no concern to her where Button was going. Gift wondered why she had lied. Habit, maybe. Instinct. Or because the lie was simpler than the truth, whatever it was. Perhaps the Lancome lipstick and the mascara weren’t for the office but for a lover. Perhaps there was more to Charlotte Button than met the eye.

A phone woke Shepherd from a dreamless sleep. It was Tony Corke’s. He squinted at his watch – just after ten o’clock in the morning. He took a couple of deep breaths to clear his head. He was Tony Corke, seaman, with a son he rarely saw and a court case looming. Early mornings and late nights were always the most dangerous times, when he was most likely to let his mask slip. He ran through his legend, ticking all the mental boxes. Dan Shepherd was pushed into the background. His feelings and memories had to be locked away because they might betray him. He took the call. ‘Yeah?’ he said.

‘Tony, it’s me. Salik.’

‘Hiya, Salik. How’s it going?’

‘Very well,’ said Salik. ‘Very well indeed. We have something for you, Tony.’

‘Music to my ears,’ said Shepherd. ‘So, where do we meet?’

‘Where are you?’

‘At home,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’m coming in to London so it’s not a problem.’

‘Why don’t you meet us at our office at, say, five o’clock? We can have a chat.’