She was a birdy woman; thin of limb, with a sharp inquisitive face, like a robin’s. Smudged with sadness now. CC would die soon, and there would be consequences. No one knew better than Sid that any manner of mischief could be swept under the Park’s carpets if it so desired, but the sweeping up could be as brutal as the original accident.
After the clown-crash had come chaos. There had been bodies on the ground, CC’s among them, and those still upright had pinballed around with more panic than expertise. She remembered Roddy, phone in hand, staring slack-jawed at Louisa, blood pooling around her like a chalk outline; remembered Shirley and Lech folded over Ash, who had caught the bullet meant for someone else. And a line from the Troubles came to her, a civilian’s line to a journalist on the street.
Judd was gone, and she had the notion he’d been spirited away; that someone had appeared before the Dogs turned up and made him vanish like a card in a trick. Which meant, she supposed, that he’d turn up again, exactly where you didn’t expect him to.
As for Al Hawke and Daisy Wessex, they were nowhere. It was possible Avril knew where they’d gone—old joes shared secrets: tell her about it—but if so, the chances of her revealing their hiding place were non-existent. Spies lie, spies betray—it’s what they do—but they choose their betrayals carefully.
Without changing the direction of her gaze, Avril said, “Al’s always looked out for Daisy. And she for him.”
“And then some,” Sid said.
“She’s not a bad woman.”
“No?”
“She triggers easily.”
“She’s a bit stabby with it,” Sid said bluntly.
“She did a long-term undercover stint. In Northern Ireland. During the Troubles.” Avril paused. “You’ve heard of Pitchfork?”
Everybody had heard of Pitchfork.
“Is that what it was about? CC blowing the whistle on Pitchfork?”
Avril nodded.
“It’s not the best-kept secret,” Sid said.
“He had proof. That the government of the day, the powers that be, knew well what kind of man Pitchfork was. And granted him amnesty anyway, and cover ID, and a pension.”
Government, thought Sid. That was when the games got rough; when government was covering up dark mischief.
CC fluttered briefly, a memory shifting underneath his eyelids.
The rest of them had been taken to the Park, of course—those who hadn’t been ferried to hospital—but released in a matter of hours. Which also had the stink of cover-up; Diana Taverner was pulling down a shroud, a stage that would last precisely as long as it took her to decide her next move. Once she’d determined how the investigation should end, she’d allow it to begin. Until then, they were in limbo, gathered round hospital beds, quarrelling in offices, or somewhere off-grid, waiting for the hammer to fall.
Or two hammers. Lamb had joes in morgues and hospital beds. He’d be making someone pay, and using others to collect, and she knew River would be entangled in whatever carnival he was summoning up. No matter what River’s status was where the Service was concerned, to Lamb he would always be a slow horse.
She’d said this to him earlier, once the Dogs had released them; in the hospital waiting room, before she’d come to sit with CC. He was waiting for news—they all were—as their colleague lay on the operating table, knives and scalpels flashing above her, doctors striving to stem the flow of blood and preserve life.
“He’ll want revenge.”
“Not now. Please.”
“No, this is important. You know what he’s like—his joes, his rules. He’ll want revenge, and he’ll drag you into it.”
“Maybe that’s what I want too.”
“But it wasn’t their fault. Al and Daisy. They were as much victims—”
“But without bullets in them. Without their throats cut.”
River looked as if he might have suffered one such fate himself: He was whiter than she’d known him, all his grief rising to the surface.
“River, just, please, promise me. Promise me you won’t . . .” It wasn’t that she couldn’t find the words; more that she didn’t want the idea to exist in the open. As if, by saying it, she might make it more likely to happen. “Promise me you won’t let Lamb use you. To take revenge, I mean.”
And he had looked at her, but promised her nothing.
Avril’s posture stiffened, and Sid returned from her thoughts. Something had changed. Whatever held CC in its grip, unsure whether to drop him or squeeze him tight, was making up its huge, invisible mind.
They waited, all three of them, while it reached its decision.
