… One day he was going to sit Catherine Standish down and explain to her exactly why he didn’t have to do everything she said. It would be a short conversation which would doubtless end with her in tears, and he was already looking forward to it as he loaded the names she’d given him onto his computer and started doing everything she’d said.
And because he was who he was, the digital tasks in front of Roderick Ho bloomed, and eclipsed the resentment boiling inside him. Catherine slipped into his rearview then vanished, and the list of names became the next level of the online game he was constantly playing.
As ever, he played to win.
Lamb said, “She was listening outside when you were talking to Ho.”
“And I was inside when you caught her doing that,” Catherine said. “So how come I didn’t hear you disembowelling her?”
“Oh, she had an excuse.”
Catherine waited.
Lamb said, “She wanted to hear what you were talking about.”
“That would cover it,” Catherine agreed. “You think she’s Lady Di’s plant?”
“Don’t you?”
“She’s not the only possibility.”
“So you assume it’s Lockridge. What are you, Standish, racist?”
“No, I—”
“That’s even worse than thinking it’s the dyke,” Lamb said.
“I’m so glad we’ve got you to grade our discrimination issues.”
“Ho’s looking at the Upshott menagerie?”
She was used to him switching topics. “I’ve got as far as I can on my own. There are plenty of candidates, no obvious suspects.”
“Would’ve been quicker to use him in the first place.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be doing this in the first place,” she pointed out. “Has River checked in?”
“Earlier today.”
“He okay?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? Whatever’s going on, it’s not a big plot to assassinate Cartwright.”
“This summit happens in the morning. The Pashkin thing.”
“And you think there’s a connection,” he said flatly.
“Arkady Pashkin,” she said. “Alexander Popov. That doesn’t worry you?”
“Give me a break. I’ve got the same initials as … Jesus Lhrist, but I don’t go on about it. This isn’t an Agatha Christie.”
“I don’t care if it’s a Dan Brown. If the two are connected, then something’ll happen in Upshott. Soon. We should let the Park know.”
“If Dander’s Taverner’s mole, they already do. Unless you want to take a punt on this initials thing.” Lamb scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Think they’ll call a COBRA session?”
“You’re the one who put all this in motion. And you’re just going to wait and see what happens?”
“No, I’m just going to wait for Cartwright’s call. Which he’ll make when he’s back from the MoD place. You think I’m still here this time of night because I’ve nothing better to do?”
“Pretty much,” Catherine said. “What’s happening at the MoD place?”
“Probably nothing. But whoever laid a trail didn’t do it to keep what’s going to happen a secret. So I’m assuming Cartwright’ll find a clue somewhere. Now bugger off and leave me in peace.”
She rose but paused at the doorway. “I hope you’re right,” she said.
“About what?”
“That whatever’s going on isn’t a plan to assassinate River. We’ve already lost Min.”
“They staff us with screw-ups,” Lamb reminded her. “We’ll be back up to strength in no time.”
She left.
Lamb tilted his chair back and gazed at the ceiling for a while, then closed his eyes, and became very still.
Ho sucked his teeth as he worked. What Standish had done with her data was old school: she’d processed it looking for common threads. You could do the job faster if you just printed it out and read it, biro in hand.
Going Amish, they called that. Applied to Catherine Standish too. The woman wore a hat.
Ho’s method didn’t have a name, or not one he could think of. What he did came naturally, like water to a fish. He took the names, plus their DOBs, ignored everything else Standish had supplied, and ran them blind through engines both backdoor and legal. Legal was anything in the public domain, plus various government databases his Service clearance gave him access to: tax and national insurance, health, driving licence; what he thought of as data-fodder.
