Of course, there were those – the Gimballs their standard-bearers, but by no means their only champions – who believed that the election of another Muslim mayor would be one step nearer sharia law. So far, their brickbats had bounced away: there remained, at least in so far as local politics was concerned, a resistance to dogwhistle racism, which was how most observers interpreted attempts to paint Jaffrey an Islamist sympathiser. Every time Dodie Gimball illustrated an article about him with a photo of a bombed-out bus, he enjoyed a bounce in the polls. But he had no illusions about the outcome should Tyson’s recent activities become public knowledge. He’d go from persecuted minority to certified terrorist before you could say Operation Trojan Horse.
Tyson, too, would come under the hammer. Easy enough for Zaf himself to say:
His mobile rang, rupturing the moment. Ed Timms, his press flack.
‘Chief, I’m hearing rumblings.’
He said, ‘You want to share them?’
‘Word is, Dodie Gimball has some high explosives set to go off in tomorrow’s column. After Dennis has his own firework display this evening.’
‘Could you maybe turn the colour down a notch? I find facts easier to process than images.’
‘Tonight, Dennis Gimball is giving a constituency speech in which he’s going to claim you have terrorist connections. And this will be followed up by his missus in her column tomorrow. Accompanied by art, as they say. They have pictures, Zaf. I don’t know what of, but you know what they say about pictures. They prove
And this was how swiftly it happened; how quickly a situation burst from the realm of the potential into the here and now.
‘Where’s this speech happening?’ he said.
‘On Gimball’s home turf. Slough.’
‘Okay, Ed. It’s just more bluster. Let’s not sweat it yet.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Later, Ed.’
He disconnected.
Tyson raised an eyebrow, alert to Jaffrey’s possible requirements. ‘Something need fixing, boss?’
‘Possibly. One or two things.’
Tyson said, ‘Whatever you want, boss. You know that. Doesn’t make any difference to me.’
Zafar reached out and they shared a handclasp. It was true, he thought; it genuinely didn’t matter to Tyson what Zafar asked him to do: he was happy to do it. And the thought made him sad and glad at the same time; gave him hope for the future, but removed it altogether.
It was just like everybody said. Politics was the art of compromise.
Lamb had found a cigarette about his person and, in a rare bout of chivalry, had come up with a spare to go with it. He lit his own before lighting Taverner’s. Manners were manners, but no point getting carried away.
‘According to the BBC,’ he said, ‘which I accept means according to whatever’s trending on Twitter, the Abbotsfield killings were ISIS.’
‘That’s the assumption we’re working on.’
‘Which would make the attempt on Ho ISIS too. And frankly, that buggers belief.’
‘Beggars.’
‘Sorry. Freudian slit.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Apart from anything else, they don’t do plots, do they? They do parking a bomb in a marketplace, or driving into a village and shooting everyone in sight. But they don’t do
‘They hit specific targets. They’ve done that before.’
‘High profile, yeah. But they don’t whack seventh-tier desk jockeys under cover of darkness.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘If this turns out to be one of your games, Diana, I can’t begin to express how disappointed I’ll be.’
She looked around for somewhere to tap her ash, then gave in to the office ambience and knocked it onto the carpet. ‘Games?’
‘It’s not escaped my memory that someone tried to kill me in this very room not long ago. We’ve never discussed that properly, have we?’
Every so often, when you were gazing into the fetid swamp of Lamb’s personality, a fin broke the surface.
Taverner said, ‘Let’s stick with the evils of the day, shall we? What shape is Ho in?’
‘He’s got a cut on his ear.’
‘Bullet wound?’
‘Poor housekeeping.’
‘Nobody else damaged?’
‘Dander was there. She had to hit the deck sharpish. But one of the advantages of being built like a football is, you learn to take a kicking.’
‘Everyone on the premises now?’
‘I don’t take a fucking register, Diana.’
‘I thought you did.’
‘Well, yeah, okay, I do. But that’s just to annoy them, not for official purposes.’
‘So …’
‘So everyone’s here, yes.’
‘Good. Because as of now you’re in lockdown.’
Lamb rolled his eyes.
‘I’m serious. No phones, no internet, and nobody leaves. Ho’s coming back to the Park. Whatever shit he’s stepped in, we need to examine his shoes. Meanwhile, the rest of you are in detention. With debriefing to follow.’
Lamb said, ‘Okay, why not? I’ll keep ’em in order. We can play murder in the dark while we wait for you lot to clear your schedules.’
Taverner laughed then stopped. ‘Oh, sorry, were you serious? When I want a fox to guard a hen house, you’ll be top of my list. But meanwhile, I’ll have Flyte babysit. You’ve met our Emma?’
