He nodded again. The room was mostly dark, only this particular nook of it illuminated, and this satisfied whatever inside him thrived on gloom and unacknowledged corners. The rows of files were secret histories, and some would be his own; reports made by and of him; lists of the survivors, and an accounting of the dead. Molly Doran lived among past lives he’d discarded, and those of joes he’d known in Cold War days. She belonged here as much as any of those black-ribboned folders. She’d steered her wheelchair into this cubbyhole without hesitation, as easily and unthinkingly as anyone else might step through a doorway.
‘What will you do?’ he asked, and had any of the slow horses been present – except Catherine – they’d have wondered where the words were coming from, where the tone had arisen.
‘Well I don’t see myself settling into civilian life, do you? Even if I found another job, I’d be there to tick boxes. Age, disability, gender. Jump right in as soon as you think of something offensive.’
‘I don’t know why you’re always expecting me to be the comedian,’ he said. ‘You’d be quite the stand-up yourself, if not for the obvious.’
Whatever softness had blurred his edges was gone.
‘I’ve lived a useful life,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a difference. Now they want to replace me with an intern, Lord help us all. What will I do? What would you expect me to do, Jackson?’
He sniffed. ‘This one of Lady Di’s plans?’
‘She’s signed off on it.’
‘There you go, then,’ said Lamb. ‘Taverner’s the word of God round here. I mean, Whelan rattles the cup. But she’s the one grinding his organ.’ He fished a cigarette out of nowhere, and rolled his eyes before Molly could speak. ‘I’m not going to. It helps me think, that’s all. How do you intend to do it?’
‘“It”?’
He drew a finger across his throat. ‘Turn the lights out. Once you’ve been given the push. I assume that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘Oh. Pills, I expect. That’s the favoured option, isn’t it?’
He shrugged. ‘Seems to me it’s one area you have a wider choice than most. Nice coastal path. Big steep drop. You might set a new record for unassisted flight.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Or at the very least, a personal best.’
‘You’re always a comfort, aren’t you? But then, you’re not here to listen to my woes.’
‘Christ, you got that right,’ he said. ‘Do I look like a fucking social worker?’
‘Our ten minutes is ticking away. And I don’t think our friend is likely to offer much leeway.’
‘Someone came for Roderick Ho the other night,’ Lamb said. He tucked his cigarette behind an ear. ‘He’s the one does my internet and stuff. And when I say “came for”, I mean, with guns.’
‘I presume they didn’t actually succeed.’
‘He was lucky enough to have the right pagan deity onside.’
‘Fortunate for him,’ said Molly. ‘But from what I’ve heard of your Mr Ho, you don’t require a shortlist of suspects as much as the electoral roll.’
‘There is that,’ said Lamb. ‘But as it happens, we know who it was. The same homicidal cretins who shot up that Derbyshire village.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Molly. ‘Stepped into something nasty, did he?’
‘And been treading it round on his shoe ever since. Course, he’s the last to notice.’
‘Where is he now?’
Lamb pointed floorwards.
‘But you don’t want to wait until they’ve finished wringing him out.’
‘He gave someone something. We know that much. The Watering Hole paper, Coe’s calling it.’
‘Mr Coe? I remember him. Pleasant young man.’
‘Yeah, he’s had a personality transplant since. Anyway, it’s a postwar planning document, some nonsense about destabilising a third world state, or developing nation, or whatever we call them now. Tinpot hellholes?’
‘I’m not sure that’s the PC term, but I think I know what you’re getting at. Where’s this paper come from?’
‘This is Ho we’re talking about. He snatched it out of the ether.’
‘Well, there you go. If it’s been digitised, it won’t be here. The point of putting records on the Beast is so they’re not taking up space elsewhere. The original will have long since been shredded.’
The Beast was Molly’s collective name for the assortment of databases the Service operated. She barely hid the hope that one day the whole vast edifice would crumble into spiralised landfill, leaving her realm the Service’s sole bank of reliable memory.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Lamb. ‘Except.’ He scratched an ear, found a cigarette there, stared at it for a moment, then put it back. ‘Except I think there’s more than one version. The original was ancient, like I said. But at some point or other it was picked up and dusted off, which is how it ended up on a database. Might not have been put into play, but it was certainly on an agenda at least once in recent decades.’
‘So you’re thinking the original might still exist, because the one your boy snatched from the Beast was an updated version.’ She grimaced, and her nose twitched. ‘Could be,’ she said at last. ‘Especially if whoever updated it didn’t want it known they’d copied someone else’s homework.’
‘Excellent,’ said Lamb. ‘Couldn’t find it for me, could you?’
