‘First one with a phone gets fired,’ said Lamb. ‘You should have gone dark when you got the text. Or do I need to remind you you’re supposed to be fucking spies? Here. Hold this.’
‘This’ was the woman, and it was Lech he was speaking to. Who looked alarmed to find himself having to wrap a restraining arm around a captive, especially an injured, unhappy one. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her, as Lamb shoved her into his orbit.
‘Bastard,’ she said.
‘Who is she?’ said Shirley. ‘And how come you got to break her arm?’
‘Bitch.’
‘Can I break her other one?’
‘Nobody’s breaking anything,’ said Catherine.
‘She’s Park,’ said Louisa.
‘Oh, somebody’s awake,’ said Lamb. ‘Thank you, Lara Crufts. Hope you didn’t trip over any tombs back there. Yes, she’s Park, and she’s here courtesy of the Boy Blunder. You can always rely on Odd-Rod to make the right mistake.’
Ho tried on his meaningful-frown face again.
‘He means she tailed you,’ said Lech. ‘Idiot.’
‘And you were waiting to intercept her,’ said Catherine. ‘But why did you have to break her arm?’
‘Because if I’d broken her leg I’d have had to carry her,’ Lamb said. ‘I mean, it’s not rocket science.’
‘We need to get her seen to,’ said Catherine. ‘You can’t just—’
‘It’s a clean break,’ said Lamb. ‘What am I, an amateur? And Taverner’ll make sure she gets what she needs, just as soon as she’s delivered a message.’
‘What message?’
‘That whatever game Diana’s playing’s gone sideways, and we’re the ones hanging off the edge. You got that, Southpaw? These words are for your boss’s ears only. Tell her I want to talk about Kay White and Struan Loy. In one hour. She knows where I’ll be.’ He lobbed a key at Lech, who took it one-handed. ‘Best let her walk out. Watching her climb the fence’d be funny, but we’re on the clock here.’
‘You’re sure this is—’
‘What I’m sure is, I don’t want to hear the next words out of your mouth.’
For a moment the little group was still, as if enacting a tableau: the end-point of a pilgrimage, gathered by this grave. Then all except Lamb watched as Lech walked the injured woman down the path towards Bunhill Row.
‘All that just to get Taverner’s attention?’ said Catherine, once they were gone.
‘Well, I considered leaving a horse’s head in her bed,’ said Lamb. ‘But the logistics are insane.’
‘Sid’s alive,’ said Louisa.
A revelation that didn’t seem to surprise Lamb. ‘And Cartwright’s with her?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then you mean she was alive,’ said Lamb. ‘Him too.’ He brushed his mouth, and a cigarette appeared. ‘Whoever these fuckers are, they’re not amateurs either. And like I said, we’re on the clock.’
When he lit his cigarette, he was briefly burnished by a halo of flame.
Louisa, thinking of River, shivered, and the first few spots of rain began to fall.
THE CAR MOVED SLOWLY along the lane, or that was how it felt to Sid. Slowly in the way that you moved slowly towards an undesirable appointment: your legs heavy, the pavement hostile, but time pouring away at its usual speed. Darkness was falling fast, in response to strange rural gravity. There were no overhead lights, but the car’s beams picked out hedgerow and gatepost, painting them in brief, minute detail, some of which fluttered away when lit. Moths, Sid thought. Moths and midges. There’d be more disturbances all around, sudden startlings and departures, if she could only see them. The creatures of the night reacting to the large bomb travelling past.
Sid was in the back seat, Jim next to her. Jane driving. Jane seemed calm and deliberate, her every move in tune with the car’s progress. Jim, seat belt in place, was half turned towards Sid, his expression one of benign insincerity. It would be better all round, his face suggested, if we could get this done without wasting more breath: on words, on smiles, on life. But he’d be prepared, if necessary, to lend an ear to any plea Sid might care to make, provided Sid didn’t expect him to act on it.
Sid’s sojourn in the study seemed like ancient history; like a walk in an orchard on a summer’s day.
