‘It was a joke.’
‘And we have a sense of humour. Otherwise you’d not have seen the light of day since.’
Loy blinked.
She said, ‘Only kidding.’
He nodded uncertainly, as if receiving his first glimpse of how unfunny jokes could be.
Diana Taverner glanced at her watch, not caring he knew it. He only had one chance to climb on board. This wasn’t a decision he could mull over, and get back to her in the morning.
‘So now you’re in Slough House,’ she said. ‘How’s that working out?’
‘Well, you know …’
‘How’s that working out?’
‘Not so great.’
‘But you haven’t quit.’
‘No. Well …’
She waited.
‘Not sure what I’d do otherwise, to be honest.’
‘And you’re still wondering whether you’ll ever be let back upstairs.’
‘Upstairs?’
‘The Park. Do you want to hear something really funny, Struan? Do you want to hear how many people have made the journey back from Slough House to Regent’s Park?’
He blinked. He already knew the answer to that. Everyone knew the answer to that.
She told him anyway. ‘None. It’s never happened.’
He blinked again.
She said, ‘Of course, that doesn’t mean it never will.
Nothing’s impossible.’
This time he didn’t blink. In his eyes, she saw wheels starting to turn; possibilities sliding into place like tabs into slots.
He didn’t speak, but he shifted in his chair. Leant forward, as if this was a conversation he was sharing, rather than an interrogation he was subject to.
She said, ‘Have you noticed anything unusual at Slough House lately?’
‘No,’ he said, with absolute certainty.
She said nothing.
‘I don’t think so,’ he added.
She checked her watch again.
‘What sort of unusual thing?’
‘Activity. Activity above and beyond the normal course of events.’
He thought about it. While he was doing so, Diana Taverner reached for her bag, which she’d hung on the back of her chair. From it she produced a black-and-white photograph, three inches by five, which she placed on the table between them. Turned it so it was facing Loy. ‘Recognize him?’
‘It’s Alan Black.’
‘Your former colleague.’
‘Yes.’
‘Seen him recently?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘You haven’t seen him lately in Jackson Lamb’s company?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that presents us with a problem.’
She sat back and waited.
‘A problem,’ he said at last.
‘Yes. A problem,’ she agreed. ‘Tell me, Struan. How would you like to be part of the solution?’
In Struan Loy’s eyes, wheels turned again.
‘Should we go round the back?’
‘Can we get round the back?’
‘There might be an alley.’
Min Harper and Louisa Guy were at Ho’s place; had pulled into the last available space moments before another car had arrived, slowed, then headed on down the street and parked. The pair watched without speaking while a man emerged.
They were in Balham, a stone’s throw from the railway line. Brixton, where they’d stopped for Struan Loy, had been a washout: he was either not at home or had died in his sleep. Like all the slow horses, Loy lived alone. That seemed a stark statistic, and it was odd that it hadn’t occurred to Min Harper before. He didn’t know whether Loy was single from choice or circumstance; divorced, separated or what. It seemed unsatisfactory, this ignorance about his colleagues, and he’d thought about raising the subject with Louisa, but she was driving. All the alcohol they’d put away earlier, it seemed a good idea to let her concentrate on that. Come to think of it, there was other stuff they should be discussing, but that too had better wait. From out of nowhere, they were on an op. How had that happened?
‘So …’
The man they’d been watching slipped out of sight.
‘Okay. Let’s try it.’
Crossing the road, Min felt his jacket bang against his hip. The paperweight. He was still carting the paperweight he’d used earlier, when confronting the masked intruder who turned out to be Jed Moody. He rubbed his thumb along its surface without taking it from his pocket. He hadn’t hit Moody with it. Hadn’t needed to. They’d taken a tumble, and only Min had got to his feet. He supposed that should go in the account book somewhere, in the opposite column to the one where he’d stepped off a tube train without a disk, and his career had gone whistling away down the dark tunnel.
He hadn’t liked Jed Moody, but didn’t enjoy knowing he’d been the instrument of his death. He suspected he hadn’t got to the bottom of that feeling yet. Everything had happened so swiftly since that he hadn’t yet taken it on board.
Leave it for now, he thought. You could coast for a while on that mantra.
‘What do you reckon?’
‘Looks doable.’
They’d found a thin strip of unpaved passage between the backs of one row of houses and those on the next road. It was unlit, overgrown, and neither had a torch, but Ho lived only four houses along. Louisa led the way. The bushes were wet, and hung with cobweb. Underfoot was slick with mud, and they were walking close enough that if either went down, both would. Any other night, it would make for a comedy moment.
‘This one?’
‘That’s what I make it.’
