A Man of Sorrows (30 page)

‘Not much.’

‘Relatively speaking.’

‘It’s different now, everybody does it.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No, they don’t.’

‘Well, I am,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘And you’re going to have to trust me to be sensible about it.’

Like I have an alternative
, Carlyle thought unhappily. ‘Okay,’ he said, stepping forward and kissing her on the forehead. ‘I’ll trust you.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

She sounded so young, Carlyle had to turn away quickly for fear of tearing up. He moved quickly to the door.

‘And I never got kicked out of school.’

‘Neither will I.’

‘Fine,’ he said wearily. ‘We’ll see how it goes.’

THIRTY-NINE

Abigail Slater took a mouthful of coffee, eyeing Rose Scripps suspiciously as she did so. ‘Where is Inspector Carlyle?’

Rose returned the stare with interest. Female defence lawyers were not something you came across very often working in CEOP, certainly not one dressed like this. In a skirt that barely got halfway to her knees and a silk blouse with the top four buttons undone, Slater looked less like a brief and more like a high-class escort.
Were you on a hot date
, Rose wondered,
or is that your normal style?
When McGowan had made the call, it was disappointing that Slater had picked it up. Even more disappointingly, she had made it over to the station – albeit looking like a tramp – in barely twenty minutes, during which time McGowan had remained resolutely mute. Together, they made quite a pair. ‘He is not here,’ she said finally. ‘This is my arrest.’

‘What exactly is your relationship with the inspector?’ Slater asked, placing the paper cup carefully on the table.

Taking a deep breath, Rose told herself that she was not going to take any nonsense from this one. ‘The inspector and I have worked together on several occasions,’ she said coolly, ‘where there has proved to be an overlap in our investigations.’

Sitting next to the lawyer, McGowan started to say something. Slater cut him off. ‘I’ve told you, Father,’ she said sharply, ‘leave the talking to me. We’ll have you back in your bed in no time.’ She smiled patronizingly at Rose. ‘You understand that the inspector, along with his sergeant, is under investigation regarding a brutal and unprovoked assault on my client.’ She placed a comforting hand on McGowan’s shoulder as if to ease the priest’s pain at being reminded of such a sordid affair.

‘Oh yes, I understand that there are various unsubstantiated allegations that have been made against the two officers, by a suspect who has consistently refused to assist the police in their enquiries,’ Rose gestured towards McGowan, who studiously avoided any eye-contact, ‘and who, earlier this evening, was caught paying a minor for sexual services.’

‘That was entrapment,’ Slater snapped, ‘and you know it.’ Getting to her feet, she placed the lid on her coffee and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I will be upstairs. I expect the paperwork to be processed within thirty minutes, so that I can escort my client home. Rest assured, I will be speaking to your superior officer in the morning.’

Tired and hungry, Rose fought to contain her anger. Then the thought popped into her head that Carlyle might have done better to smack the lawyer, rather than the priest, and she couldn’t help but smile.

‘What’s so funny?’ Slater asked immediately.

‘Nothing.’ Rose cleared her throat. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Good.’

‘You can wait in reception if you wish,’ Rose said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, ‘but your client will not be released tonight.’ She gestured at the clock on the wall behind Slater’s head. ‘My shift finished almost an hour ago.’ Now it was her turn to grin maliciously. ‘You may have heard that the Federation is asking all officers to restrict their overtime in protest at the proposed job cuts.’

Slater shot her an angry look.

‘Father McGowan,’ Rose continued, ‘will have to wait until the morning to be charged.’ Getting to her feet, Rose nodded at the uniform standing by the door. ‘Take him to the cells, please.’

With a look of weary resignation, McGowan got to his feet.

Slater grabbed Rose by the arm. ‘You can’t do this!’ she hissed.

‘Take your hand off me,’ Rose said quietly, ‘or
you
will be the one facing the assault charge. And this time there will be witnesses.’

Helen looked up from her copy of
The Times
as Carlyle slipped under the duvet. ‘How did you get on?’

‘Fine,’ Carlyle said glumly. ‘She told me that I had to mind my own business and that we had to trust her.’

‘And?’ Helen dropped the newspaper onto the bedside table and took off her reading glasses.

‘And . . . nothing.’ Carlyle switched off the light on his side of the bed and pulled the duvet under his chin. ‘I guess we have to trust her. I think she understands the point about not getting into more trouble at school, but we have to play it cool. What else can we do? We obviously can’t micro-manage what she does; she’s already proved that.’

‘So we give up?’

‘No, of course not. We just need to help her through this phase. She went into it early, so hopefully she’ll come out of it early too.’

‘Maybe,’ said Helen, unconvinced.

Pulling her towards him, Carlyle gave her a firm hug. ‘Look,’ he said, kissing her on the nose, ‘we’ve got a big couple of days coming up. Let’s get through those and then we can take stock.’

‘Okay,’ she said unhappily.

He reached over and turned off Helen’s light, leaving them in the orange-grey semi-darkness of the city that seeped in through the bedroom window. ‘At least she didn’t ask for her stash back.’

‘That’s just as well,’ said Helen, squirming away from him as she fought to get comfortable. ‘Mum took it back to Brighton with her.’

Sitting on the floor in his Calvin Klein trunks, Christian Holyrod had worked his way through the best part of a bottle of Vega Sicilia Valbuena by the time Abigail Slater reappeared. Even in his somewhat intoxicated state, he could see that she was less than pleased. ‘What happened?’ he asked, trying not to sound too drunk.

Kicking off her shoes, Slater dropped her bag on the carpet and slipped out of her jacket. ‘Some fucking CEOP bitch refused to release McGowan.’

‘Huh?’

Grabbing his wine glass, Slater took a large mouthful before demanding a refill. Once the last of the wine was gone, she began pacing the room, explaining the detail of her unsuccessful trip to Holborn police station as she did so.

‘I see.’ Holyrod forced himself to try and sound sympathetic but Slater had started unbuttoning her blouse and it was impossible to concentrate.

‘You have to sort these people out!’ she said angrily.

‘Mm,’ he replied, sticking a hand inside his Calvins.

‘Seriously.’

Holyrod grinned. There was definitely life down there. ‘Quite.’

Tossing the blouse on the bed, Slater unzipped her skirt. ‘The whole thing is completely ridiculous.’

Holyrod grunted his agreement. ‘It would help though, if your guy didn’t go round paying fifteen-year-old boys for blowjobs.’ Pulling down his shorts, he grinned. ‘Speaking of which . . .’

A look of disgust spread across Slater’s face. ‘Forget it,’ she said, heading for the bathroom. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

Standing in the semi-darkness of her unlit office, Katrin Lagerbäck looked at the portrait of her younger self and sighed. What was she going to do with it when she left Hubaishi Dorning Klee? She didn’t want to take it, but she didn’t want to leave it either. The girl with the impossibly pert bottom and, if she remembered correctly, the rather empty brain just wasn’t her any more, hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe she should just take it into the park and burn it, although that would doubtless break various bylaws.

The picture wasn’t the only thing she had to worry about. HDK Capital Management had announced that the business was to be wound down and there was a lot to do. Above all, it meant she had to oversee the sale of St James’s Diamonds and transition the business over to new ownership. Various bankers had already started sounding her out about the possibility of leading a management buyout, but she knew that her heart wasn’t in it. An MBO would commit her to staying in London for the next couple of years at least and that wasn’t going to happen. One thing she had decided was that she’d had enough of the capital. Berlin beckoned; it was time to go home.

The door of her office was pushed open.

‘I thought I might find you here.’

Frowning, Lagerbäck turned to face her visitor. ‘How did you get in?’

The man smiled. ‘I thought that you wanted a meeting?’

‘
I
thought,’ Lagerbäck said tartly, ‘that we had something in the diary for later in the week.’ She made a move to switch on the lights but he stepped in front of her, pulling a gun from his pocket as he did so.

‘No need for that,’ he said. ‘Move back in front of the desk.’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Lagerbäck asked, more annoyed than scared.

‘Just do as I say,’ the man replied, the smile draining from his face. ‘This is an M-1911, apparently.’ He looked at the pistol in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. ‘A round has been fed from the magazine and placed in the chamber. Firing occurs when the grip safety is depressed; the trigger is squeezed; and the released hammer transfers its energy to the firing pin which, in turn, strikes the primer. As the primer ignites the propellant charge in the chambered cartridge, the hot powder gases expand, building pressure that forces the bullet down the barrel.’

‘What?’ Lagerbäck had tuned out. This guy could make even murder sound boring.

‘Like this.’

Lagerbäck felt the round tear into her abdomen. Thrown backwards across the desk, she looked up enquiringly at the image of her younger self on the wall, wondering how it had all come to this.

FORTY

Christian Holyrod looked over at Abigail Slater and smiled, getting only a frown in return. Noticing the exchange of looks, Katya Morrison grinned. Irritated, the Mayor sent his Special Adviser off to Starbucks to get him a Venti Caramel Macchiato and a chocolate muffin. Once she had taken everyone’s order and flounced out of the room, he turned to Archbishop Brian Crossley and said, ‘The situation we have been monitoring has taken an unfortunate turn.’

Crossley nodded. ‘So I understand.’

‘So,’ said Holyrod, trying to sound diplomatic, ‘I wonder if it might be timely to revisit my office’s previous advice.’

Sitting next to the Archbishop, a look of pain passed across the face of Monsignor Joseph Wagner. ‘The state visit is less than a week away. I do not see how we can, in all conscience, back down now.’

‘I agree with the Papal Visit Coordinator.’ Sitting at the end of the table, Gavin Dugdale eyed Holyrod carefully. ‘We have the Carlyle hearing tomorrow.’

‘What about the sergeant?’ the Mayor asked.

‘That can wait,’ Slater said sharply. ‘She’s not a big deal. If we see off the inspector, Sergeant Roche will barely merit an afterthought.’

‘I suppose not,’ Holyrod agreed.

‘The judgement,’ Dugdale continued, clearly irritated by the interruption, ‘will be reserved until after the Pope’s visit has ended. Doubtless there will be an appeal, which will drag things out a bit longer, but,’ he smiled at Slater, ‘hopefully things have progressed sufficiently for the Catholic Legal Network to quietly drop its legal action.’

Nice to know you’re going into this with an open mind
, Holyrod noted sourly. He had never thought he’d see the day when he felt a twinge of sympathy for that upstart, Inspector Carlyle, but the blatant railroading of a police officer – one of
his
police officers, after all – stuck in his craw. ‘I understand, Commander,’ he said stiffly, ‘but all of this seems to overlook the fact that Father . . .’

‘McGowan,’ Slater interjected.

‘Yes,’ said Holyrod politely, ‘thank you. All of this seems to overlook the fact that Father McGowan was arrested last night for further offences.’

Slater jumped in again. ‘
Alleged
offences.’

Holyrod raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘Further
alleged
offences, where there seems to be some pretty damning evidence that it will, in all likelihood, not be possible to wish away.’

Leaning forward slightly, he tapped his copy of that morning’s
Financial Times
, his index finger landing next to the
VATICAN BANKERS IN MONEY LAUNDERING PROBE
story on the front page. ‘We are all working towards a successful and trouble-free trip,’ he said, and paused, giving everyone on the opposite side of the table the opportunity to nod in agreement. ‘But it is not the case that you are making things as easy as they could be.’

He picked up the paper and squinted at the type. ‘It says here:
Police have seized forty million euro while the Pope
’
s top two bankers have been placed under investigation for suspected money laundering.
’ He waved a hand in the air, ignoring the discomfort of the Church officials. ‘And so on.
The Vatican
’
s bank
,
the Institute for Religious Works
,
has been under pressure to fall into line with international norms and regulations on tax havens and money laundering. Originally founded in 1887 and housed within a medieval bastion within the Vatican
,
IOR was thrown into crisis following the suspected murder of the so-called
“
God
’
s banker
”,
Roberto Calvi
,
who was found hanging from London
’
s Blackfriars Bridge in June 1982.
’ Letting his exasperation get the better of him, Holyrod burst out: ‘How you people manage it, I simply don’t know! If it’s not child abuse, it’s bloody money laundering! You really are your own worst enemies.’