Play Dead (8 page)

‘Plainly, Mallen was not on that beaten track,' Iles said. ‘Many metres off course. The question Col would ask is, how come Mallen went so far adrift - so far off the most direct, quickest route from Ritson to Guild Square? We were told he'd been called by mobile to an urgent rendezvous in the Square. Why had he wandered off like that, apparently chosen such a devious approach?'

‘Of course, there was
no
urgent rendezvous for him in the Square,' Gerald said.

‘But Mallen didn't know this at the time, did he - or ever, come to that?' Iles said. ‘The supposed rendezvous was part of a plot to get him on to ground where he could be efficiently and secretly executed, a proven spy.'

‘On to the Elms, yes,' Gerald said. He and Jane were both in their early thirties, Gerald about as tall as Jane, more heavily made, with ruthlessly cropped fair hair, and a boyish, confused look on his face most of the time. That might not be permanent. Iles often had this effect on people, whether they appeared boyish or otherwise. Harpur had never heard anyone actually ask, ‘God, is he real?' about Iles, but he thought plenty would like to.

‘Not simply on to the Elms, was it, though, Gerald?' the ACC said.

‘Oh, I see the point you're making, Mr Iles,' Jane said, a kind of awe at his cleverness in her tone.

‘Yes?' Gerald said. His mixed-up-kid face became more mixed-up. He obviously didn't like being corrected by Iles, nor getting left behind by Jane. He had a middling-to-big job in IT.

‘What Col has observed, in his acute style, is that Mallen had to be steered away from the usual track so he would enter the pot-shot precinct in front of the property that might one day be number fourteen Davant Road; in front of this property and specifically and exclusively this property,' Iles said. ‘Elms, yes, but here, exactly, on Elms. Number fourteen Davant had a dedicated function that night - turret. The gunman was already installed upstairs there and prepared. But he could act only if Parry/Mallen occupied the ambush zone - a very limited zone. Accurate pistol shooting is not easy, not even for a skilled marksman. He needed Parry/Mallen to present himself as target in a very precise and predictable spot. There might have been rehearsals. They'd certainly have to come over to Elms pre-op and sort out the right incomplete house for their gunman - one with the staircase, manageable locks, and a bedroom window that gave a view of the appointed slab of terrain: from a view to a death.

‘Of course, the house they picked would determine which
was
the appointed slab of terrain. Maybe one of them had done a previous, preparatory stroll through Elms towards number forteen, pretending to be Parry/Mallen, so the lad in the house could check angles and range. Then, fine, it's all set up - or as much as it could be without Parry/Mallen actually included yet. But, these are perfectionists. The stand-in victim is told to make the approach just once more, double or treble checking. And what if he has a Biro in his pocket, the top section long lost, and puts it on the floor as a marker for the re-run or re-re-run? Instruction to himself: “Get to the Biro, get mock-hit, get mock-dead, get an Oscar.” There'd be enough moonlight for it to be seen - maybe even for it to glint a little, like a navigation buoy.

‘Naturally, when Tom Parry/Mallen came that way on the actual slaughter night, he wouldn't know he should seek out the exactly right bit of ground. But our pal with the gun does know which is the exactly right bit of ground and, having this as reference point, can adjust his aim and angle to suit any slight variation. Thorough planning and timetabling had gone into this termination project, this cleansing-of-the-firm project, but it did require some cooperation from Parry/Mallen - unconscious cooperation, obviously. He has to be in what Harpur would probably call “the right ballpark”.' Iles sat back in his chair and drank a little tea. Then he said, as though deferentially: ‘I believe that's a fair summary of your thinking, isn't it, Col?'

‘Along those lines, yes,' Harpur said. He felt a kind of buddiness with the supposed gang member who, before him, might have done what Harpur had done last night - acted as Parry/Mallen on his appointed way to destruction. And had the sniper launched some Iles-type shoot-bang-fire pop sounds to imitate the blasts due for Parry/Mallen soon? Perhaps this Parry/Mallen replica keeled over as if twice struck in key regions, the way Harpur did later. The 14 Davant corner of Elms could figure as a training base for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, or a commando unit.

‘We're going at matters arse-backwards,' Iles said.

‘In which respect, sir?' Harpur replied.

‘We've placed Jane and Gerald in front of the house, attending to Tom Mallen on or near the special location. But we haven't worked out why Tom left the normal path - the path Jane and Gerald had been following until she saw the chucked garments that turned out to be Mallen - left the normal path and drifted over towards fourteen, a drift of forty metres.'

‘You're right, Mr Iles,' Jane said.

Gerald edged his way into things. Getting talked down to by cops in his own living room might badly piss him off. The conversation had gone away from him. He seemed to resent the enthusiastic way Jane agreed with the Assistant Chief. She said, ‘You're right, Mr Iles,' as though it meant, ‘You're always right, Mr Iles.' This was, though, the type of accolade the Assistant Chief might dismiss as stupidly redundant. He already knew himself to be always right, and expected others to know it, too; know this as so plainly a feature of the ACC that to hail it like a discovery was offensive, a kind of impertinence.

Gerald said: ‘Excuse me, Mr Iles, but one is bound to notice that on the left side of your face you appear to have sustained—'

‘The Assistant Chief is very hands-on,' Harpur said. ‘Some of us try to get him to take fewer front-line risks, but he's not made that way. For him, leadership is leadership. I heard that in a previous posting he was known as “Audacious Desmond”.'

‘No mere backroom pen-pusher?' Jane replied. ‘Though some do say the pen is mightier than the sword.'

‘A pen
can
give a nasty dig when pushed,' Iles said.

Gerald said: ‘Your injury, Mr Iles, is one that—'

‘If there's trouble, the ACC is as likely to be personally involved as any of his people,' Harpur said.

‘But you - you're one of his people,' Gerald said. ‘You're not injured.'

‘I could show you,' Harpur said.

‘What happened?' Jane replied.

‘I'm very glad you asked,' Iles said.

‘Yes?' Jane said.

‘Oh, yes,' Iles said.

‘Mr Iles wouldn't want it thought that this wound and contusion suited his face so well that they were not noticed - or at least not considered worth mentioning,' Harpur said.

Jane said, ‘Simple politeness might have stopped us from—'

‘Mr Iles is man enough to know when he has become exceptionally unsightly, and it's not in his frank and open nature to ban all comments on this outstanding, if not unique, ugliness,' Harpur said.

‘Thank you, Col,' Iles replied.

‘But who could have done this to him - to an Assistant Chief Constable?' Gerald said. His tone had mellowed. ‘The injury - so near his eye.'

‘Yes,' Harpur said, ‘as if calculated.'

‘How?' Gerald asked. ‘Who?'

‘So, Tom Mallen comes in at the flattened bit of fence just like Jane and Gerald,' Iles replied, ‘and for a while, say fifty or sixty metres, follows the direct path, as almost everyone would. But then he swings away. What does this seem to indicate?'

Jane said: ‘Well, it could be that he—'

‘It indicates extreme caution,' Iles said. ‘Or even a touch of panic.'

‘In what respect, sir?' Harpur said.

‘He'd seen something,' Iles said.

Jane said: ‘But couldn't it be that he was called to - the gunman shouts through the window space to him by name, suggests he should come that way, past fourteen Davant?'

Iles put a bent hand up to the side of his mouth as if to make his voice carry better. ‘Over here, Tom, so I can nail you, you treacherous, ratfink bastard,' he cried. He lowered his hand. ‘Is that how you think it went?'

Jane ignored the put-down. ‘Just calls his name. That might be enough, surely. Tom would want to find out what was going on - perhaps a change in the plan. After all, it's a very fluid situation.'

Iles said: ‘This is an undercover officer, aware continuously that his cover and his life could get blown. Don't you think he'd be wary of wandering off to a comparatively lonely part of the site because someone yells his name? This is not like a lad's mother fondly calling him home from vandalizing a parked car to have his tea.'

‘He's used to risk. He can't be over-careful. It's not that kind of job. After all, going on to the site in the first place carried risk, didn't it?' Jane said.

‘And he wouldn't want to add to that,' Iles said.

‘We don't know his thinking,' Jane said.

‘We guess. We deduce,' Iles said. ‘We fix on what's likely.'

‘Subjective,' Gerald said. ‘People will guess differently, deduce differently, fix on different factors as likely.'

‘Mr Iles is remarkably tolerant and definitely always conscious that some people don't see things as he does,' Harpur replied. ‘He pities them unstintingly. On the whole he considers it best to ignore their views. That's a fair summary of your thinking, isn't it, sir, positive, though with a negative core?'

‘Tom leaves the normal route to
avoid
risk, not increase it,' Iles replied.

‘I don't understand that,' Gerald said.

‘He's on the path and then, suddenly, doesn't want to be on the path,' Iles said. ‘Indeed he eschews the path. It has become a hazard for him, rather than a safe beaten track: something to be escaped from at once. Why? None of this came out at the trial, of course. The prosecution was interested only in the death outside fourteen. How he got there didn't matter to their case.'

‘You say he's seen something,' Harpur answered.

‘But what, Col?' Iles said.

‘Not some
thing
, some
body
,
perhaps
?'
Harpur asked.

‘Good, Col,' Iles said.

‘Somebody ahead of him on the path he doesn't want to see?' Harpur said. ‘Or be seen
by
.'

‘Good again, Col.'

‘But who?' Gerald said.

Jane gasped slightly. ‘Ah, I think I get it,' she said.

‘Good,' Iles said.

‘Get what?' Gerald said.

‘He's been ordered to take a route across Elms,' Jane said, ‘because this makes a fine killing field, as they see it. They know, though, there's what you're calling the “beaten track”, Mr Iles - the usual path followed on Elms by nearly all the short-cutters. Parry/Mallen is likely to take this. But getting him on to the site is only half the job. They've decided that one property gives the best billet for their marksman, and it's reasonably secluded. Parry/Mallen has to be directed, persuaded, tricked, pressured, shepherded into going that way, rather than continuing on the standard track. So, they arrange for an obstruction.'

‘Good,' Iles said.

‘An obstruction?' Gerald asked. ‘Part of the fence?'

‘The somebody already mentioned,' Jane said.

‘This somebody is an obstruction?' Gerald said.

‘The somebody doesn't actually, physically, obstruct but makes Parry/Mallen divert,' Jane said.

‘Who could do that?' Gerald said.

‘Ah,' Harpur replied.

Jane said: ‘I don't know why, but my feeling, my instinct, is that this must be another police officer, or perhaps more than one.'

‘Excellent, Jane,' Iles said. Harpur guessed the ACC would be thinking of that long neck on the cormorant. Jane didn't have an unusually long neck, but might have a less obvious affinity with the bird. The cormorant could scoop out fish from well under the river or sea surface, whereas Jane could brilliantly retrieve instincts and truths from her subconscious. It was always a mistake to dismiss altogether an Ilesian theory, not only about art - about anything, including cormorants, although they were currently suffering a cull.

‘Yes,' the ACC replied, ‘a police officer or officers on the path, possibly coming from the Square towards Ritson and therefore about to meet Tom face-to-face.'

‘These are bought police, on the take? They belong to the firm?' Jane asked.

‘Certainly,' Iles said. ‘But Tom wouldn't know whether they were or not. He's inside the firm by now, yes, but not familiar with all the intricacies of its workings, all the low-level contacts and contracts. That's his job as undercover man - to discover the whole extent of the corruption. He's only just started. And, of course, the firm would be aware which bent cops he did know of. They pick one or two that are strangers to him and tell them to get on the path at the right time and uniformed, walking in the opposite direction to Parry/Mallen.'

‘To scare him?' Jane said.

‘To make him switch. Tom's
en route
to the killing of the maverick trader, Justin Paul Scray, or believes he is. He probably wouldn't be keen on this. OK, an undercover cop might have to take part in some criminal doings of the host firm, to preserve cover, but involvement in a murder is too much. Perhaps he's glad to be delayed. The supposed killing could take place before he arrives, and he'd have a quotable excuse for his lateness on the scene. In any case, he doesn't want to get spotted by what might be straight cops. He'd be remembered. If Scray is
killed in the Square, or near, there'll be a trawl for anyone seen close to the scene at the right time that night. Tom might get traced and pulled in. Of course, he could explain his way out of that - he tells them he's an undercover detective, and they can verify it. But there are crooked officers in this police force. What should be secret information regularly leaks from headquarters to Leo Percival Young's firm. Tom's mission would be critically weakened, perhaps sunk.