the small drama of their flight, he failed to hear Harry Wayte's arrival. Only when the DI got out of his car and crunched towards him across the gravel did Faraday turn round.
'Walk?' Wayte set off down the track towards the picket gate at the end without a backward glance.
All too conscious of the tiny Nagra snugly taped to the small of his back, Faraday followed. For the second time in twelve hours, he felt wretched. Even now, in ruins, Tumbril had the power to overwhelm him.
It was a beautiful morning, a cloudless blue sky with a feather of breeze but scarcely a ripple on the water. Away to the south, barely visible on the horizon, the white smudge of the Bargemaster's House.
Wayte pushed through the gate at the end of the track. From here, a path on top of the sea wall circled the edge of the reserve. The two men had yet to break the silence.
'Why go bothering her, Joe?' Wayte said at last. If anything, he sounded reproachful.
'Because we just lost a year's worth of work and God knows how much money. But then you'd know that, Harry.'
'I would?'
'Of course you would.'
'Why's that?'
Faraday brought Harry Wayte to a halt. Awkwardness had given way to anger. This man had just destroyed a year's work. No point, he thought, in ducking the obvious.
'You're not denying that you and Joyce…?'
'Have been shagging? Christ no, Joe. Far from it.'
'And I gather you discussed Tumbril.'
'Is that what she told you?'
'Yes.' Faraday gazed at him, waiting for some kind of comment. Wayte didn't say a word. 'You're telling me you knew nothing about Tumbril}'
'Nothing that every other bugger in the force didn't know. You blokes have been chasing your tails. If you're trying to set me up for the fall or Joyce then you'd better think again.'
'So you never discussed the operation?'
'Pillow talk? Tumbril? Forget it.'
'OK.' Faraday had never expected this to be easy. 'Then let's pretend you've had a lapse of memory. Let's imagine you've got what Nick Hayder's got a bloody great hole instead of perfect recall. Let's even pretend that I was right, that you did discuss Tumbril, that in fact you knew everything. Are you with me?' The question drew a wary nod from Wayte. 'OK, so you've had dealings with Mackenzie before. I checked the records this morning. You've been passed over for DCI.
You're pissed off with the job and you can't wait to leave. You also, as we all know, think Tumbril's a complete waste of space. Why?
Because the way you see it, Mackenzie helps keep the peace. You may have a point, Harry. You may even be right. But that's not it, is it?
Because the last thing you do in this job is go telling tales to the enemy.'
'Enemy?' Wayte threw his head back and began to laugh. 'Are we talking the same bloke here? The hooligan I nicked for affray twenty years back?'
'Yes.' Faraday nodded. 'Nine million quid's worth of hooligan if you want the exact figure.'
'And you really think I've been mouthing off to him? Marking his card?'
'Yes.'
'Can you prove it?'
The question had been a long time coming. Faraday took Wayte by the arm but Wayte shook him off. The two men began to walk again.
'Professional Standards are mounting a major investigation,' Faraday said. 'That'll take months, Harry. They'll turn everyone over me, you, Joyce, all of us.'
'And Willard, too. He was SIO, wasn't he?'
'Yes.'
'So how come you think they can tie any of this to me?'
'Because you'll have been careless, Harry, as well as greedy. There'll be a trace. There always is. And somewhere down the line, sooner or later, they'll find it.'
'So what are you saying?'
'I'm asking you to have a think, Harry. For the record, I've got you down as a bloody good cop. I don't agree with everything you've said lately but you wouldn't expect me to.'
Wayte nodded, then gazed out over the harbour. Tempers had cooled. To Faraday's surprise, this was turning into a negotiation.
'You know I'm retiring in September?' Wayte asked at last. 'Joyce tell you that?'
'She didn't but you did, Harry. Couple of days ago? Up in the bar at Kingston Crescent?'
'Did I? Shit…' He pulled a face, not the least embarrassed. 'And did I tell you I can't bloody wait?'
'That, too.'
'Bugger me… I must be getting old.'
'Happens, Harry.'
Faraday brought them both to a halt again. Metres from the sea wall, a pair of dunlin were loitering with intent amongst the seaweed on the foreshore. Faraday watched them for a moment, then he reached under his anorak and turned off the recorder.
Wayte had followed his every movement. The rueful smile had disappeared.
'Bastard,' he said softly.
'I've turned it off, Harry, not on. You want to check?'
'Bastard,' he repeated.
Faraday studied him a moment, then shrugged. He was doing this man a big favour. Whether he chose to see it that way was his problem.
'I went down to the Sally Port the other night and had a little chat to the manager. He remembers you coming in on Saturday, Harry. You wanted to know about the occupant of room six on Wednesday last. You made it official and so he told you. Guy called Graham Wallace, he said. Gave you his home address, car registration, credit card details, the lot. That was a bit over the top, Harry. All Mackenzie really needed was the name plus the fact that I'd called in to see him.' Faraday took a last look at the dunlin, then patted Wayte on the arm. 'You've got my mobile number, Harry. Give me a ring.'
Faraday was back in his office at Kingston Crescent, waiting for a chance to see Willard, when his mobile began to ring. He checked the number. Harry Wayte.
'Harry?'
'Me. Listen, you alone?'
'Yes.'
'I've had a bit of a think about this morning. Fact is, mate, I'm up to here with it.'
'With what?'
'The poxy job. I'm binning it. Early retirement. I'll be doing the paperwork this afternoon.'
'Harry' Faraday had pushed his chair back from the desk 'are you sure you've thought this through?'
'Yeah… But listen, Joe, the way I see it is this.' He began to talk about his current caseload, how few of the jobs were going anywhere, and as he did so Faraday was doing the sums. He and Wayte, both DIs, were on the same pay grade. By handing in his ticket six months early, Faraday estimated Wayte would be kissing goodbye to 2.0,000 worth of commutation. When Wayte paused for breath, Faraday went through the sums with him. In fairness, it was the least he could do.
Wayte listened, then cut Faraday short.
'Joe, I'm not deaf. I heard what you said this morning. Twenty grand?
What makes you think I can't make that up elsewhere?'
Faraday stared at his mobile.
'What did you just say?'
'You heard me. We never had this conversation but twenty grand's fuck all in some circles, as you well know.' He began to laugh. Then the phone went dead.
