daily torrent of volume crime that surged through Highland Road.
'You made it then?'
'Sure. Zapped the little bastards.'
'Bastards? Plural?'
'Breast, lymph nodes, couple in the neck.' The purple nails traced the progress of the tumours. 'Got real interesting when they started talking mastectomy.'
Faraday stared at her. Her breasts looked real enough to him.
'So what happened?'
'I told them no way. They could try anything else, didn't matter what, but we'd all go down together. Worked real good. Chemotherapy you wouldn't believe. Couple of weeks of that shit and the little bastards came out with their hands up. Bang, bang, bang. Full military funeral but theirs not mine.' She glanced up. 'Still take sugar?'
Faraday nodded. For the first time, he noticed the display of photos on the far wall. Imber was still deep in conversation.
'Here.' Joyce handed him a mug of coffee. 'Let me give you the tour.'
Faraday followed her across the office. The biggest of the photos was an aerial shot of a sizeable property, red-tiled roof, big double bays, tall sash windows. There was a Mercedes convertible and an SUV on the patterned brick drive in front of the double garage, and a ne wish-looking swimming pool occupied part of the garden at the front.
Certain features security cameras, intruder-resistant thorn bushes, remotely operated double gates had been identified and labelled, and there was a circle around a small wooden hut tucked beside a child's swing.
'That's a kennel. The guy just loves his dogs.' Joyce was demolishing her second chocolate biscuit. 'Two ridge backs Clancy and Spud.'
'This is Mackenzie's?'
'Sure. 13 Sandown Road. Now isn't that cute? And don't you just want to ask how they ever gave him planning permission? Nice area like that?'
Faraday followed her pointing finger. Above the first-floor bedrooms, a huge balconette had been built into the roof. A skirt of chromium and smoked glass hid the balconette from view but the angle of the photograph revealed four sun loungers with a couple of tables in between. Faraday nodded. Sandown Road lay in the heart of Craneswater Park. Craneswater was as select as Southsea got, street after street of generously proportioned Edwardian villas with plenty of garden and views across the Solent. People who'd made it to this middle class enclave guarded their heritage with a fierce passion. Joyce was right, Faraday thought. How come Bazza Mackenzie had been allowed this sudden splash of Florida?
'And here, look, the ASU boys have done us proud.' Joyce was indicating an object in the garden. 'You know what that is?'
Faraday stepped closer.
'Some kind of floodlight?'
'Gold star for the sheriff!' Joyce was beaming. 'He's got five of them.
Evenings you get the full works, and believe me we're talking serious gels. Mondays it's mauve, Tuesdays puke green, and Wednesdays… my favourite…'
'Purple?'
'Cerise. We'll end up with a charge sheet long as your arm but good taste won't figure.'
Imber, his phone call over, had joined them. Faraday nodded at the house.
'You've paid him a visit?'
'Not yet.' Imber shook his head. 'That photo's in case we have to at short notice, but the ASU have promised an update if we give them enough warning.'
'Where does the documentation come from?' Faraday glanced back towards the smaller room that housed the files.
'Production Orders. We're using the DTA. So far we've concentrated on property deals and transactions in and out of Gibraltar. Going back ten years, that's a lot of paper.'
The Drug Trafficking Act offered an investigation like this the power to raise Production Orders from a judge sitting in chambers. These, in turn, would have enabled Hayder to seize a huge range of documentation, from bank records to mortgage deeds. In theory, the target should remain ignorant of this ever-widening trawl. Fat chance.
'He'll know… won't he?'
'Of course he will. His accountant will have told him. His bank. His brief. Being Bazza, he's probably flattered. There's not much we can do to shake him. Not yet.'
'Why didn't Nick go for supply?'
'Because Mackenzie's arm's length now, doesn't let the stuff anywhere near him. If we wanted to make a supply charge stick, we should have been doing this years ago.'
'But he still controls it all?'
'Of course he does. That's the way business works. He bankrolls supply and helps himself to a fat percentage. The richer you get, the more the other blokes do all the running around. Arm's length, he's laughing.'
Faraday was looking at the other photos. One showed Mackenzie getting out of the sleek convertible, a small, stocky, eager-looking figure with a broad grin on his face. Another showed a good-sized motor cruiser nosing into a marina berth. Both bore the imprint of a surveillance operation, the photographer working from a distance at the end of a powerful telephoto lens.
'These are his?'
'In reality, yes. He hides everything behind nominee names because he's not stupid, but yes. These are what keep us going. We've got loads more in the drawer. Properties abroad, local businesses, you name it. Joyce rings the changes every Monday. Just in case we lose motivation.'
'That's envy, isn't it?'
'Of course. And frustration, too. If you'd been banged up here all year you'd pretty much feel the same way.'
'So who does the legwork, figures-wise?'
'Bloke called Martin Prebble. He's a forensic accountant. Costs us a fortune but he's shit-hot. Give him three million documents and he'll know the ones to sling out. Without him around, we'd still be at base camp.'
'So where is he?'
'London. He works for one of the big City firms. We get him two days a week.' He glanced round. Joyce had returned to her desk. Imber bent towards Faraday. 'I know what you're thinking, Joe, but believe me this is the only way. We've tried everything else the covert, surveillance, informants, plotting the supply chain but like I say, Mackenzie's beyond all that. He's clever, brighter than you might think. He's well advised and he's listened to that advice. The guy's walled himself off from the sharp end. All we're left with is the money. But that's where we can hurt him. By following the money.'
Faraday was trying to reconcile this little outburst with something that had stuck in his mind from Willard. Mackenzie's programmed to break the law, he'd said. That's what he does. And that's why we'll have him.
'You really think it's all down to the paperwork?'
'I do.'
'No point trying to set him up?'
'None. Like I said, he's too well protected. This way we at least have a fighting chance. As long as we all keep the faith.'
'Who's 'we'?'
'Who do you think? It's means and ends, Joe. And, to be fair, we've had our share of resources.'
'You're telling me there's pressure for a result?'
'Of course there is. There's always pressure for a result. That's why Nick was close to blowing up. A job like this takes time, years and years. We've never thought like that before but then we've never had to. What it boils down to is blokes like Bazza. The man's a billboard. He's up there in lights. He's telling every kid in this city there's no point going to school, no point keeping this side of the law, no point getting your head down and trying to lead a half-decent life. Leave Bazza alone, put him in the Too Difficult basket, chuck in the towel, and we might as well call
