'Nigel?' he queried.
The march had been a disappointment. After the unforgettable turnout in February, one and a half million people bringing central London to a halt, Eadie had known at once that this march was infinitely smaller.
The faces had changed, as well. Gone were the ranks of middle England, the civil servants in from Haslemere, the young mums up from the shires. Instead, Eadie found herself taping placards from an organisation called Sex Workers of the World Unite. She knew that bizarre lobby groups like these would be a gift to waverers tempted to close ranks behind the troops in the front line. Weep with the widows of Iraq might touch a nerve or two, but the public mood was undeniably changing.
As a speaker from the Socialist Workers' Party seized the microphone on the platform in front of the crowd, Eadie hunted one last time for images that would give J-J the ammunition he needed. A young black vicar with a child on his shoulders. Two Muslim women, their eyes letter-boxed in black. Distant spectators hanging over a balcony on a hotel overlooking Park Lane. Cold and hungry after the sunshine of the early afternoon, Eadie finally lodged the camera in her day sack and got out her mobile. Three calls to Joe had so far failed to raise a response. She tried again. Nothing.
Chapter nineteen
SATURDAY, 22 MARCH 2003, 16.30
Winter was surprised to find Cathy Lamb at her desk on a Saturday. The DI's hideaway lay next door to the bigger squad office, and Winter glimpsed her through the open door as he walked past.
'Paul.' She called him back. 'What are you doing in?'
Winter tried to fend her off with a grouch about paperwork. Unless he caught up on the backlog he'd be chained to his desk for most of next week. She didn't buy it for a second.
'The day you bin a Saturday for paperwork is the day pigs fly.' She snorted. 'What's going on?'
Winter, playing willing, took a seat in front of her desk. Cathy Lamb was a sturdy, big-boned woman with a slightly butch attitude to fashion and make-up. Winter had known her for years and had always taken a lively interest in her career. As his skipper on division at Southsea, she'd been tough but shrewd, allowing him the benefit of the doubt as long as the scalps he took outweighed his transgressions. As DI, shackled to a desk, she was less forgiving.
'You know a bloke called Barry?' Winter said lightly. 'Rat-faced? Mid thirties? Qualified motor mechanic?'
'Can't say I do. Does he have a surname?'
'Yeah. That's why I asked. I've seen this bloke somewhere before but I can't place him.'
'Why the interest?'
'He's working for Mike Valentine.'
'The car dealer? Bazza's mate?'
'Yeah. Except that Valentine's selling up, getting out.'
'Who said?'
'Me. I was up there this morning.'
'Why?'
Winter had seen this question coming since he launched the conversation.
'Why is he getting out?' he queried. 'Or why was I up there?'
'The latter.'
'I need a car, Cath, something half decent. The Subaru's been great but you know how it is…' He made a gesture of resignation.
'Nothing lasts forever.'
'But why Valentine?'
'Because he's cheap. In fact he's giving the bloody things away. Fire sale.'
'But no fire.'
'Exactly.'
He held Cathy's gaze. He knew she didn't believe the story about the car for a moment but there was something else going on in there.
'There's street talk about a big cocaine shipment,' she said at last.
'Have you picked that up at all?'
'No.' Winter's interest began to quicken. 'How big?'
'Couple of kilos, minimum.'
Winter was impressed. Two kilos of cocaine, cut and bagged, could net you 120,000.
'When was this?'
'No one knows, not for sure.'
'But recently?'
'This week.'
'And we don't know whose name's on the label?' 'No… but it has to be something to do with Mackenzie. Not hands-on, of course, but I bet he's staking it, that kind of weight.' She leaned forward. 'If you were overrun with Scousers and Jamaicans and God knows who else, and everything else had failed, what would you do?'
Winter thought about the question for a moment or two, then grinned.
'Flood the market,' he said. 'Bring the price down.'
'Exactly. Couple of kilos of cocaine? It's Blue Cross Day.' She nodded. 'Has to be linked to Mackenzie. Has to be.'
Winter was thinking about the workshop behind the showroom, the guy Barry gob bing into the gloom, clearly pissed off.
'Bazza's gear's supposed to come down in Valentine's cars.' Winter was beginning to enjoy himself. 'Did you hear that?'
'That's what everyone says. You're telling me it's true?'
'I've no idea. Except you'd need a mechanic to get at it at this end.'
Winter got to his feet. 'You here for a bit, Cath?'
'Why's that?'
'I just need to make a phone call. Back in a jiff.'
Winter called the CID room at Highland Road, catching Dawn Ellis as she put the finishing touches to a CPS file on a serial shoplifter. As duty DC on lates all week, she'd come in early to keep herself out of the shops.
'My Visa statement arrived this morning,' she told Winter. 'Overdrawn just doesn't do me justice.'
'Have you still got that cork board over the kettle? The one with the mug shots?'
'Yeah.' She sounded bemused. 'Why?'
'There's a bloke called Barry. Looks like a child molester. Thin hair. Scary eyes.' He paused. 'Do us a favour?'
'Barry Leggat.' She didn't need to go across to the board. 'Came out a couple of months ago. Did two years for ringing bent motors.'
'Local?'
'Leigh Park. Supposed to be shacked up with a woman called Jackie something or other. She's scary, too. You want the address?'
Winter grunted a yes and waited while she thumbed through a couple of files. Oakmount Road. House with a whole family of gnomes in the front garden.
'Anything else I can do you for?' Dawn laughed. 'Cappuccino? Carrot cake? Nut cutlet?'
She rang off, leaving Winter gazing at the address. Moments later, he was back in Cathy Lamb's office.
'Just an idea, Cath. Are you up for this?'
'Go on.' She was looking wary again.
Winter explained about the workshop at the back of Valentine's showroom. Barry Leggat, he suspected, might be the guy to unpack the goodies once the cars had driven down from London. He'd undoubtedly earn a drink or two in the process and, with Valentine bailing out, that source of income would suddenly dry up. If that was the
