real food but so far he didn't seem interested.
'So what are we saying here?' She reached for a pad. 'The guy's off tomorrow night? We let him get on the ferry? Impound the Beemer aboard? Turn him round the other end and bring him back? Only I don't understand why we don't spare ourselves the grief and do it here and now.'
'He may not have stashed the cocaine yet.'
'Sure. Tomorrow then, en route to the Ferry Port. At the Ferry Port.
Whatever.'
'No, Cath.' Winter was emphatic. 'Just say I've got it right. The guy's carrying hundreds of grand's worth of gear. He's tied in with Mackenzie. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. That makes it dodgy, Cath, from his point of view.'
'You're telling me he's nicking it? From Mackenzie?'
'Yeah.'
'You think he's got some kind of death wish?'
'No idea. But if we let him get on the boat, a tenner says we'll find out.'
Cathy nodded, beginning to sense the direction Winter was headed.
'You mean we do the cabin?'
'Exactly. We talk to P amp;O, get the cabin number, put a couple of techies on the crossing tonight. Get them to wire it up, video as well. We block off the cabins either side, make ourselves at home tomorrow night and see what happens. The guy might just have bailed out with hundreds of grands' worth of someone else's charlie. It'll be party time.'
'What if Mackenzie knows about it? What happens if it's part of some bigger scam?'
'Same difference. Either way, he's going to be mouthing off. I'm talking evidence, Cath. This way, we might get to hurt Mackenzie as well.'
Cathy said nothing, thinking it through.
'What makes you so sure Valentine's got company?'
'It's a four-berth cabin. On his tod, he'd have gone for a two-berth.'
'So who is he travelling with?'
'Haven't a clue, Cath.'
'And you really think this is for keeps? Valentine's not coming back?'
'Yeah.' Winter nodded. 'That's exactly what I think.'
Cathy was still wondering whether to give Winter the benefit of the doubt. She'd been in this situation with him dozens of times on division and she knew it paid to listen. It also paid not to ask too many questions. Winter's MO was unlike any other and he shared his secrets with nobody.
'We'll need a RIPA.' She was thinking aloud now. 'And someone needs to talk to Special Ops. Then there's P8to. Those are conversations for Willard, not me.'
'Willard will take it over. Be nice to keep it to ourselves. Put the squad on the map.'
'There's no way, Paul. Willard has to know. I can't authorise this.
It's way beyond my pay grade.'
'OK.' Winter accepted the logic. 'You've told Willard about Leggat yet?'
'No.' Cathy nodded at her phone. 'I tried just now but he's not answering. I need to brief him about Jimmy Suttle, too. You heard about last night? Gunwharf?'
Winter held her gaze for a moment, then nodded.
'They told me at Central this morning.' He looked pained. 'Bit of a scuffle, wasn't it?'
Chapter twenty-one
SUNDAY, 23 MARCH 2003, 12.36
'Look, Joe.' Willard couldn't believe his luck. 'Second window along.
Perfect.'
He was right. Mackenzie had arrived at the Solent Palace fifteen minutes ago, dropped off by his wife. After a drink with Wallace in the Vanguard Bar on the other side of the building, largely inaudible on the radio link, the pair of them had now moved into the first-floor restaurant. At Mackenzie's insistence, they'd taken a table in the window. Just a snatch of conversation as they sat down together was enough to confirm the rapport they'd established. They were old mates already, Faraday thought. The Graham and Bazza Show.
Faraday watched them settling in the window, clearly visible, and wondered whether it was the same table he'd occupied only yesterday.
Nice views of the kite festival plus three guys in two cars listening to your every word. Bizarre. Faraday stole a look at McNaughton in the nearby Golf. Sooner or later, when he judged it safe, he'd be snapping a couple of close-up shots on the telephoto for the CPS file. u/c officer charms full flag level three. The incontrovertible proof.
Bazza was asking Wallace where he lived. When Wallace said he had a little place in Chiswick, it turned out Bazza's cousin lived a couple of streets away.
'Thin girl. Dyes her hair pink. Does everything at a thousand miles an hour. Drinks in a pub called the Waterman. Can't miss her' he laughed 'even on a dark night.'
Wallace said he'd keep his eyes open. These days, he did most of his social ising in town.
'Clients?' Mackenzie enquired.
'Yeah. My girlfriend works for the Saudi military attache. Big place in South Ken. She's got a pad of her own round the corner in Queen's Gate Gardens. Huge rooms. No offence, mate, but it puts this place to shame.'
'Yeah? What's her name?'
'Sam, but everyone calls her Boysie. Never found out why.'
'She in business with you as well? Or strictly pleasure?'
'Both. But mainly pleasure.'
'Well connected, is she? All those Arabs? Bring you lots of trade?'
'Trade?' Faraday caught the subtle lift in Wallace's voice. Willard, entranced, had his eyes closed. The u/c officer, it was already apparent, was playing a blinder.
'Call it business, then.' It was Bazza again. 'I'm just being nosey.'
'About what exactly?'
'What line you're in. Only, business these days, you know, you read the label on the tin and it turns out to mean fuck all. You with me, Gray?'
'Not really, no.'
'OK. So you develop stuff abroad. Shopping centres, wasn't it?'
'Bricks and mortar. Anything that turns a profit. Customer wants a Formula One circuit and he's got the money to fund it, I'll find the people who can make it happen.'
'Middleman, then. Mr. Ten Per Cent.'
'Fifteen. Else I don't get out of bed.'
'You serious?' Mackenzie sounded genuinely impressed. 'That's fifteen per cent of what?'
'The development budget.' Wallace laughed. 'Lovely phrase.'
'So what are we talking?'
'Last deal? High fives.'
'Five figures?'
'Yeah. You remember the place down in Gloucestershire I mentioned on the phone? The Tudor place the guy wants to turn into a health spa? So far I've made a couple of phone calls, sorted the people he should talk to, sent him the invoice. Fourteen grand says I'm one happy bunny.'
'And him? The bloke himself?'
'Over the moon.'
Faraday glanced over at Willard. They both knew that Mackenzie had already made a check call to this particular client, a plant who'd been happy to blow Wallace's little fiction. Not that you'd know it, listening to
