Willard slumped back in the driving seat, his head against the plump leather. The black Toyota was back again. It coasted to a stop in front of the Jaguar, hemming them in. Two men got out. The older one was wearing jeans and leather jacket. He stood beside the driver's door, staring down at Willard. Willard ignored him.
Faraday got out of the car.
'What is it?'
'Starter motor's stuffed.' The man in the leather jacket nodded towards the Toyota. 'Thought you gents might give us a push. Favour, like. Seeing you've got nothing better to do.'
Faraday looked at him a moment, aware of McNaughton emerging from the nearby Golf. Then he ducked his head back into the Jaguar. Willard had his eyes closed.
'Tell him to fuck off,' he said softly.
It was Paul Winter's second visit to the QA in a week. To his relief, there was a different face behind the reception desk in A amp; E. Winter produced his warrant card and asked after a lad called Jimmy Suttle.
'Brought in last night, he explained. 'Fracas down at Gunwharf.'
The receptionist scrolled back through the log, locating Suttle between two walk-ins after a domestic upset in Stamshaw, and a youth who'd put his mate's scooter through a garden fence.
'We treated him in minor injuries,' the woman said. 'Discharged at 03.44.'
'By himself, was he?'
'Doesn't say.'
'Where did he go?'
'Home, I expect.'
'Downside Cottage?' Winter had reached in and swivelled the PC for a better view. 'Buriton?'
It was nearly two by the time Winter drove out to Buriton. Suttle's Astra was parked outside an end-terrace house a quarter of a mile beyond the pub. A side entrance led down a narrow path. Body-checking past a brimming dustbin, Winter pushed at a wooden door at the end.
Already, he could hear music and the sound of girlie laughter. His heart sank. Trudy.
She was sitting on a big rug spread over a tiny patch of threadbare lawn. The sky was cloudless a perfect spring day and Suttle was stretched out on the rug, his head in Trudy's lap. A bottle of vodka was flanked by two glasses. The music came from a ghetto blaster at Suttle's feet and Winter spotted the remains of a deep-pan pizza in the nearby flower bed. A blackbird was pecking greedily at a smear of cheese.
'Brought you these, son.' Winter offered Suttle a brown bag. 'What happened?'
'It's worse than it looks,' Suttle said at once. 'They only called the ambulance because I whacked my head when I went over.' Suttle's left eye, swollen and purple, had nearly closed. There were marks across his forehead, too, and a scarlet weal across his cheek.
'So what happened?' Winter said again.
'Fucking Chris Talbot, that's what happened.' It was Trudy. 'Bloke was well out of order.'
'You piss him off somehow?' Winter was still looking at Suttle.
'Yeah, he did. By being with me. That's typical of this city, that is. They ought to put Talbot in a zoo.' Trudy was reaching for the bottle. 'Drink?'
Winter declined the vodka. The sun was warmer than he'd anticipated.
He took his jacket off and settled on a corner of the rug. Suttle was up on one elbow now.
'You want a chair? Only ' 'This is fine. You going to take it further?'
'No.' Suttle shook his head. 'Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.'
'Witnesses?'
'Against Talbot?' Trudy started to laugh. 'Do me a favour. You guys are supposed to be cluey. Who's going to grass up someone like that?'
Suttle was looking at the bag Winter had brought.
'What's in there.'
'Grapes. I thought you needed a bit of TLC 'That's me.' Trudy started to laugh again. 'I'm TLC, aren't I, Jimmy?
You know what time we got up? Tell him, lover.'
The state of Suttle's face couldn't hide his embarrassment. When he asked Trudy to put the kettle on, she got reluctantly to her feet and disappeared into the house.
Suttle turned on Winter.
'What fucking happened to you, then?'
'I was on my way back.'
'So where are the keys?'
'Bit of an accident. I locked them in the apartment by mistake.'
'Great. I could have used you in there. Turned out the bloke had been watching me from the off. Trudy He broke off and shook his head.
'Trudy what?'
'Had a real go. Borrowed one of her mate's heels and tried to bury it in Talbot's head. If he hadn't been still battering me, it would have been funny.'
Winter was looking at the back of the house. Through the downstairs window, he could see Trudy drifting around the kitchen, looking for the tea bags.
'Still keen is she?'
'Keen? Shit, you should have been up there a couple of hours ago.' He nodded at the bedroom window. 'She's more knackering than taking on Talbot. Her version of convalescence could put you in hospital.'
'Lucky boy.'
'You think so? She was going away next week. Know what's happened now?'
'Tell me.'
'She's cancelled. Can't leave me in this state, she's saying. Has to move in and look after me.' He paused. 'What's the matter?'
'Nothing.' Winter was watching Trudy as she tottered into the garden with a tray of tea. 'I'd enjoy it, if I were you.'
'While it lasts, you mean?'
'Yeah.' Winter cleared a space on the rug. 'That's exactly what I mean.'
Faraday had never seen Willard so angry. It wasn't just the collapse of Tumbril. Nor was it the fact that the Spit Bank sting had gone so spectacularly wrong, nor that a year's work had gone down the khazi, nor that he'd be personally held responsible for the waste of hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth of precious resources. No, it was the humiliation. Find yourself trapped in your own car, obliged to listen to the rantings of Bazza Mackenzie, and you'd be looking for blood.
'Where are they?'
'Brian Imber's taken a couple of his boys to London. Joyce isn't answering her mobile. Prebble's gone to Milan for the weekend.'
'Keep trying. I want them all in here ASAP.'
'It's Sunday,' Faraday pointed out. 'And they weren't invited in the first place.'
'Sure, but that's a bit academic, isn't it? I'm no mathematician, Joe, but I can count. Leave Hayder out of this and there's five of us in Tumbril, five of us that matter. I've listened to the end of that fucking tape twice now and it's obvious.'
'Obvious how?'
'Mackenzie knows. He knows everything. He's probably known since we moved into Whale Island. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if the little fucker knew before we even dreamed the operation up. This is madness, Joe. Unless we get on top of this, we'll all end up in St. James.'
St. James was the local psychiatric hospital, a sprawling Victorian pile half a mile inland from the Bargemaster's House.
Grip, thought Faraday. 'We're really talking about the covert,' he said slowly. 'And I make that four, not five.'
'Four?' Willard was looking blank.
'You, sir. Me. Wallace. And McNaughton.' He paused. 'Plus Gisela Mendel.'
