Williamson leant forward.
‘You lost me there,’ he said. ‘You punish a homosexual by sodomizing him?’
‘So you’re gay, too?’ Gilchrist said.
Parker stubbed a finger on the table.
‘Course not, you ignorant bint.’
‘Mr Parker-’ the lawyer said, his voice gloomy.
‘You do someone, even a bloke, that’s the power. You let yourself be done, that’s something else.’
Gilchrist forced a laugh, though she never felt less like laughing.
‘Oh, it’s that prison thing – you’re only gay if you’re on the receiving end.’
‘Don’t know about that-’
‘Dream on, Parker,’ Williamson said. ‘You’re a jobbie jammer – and, as for sucking men off, is that why your teeth are such a bloody mess?’
‘All right, that’s enough-’ the lawyer said.
Parker swivelled his eyes between Gilchrist and Williamson.
‘I ain’t gay, you dyke bitch, and you, you fat bastard.’
‘If you’re not now, you will be by the time they’ve finished with you in prison.’ Williamson said. ‘You’ll be able to get the Flying Scotsman up you by the time some of those boys have finished with you. Sorry – Flying Scotsman is before your time. It’s a train, boyo – and not a diesel.’
The lawyer was on his feet.
‘I think that’s the end of this discussion.’ He looked down at Parker. ‘Mr Parker.’
Parker was still looking from Gilchrist to Williamson, his horrible teeth bared in a grin. He pointed at Gilchrist.
‘’S OK, Mr Whatsit. As long as she frigs me. Or she could do the milkmaid’s shuffle.’
The lawyer looked exasperated and sank back in his seat. Williamson was clenching his fists. Gilchrist touched his arm.
‘What about this friend of yours?’ she said. ‘Little Stevie.’
Parker seemed to have forgotten his request.
‘He was a rent boy. Made a lot of money in Brighton.’
‘We have no record of him. Besides, I would have thought, given the number of consenting adults, this would be a place where you wouldn’t make money.’
‘He wasn’t on the streets. Conferences. Especially the political ones. All these happily married men wanting to stuff him. He made good money.’
‘You kept in touch, then?’
‘Saw him around.’
‘And?’
‘And fucking what?’ He was scrunched up in his seat now. Gilchrist looked at the ceiling, talked to it.
‘And how did he end up dead in Milldean?’
Parker glanced at his lawyer. The lawyer nodded.
‘He met this bloke. Did him. Bloke left his wallet behind.’
‘So he nicked it.’ Williamson said. ‘And we’re talking blackmail?’
Parker didn’t look at him but said:
‘We’re talking the massacre in Milldean. You fuckers kill him and all his friends. That’s why I’m nervous – you’re all in it.’
Gilchrist stared a hole in the table.
‘Did Little Stevie tell you whose wallet he had nicked?’ she said.
This was the crunch question. This was the deal.
Parker flicked a glance at his lawyer. His lawyer looked straight ahead.
‘Do I have a name to give you?’ Parker leered. ‘Well, yeah.’
Tingley was waiting for me in The Cricketers, sitting at the bar with a rum and pep in his hand. He bought me a tonic water and led me over to a dark corner. I was walking stiffly – my back was in bad shape.
‘Etsy ketsy – haven’t heard that for a while,’ I said.
We’d been in the Balkans together for a bit and a Greek officer had tried to teach us some colloquialisms. ‘Etsy ketsy’ was phonetic Greek for ‘so so’ – provided you used the hand wiggle and maybe a little shrug.
‘Just popped into my head,’ Tingley said, then got down to it. ‘OK, according to the man from the shadow world, the couple in bed were the targets. Little Stevie was collateral.’
I thought for a moment.
‘I don’t buy that. If we’re placing Simpson somehow at the centre of this, then the target is the rent boy.’
‘But that might not be all of it,’ Tingley said. ‘I don’t know how much I believe of what I was told, but it was plausible.’
‘Those men are always plausible. That’s their stock-in-trade.’
‘I know that,’ Tingley said, his tone of voice making me feel foolish.
‘I know you know,’ I said. ‘So what was his scenario?’
‘The couple in bed were Bosnian Serbs and, therefore, potential business rivals for the Brighton crime families. But they lucked into Little Stevie.’
‘And?’
‘They bought him.’
‘I thought he was just for rent.’
Tingley gave me a look.
‘They were trying to blackmail the government.’
‘Didn’t know you could blackmail a whole government,’ I said.
‘Yes, you did.’ Tingley was getting impatient. ‘Terrorists do it all the time.’
‘These weren’t terrorists, though. So it was Simpson they were trying to blackmail?’
‘They were hoping to implicate him in something, yes, but I don’t think it was just the rent boy thing.’
I frowned.
‘He isn’t high enough up the food chain for the government to be worried, is he?’ I said. ‘Friends though they are, the PM would have cut him loose without hesitation. Unless it had implications for others higher up. Did your man know?’
Tingley shook his head.
‘He said it was beyond his pay grade. Suggested we ask Simpson.’
‘That’s going to work.’ I touched the lump on the back of my head. ‘Did your contact say if anyone else locally was involved?’
‘He said – and I quote – “There may have been other local ramifications, yes.” But, again, I don’t have the detail.’
Tingley moved his glass around the table.
‘Maybe Simpson is in deep with one of the local crime families. He grew up here, didn’t he?’
‘As did I,’ I said. ‘We didn’t move in their circles.’
‘University days. Drugs?’
I thought for a moment.
‘Maybe. But what about me? Maybe we’re missing something. Did I have to be removed because I was a threat to somebody on the force? Was I threatening some comfortable deal between police officers and local crime people?’
Tingley steepled his hands.
‘There might be some of that,’ he said. ‘But how did they know you would react in that way? It was your reaction that got you booted out. They couldn’t predict that.’
‘Maybe I was collateral damage too. Big foot, bigger mouth.’
Tingley smiled.
‘Then you became an embarrassment. So, actually, nobody was out to get you – this wasn’t planned to bring you down.’
