A few seconds later, Jack burst out of the front door in his vest. He ran, arms raised and mouth gaping, on to the front lawn. Carol half-saw him turn to look up, at the same moment she moved away from the window and back into the heart of the room.
FIVE
Thorne had never conducted an interview alongside Carol Chamberlain before and, although this was in no sense official, he still felt slightly odd, sitting there next to her, waiting for Rooker to be brought in. He looked around the small, square room and imagined himself, for no good reason he could think of, as a father, sitting with his wife. He remembered the sobbing black woman he'd seen on his last visit. He pictured himself and Chamberlain as anxious parents waiting for their son to be marched in.
The door opened and an officer led Rooker into the room. He looked angry about something until he saw Chamberlain; then, a broad smile appeared.
'Hello, sexpot,' he said.
Thorne opened his mouth to speak, but Chamberlain beat him to it. There was an edge to her voice that Thorne could not recall hearing before.
'One more out-of-order remark and I'll come round this table and tear off what little you've got left between your legs that hasn't already withered away. Fair enough, Gordon?'
Rooker's smile wobbled a little, but it was back in place as he pulled back his chair and plonked himself down at the table. The officer moved towards the door. 'Give us a shout when you've finished,' he said.
'Thanks,' Thorne said, looking up. 'I thought you'd retired, Bill.' The officer opened the door, turned back to Thorne. 'Got a year or two left yet.' He nodded towards Rooker. 'Feels like I've been in here as long as this cunt.' He quickly looked across to Chamberlain, reddening slightly. 'Sorry, I didn't.'
Chamberlain held up a hand. 'Don't apologise. That sounds about right to me.'
Rooker cackled. The officer stepped out of the room, letting the door swing shut, hard, behind him.
'This is getting to be a habit,' Rooker said. He produced a tobacco tin from behind the green bib and removed the lid. 'Twice in a week, Mr. Thorne. I don't have family who come as often as that.' He teased out the strands of tobacco, laid them carefully into a Rizla and rolled it pin-thin. 'Nothing like as often as that…'
In fact, it had been just over a week since Thorne had first encountered Gordon Rooker. And seven days since Carol Chamberlain had stared down from her bedroom window at the man who was claiming Gordon Rooker's crime as his own.
Rooker lit his roll-up. He picked a piece of tobacco from his tongue and looked across at Chamberlain. 'I thought you'd retired,' he said.
'That's right.'
'Living out in the sticks with a houseful of cats, listening to The Archers.'
'What do you know about where I live?' Rooker turned to Thorne. 'If she's not on the job any more, what are we doing here?'
By 'here', Rooker meant the Legal Visits Room. It was normally reserved for confidential interviews, for meetings with police officers or solicitors, for official business. Thorne was content to keep things unofficial… for now. He had seen no real reason to go to Brigstocke and certainly not to Tughan. The connection between Rooker and Billy Ryan was twenty years old and tenuous at best to the SO7 inquiry, and he'd promised Carol Chamberlain that he'd try to sort things out on his own time. He'd discreetly pulled a few strings and called in a favour or two to ensure that he, Chamberlain and Gordon Rooker could discuss one or two things in private.
'What we talked about a week ago,' Thorne said, 'it's escalated.' Rooker looked, or tried to look, serious. 'That's a shame.'
'Yes, it is.'
'I told you last time.'
'I'll forget the rubbish you told me last time and pretend we're starting from scratch, OK? This has to be down to some fuck wit you've done time with, or somebody who's written to you. You told me all about some of the letters you get, right?'
'Right.'
'So, any bright ideas, Gordon?'
Rooker took three quick drags. He held the smoke in and let it out very slowly on a sigh. 'I've got to have some sort of protection,' he said.
Thorne laughed. 'What?
'Word got around after you were here last time.' Thorne shrugged. He'd obviously opted for privacy a little too late.
'You've not exactly been popular for quite a while now, Gordon. Talking to a copper isn't going to make much difference.'
'You'd be surprised.'
Chamberlain's voice was quieter than when she'd spoken before, but the edge had sharpened. 'If you've got something to say, Rooker, you'd best say it.'
Another drag. 'I want this parole. I really need it to go my way this time.'
'And?' Thorne stared blankly across the table at Rooker. 'Not a lot we can do about that'
'Bollocks. It's down to the Home Office. You can get it done if you want to.'
'Why would we want to?'
'I need a guarantee that I'm getting out…'
'Don't want much, do you?'
'It'll be worth it.'
'Unless you're telling us who Jack the Ripper was and where Lord Lucan and Shergar are holed up, I doubt we'd be interested.' Rooker didn't seem to find that funny.
'What about these letters?' asked Chamberlain. 'The phone calls. That's what we're here to talk about.'
Rooker stared down at the ashtray.
'Whoever's doing this has been to my house.'
'I want protection.' Rooker looked up at Thorne. 'After I'm out.'
'Protection from who?' Chamberlain said.
'New identity, national insurance number, the lot.'
'Billy Ryan,' Thorne said.
'Maybe.'
'Is Billy Ryan going to come after you?'
'Not for the reason you think.'
'So why should we give a toss?'
'I can give him to you.'
Thorne blinked. This was interesting. This was far from tenuous. He avoided eye contact with Chamberlain, refused to show Rooker anything, kept his voice casual. 'You're going to grass up Billy Ryan?' Rooker nodded.
'Grass up the Ryans,' Chamberlain said, 'and you really will be a target.'
'That's why I want protection.'
It was a straightforward piece of gangland logic, and Thorne could see the sense of it. 'Get Ryan before he gets you. That it?'
'Don't make out like you wouldn't like to put him away. He's a piece of shit and you know it.'
'And you're a fucking saint, are you, Gordon?'
'It's him or me, isn't it? What would you do?'
'After what you did at that school, what you did to that girl. I'm inclined to let Billy Ryan have you.'
Rooker's head dropped and stayed down as he stubbed out what was left of his cigarette. He ground the butt into the ashtray until there appeared to be nothing left of it at all. For a moment, Thorne wondered if he'd palmed it, like a magician. When Rooker finally looked up, the cockiness had gone. The lines in his face had deepened. He
