Sagoo’s Bollywood Flashback, which Kathy liked but he said was only OK, and he preferred the likes of ADF. He was entertaining in an unforced sort of way, and he told her something of the Springer case and why they were here, Springer’s visit to Shadwell Road and the present predicament with PC Talbot. ‘A right cock-up.’
On their way back Kathy stopped to examine a rash of exotic-looking fly-posters on a section of brick wall, when Wayne suddenly cried out, ‘Oh, Christ Almighty!’ doubled up and dropped to his knees. Kathy thought he’d had a heart attack, then realised that he was tugging at the loose corner of one of the posters. Beneath it, partly obscured by it, was another poster, green, printed with a black symbol of a raised fist and some writing in an unfamiliar script.
‘You little beauty!’ Wayne murmured, then got to his feet, eyes shining with excitement. ‘Your guvnor’s going to love this.’
They hurried into the police station to find Brock emerging, grim-faced, from the back room with a group of men, both uniformed and plain clothes. He nodded to Kathy, then noticed Wayne’s excitement.
‘Got something to cheer us up, Wayne? We certainly need it.’ The other men in the party shuffled their feet, lowering their eyes.
‘I think so, Brock. Something choice, I think. Fancy a bit of the old fresh air?’
‘Can yours wait a bit longer, Kathy?’
Kathy said yes, then watched from the doorway of the police station as Wayne led Brock down the street towards the posters. This time he seemed to show no sign of special interest in them, though their pace slowed as they went past, and Brock took a long look. His eyes too were bright when they returned. He spoke to the station Sergeant and Inspector, asking them to take a discreet walk with Wayne, then turned to Kathy.
‘Right, then, Kathy. Your turn. How are you, anyway?’ He peered at her in the dim light of the corridor and she caught a small frown pass over his face. ‘You’re looking good.’
He was lying, but she ignored it and said, as brightly as she could, ‘Oh, I’m just fine.’ The truth was that the interior of the seedy police station, the voices and smells and worn furniture familiar from dozens like it, had made her heart sink. ‘Suzanne’s treating me like an honoured guest.’
‘Good, good. So what can I do for you?’ They went into the interview room and sat down, Brock bracing himself for whatever revelation was coming. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good, he thought, but he was startled as she began to tell him about the reporter, and the conversation which she had just had with her.
‘You see they’ve got this problem, Brock. They’ve gone full-tilt for this religious assassination story, and they’ve got their campaign all planned. All these actors and novelists and people are lined up to sign a petition about free speech and religious intolerance, and the paper thinks it will run for weeks.’
‘I’m sure they’re right,’ Brock said gloomily. ‘What’s their problem?’
‘She thinks there’s a possibility that they may be completely wrong about this, and she’s worried they may end up looking irresponsible and stupid.’
‘ She’s worried?’
‘It’s her story. She thinks she’ll be in the firing line if it all goes wrong.’
‘So she knows where the story came from, then? She knows who told them we were working on this in the first place? I’d very much like to know who that was.’
‘She won’t tell us that. She was adamant about it.’
‘So what has she got to offer?’
‘She says that the paper has something else, something that seems to contradict the fatwa theory.’
‘Hell’s teeth, Kathy! If they’ve got something they’ve got to give it to us.’
‘Yes, well, she thinks the paper will deny they have it if we press them. Apparently it’s a bit embarrassing to them in some way. Only Clare thinks that if she can do a deal with us, they may agree to it.’
‘What sort of a deal?’
‘She lets us have this other piece of evidence, and then, if it turns out to be solid, and the fatwa looks like a false trail, we give them early warning, so they can ease out of their corner with whatever dignity they can, and with a lead on the new story.’
‘Let me get this straight, Kathy. They want us to reward them for not withholding crucial evidence in a major murder investigation?’
Kathy smiled. ‘I knew you’d like it. She wants us to do this, not they. They don’t know about this at the moment. She wants your promise and mine that we’ll play ball, and then she’ll approach her boss.’
Brock rubbed his beard thoughtfully. She smiled to herself at the familiar gesture, the bear ruminating.
‘Let me think about it,’ he said. ‘If young Wayne out there has really found what I think he has, then the fatwa line is looking increasingly solid. We may not need Ms Hancock’s special deal.’
He got to his feet and opened the door, calling the others in. The inspector and the sergeant both shook their heads. Neither remembered seeing the green poster before, or knew who might have put it there. There were so many fly-posters, no one took much notice. And no, they couldn’t point to any particular religious groups or individuals who’d been giving trouble lately.
‘What about PC Talbot? Might he know? He seemed to know his way around here pretty well.’
With great reluctance they agreed that he might know, except that he wasn’t talking to anyone.
Brock dismissed them and turned to Kathy. She caught the calculating look in his eye and guessed what was coming before he opened his mouth. ‘Why me?’ she asked.
‘Because I’ve met him, and I think he might respond to you. He’s a good lad who’s been shafted by senior officers who should have been looking after him instead of their own backs. I promised him it wouldn’t happen, but it did, and now he doesn’t trust me either. It’s important, Kathy. You can see that.’
It suddenly occurred to Kathy that Brock was testing her, trying to see if she was ready to go back to work. She felt the flutter of panic in her chest, and was surprised at how calm her voice sounded when she replied. ‘Is it really worth trying to push him if he’s got the Federation telling him not to cooperate?’
‘He knows all the locals and their stories. Like the Kashmiri next door whose daughter’s run away. He was telling me all about it. That’s the sort of person we need.’
‘What approach do you suggest?’
‘He’s an honest, decent bobby. Make him see that it’s his duty to help us. And impress on him that we haven’t time to muck about.’
Greg Talbot’s home was a little rented flat about a mile from the police station. Kathy rang the doorbell and waited. Eventually it was opened a couple of inches to reveal a young woman’s face. It looked as if she’d been crying.
‘Mrs Talbot?’ Kathy said brightly, trying not to sound like a dodgy salesperson.
‘Are you from the Federation?’
‘No, I’m a detective, working on an important murder investigation
…’
First lie. The door began to shut.
‘We’re not speaking to anyone,’ the woman said, sounding faint.
Kathy put her hand up to the edge of the door and slipped it in, so that the woman would be obliged to crush her fingers if she slammed it. ‘Please, I know the background to this. I just need ten minutes with Greg. It is very important.’
‘I don’t want him to speak to you.’
Another voice, a man’s, sounded behind her. ‘Who is it, Shirl?’
‘A copper. Don’t talk to her.’
The door opened tentatively and PC Talbot peered out at Kathy, who explained who she was.
‘The Federation have told me not to talk to anyone.’
‘I know, but something’s come up that you may be able to help us with. No one else can, Greg. It’s really important.’
He hesitated, then finally stepped back and let her cross the threshold. His wife, who was in a dressing gown, glared at her, and Kathy had the impression that there had been a quarrel. In the background a baby began to cry, and the woman turned and marched away.
‘Shirley’s just come off her shift,’ Talbot explained. ‘She’s a nurse.’ He led Kathy through into a cramped living room where they sat down.
‘Look,’ she began, ‘I’m really sorry about what’s happened. My boss, DCI Brock, is very angry. He knew
