Whispers Under Ground

We ended up, as is traditional, in a kebab shop just the other side of the bridge where I could keep an eye on my car. Although first we had to scuff about in the snow looking for Zach’s repulsive sports bag, which we finally located via its smell. Once inside I forked out for a doner and chips for Zach and a mixed shish kebab for myself. Reynolds seemed appalled by the whole notion of a rotating lamb roast and stuck with a diet coke. Maybe she was worried about contracting that insidious European E. coli. I had a coffee. Usually the coffee in kebab shops is dire but I believe the guy on the counter made me for a cop, so I got something blacker and stronger than usual. Late-night kebab shops fulfil a very particular ecological niche – that of feeding stations for people spilling out of the pubs and clubs. Since the clientele tends to be pissed young men who have utterly failed to pull that night, the staff are always pleased to have the police hanging about.

Under the harsh fluorescent light I saw that the roots of Agent Reynolds’ hair were auburn. She caught me looking and jammed her black knit hat back on her head.

‘How come you dye your hair?’ I asked.

‘It makes me less conspicuous,’ she said.

‘For undercover work?’

‘Just for everyday,’ she said. ‘I want the witnesses talking to the agent not the redhead.’

‘Why were you following me?’ I asked.

‘I wasn’t following you,’ she said. ‘I was following Mr Palmer.’

‘What have I done?’ asked Zach, but Agent Reynolds sensibly ignored him.

‘He was your best suspect,’ she said. ‘And not only did you just let him go, you let him right back into the victim’s home.’

‘I lived there too, you know,’ said Zach.

‘It was his registered address,’ I said.

‘Yes his polling address,’ said Agent Reynolds. ‘A status you can earn by filling in a single form once a year without providing any significant identification whatsoever. I’m amazed your voting security is so lax.’

‘Not as amazed as I am that Zach’s registered to vote,’ I said. ‘Who do you vote for?’

‘The Greens,’ he said.

‘Do you think this is funny?’ she asked and her voice was hoarse. Even if she’d got some sleep on the plane over she had to be pushing twenty-four hours without by now. ‘Is it because the victim is an American citizen? Do you find the murder of American citizens funny?’

I was tempted to tell her it was because we were British and actually had a sense of humour, but I try not to be cruel to foreigners, especially when they’re that strung out. I took a gulp of my coffee to cover my hesitation.

‘What makes you think he’s involved?’ I asked.

‘He’s a criminal,’ she said.

‘We did him for possession,’ I said. ‘Murder would be a bit of a step up.’

‘Not in my experience,’ she said. ‘James Gallagher was his meal ticket. Perhaps James got tired of being freeloaded on.’

‘I’m sitting right here, you know,’ said Zach.

‘I’m trying to forget it,’ said Reynolds.

‘He has an alibi,’ I said.

‘Not a direct one,’ she said. ‘There could be a way out of the back that goes through a blind spot.’

Did she think we were amateurs? Stephanopoulos would have spent most of yesterday trying to break Zach’s alibi and that included the notion of a back way out.

‘Is it usual for FBI agents to exceed their authority in this way?’ I asked.

‘The FBI is legally responsible to investigate crimes committed against American Citizens in foreign countries,’ she said, her eyes fixed on some abstract spot to the left of my head.

‘But you don’t really, do you?’ I said. ‘Not that it wouldn’t have been nice to have a bit of extra manpower, especially for that one assault that we had in Soho. Young man got a crowbar in the face, he was American, no sign of the FBI then.’

She shrugged. ‘His father probably wasn’t a senator.’

‘Apart from the security aspect,’ I said, ‘what are they really worried about?’

‘His father is in a position of moral authority,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t serve any purpose to have him compromised by something his son may have done.’

‘What do you think his son may have done?’

‘There were incidents while he was at college,’ she said.

‘What kind of incidents?’ asked Zach before I could.

I sighed and pointed at a table at the other end of the room. ‘Go and sit over there,’ I said,

‘Do I have to?’ he asked.

‘This is grown-up stuff,’ I said.

‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘I’ll buy you a cake,’ I said.

He sat up like a small dog. ‘Really?’

‘If you go sit over there,’ I said, and he did. I turned to Reynolds. ‘I can see why you consider him a suspect. What kind of incidents?’

‘Narcotics,’ she said. ‘He was arrested twice for possession but the charges were dropped.’

I bet they were, I thought.

‘He did some drugs at university,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that what it’s for?’

‘Some people hold themselves to a higher standard,’ she said primly. ‘Even while at college.’

‘Have you ever been outside America?’ I asked.

‘How is that relevant?’

‘I’m just curious,’ I said. ‘Is this your first time abroad?’

‘Do you think I’m “unsophisticated”, is that it?’ she asked.

So, yeah, I thought. First time abroad.

‘I’m curious as to why they chose you for the assignment,’ I said.

‘I’m known to the senator and his family,’ she said. ‘My superiors felt that it would be helpful if the senator had a friendly face on the ground during the investigation – given the senator’s background and your country’s history.’

‘Really, which bit?’ I asked.

‘Ireland,’ said Reynolds. ‘In his early career he was vocal in his condemnation of the occupation and British human rights abuses. He was worried that the British police might allow their investigation to be prejudiced because of those positions.’

I wondered whether a father, upon learning of his son’s death, would really be so self-centred as to think that. Or whether a canny politician might use any position he could to bolster the investigation. If it was politics, it wasn’t my problem – I could safely kick that up to them that are paid to deal with such matters. Sometimes a rigid command hierarchy is your friend. But Seawoll would want a heads-up about the Irish connection, just in case CTC hadn’t bothered to tell him. It never hurts to curry favour with the boss, I thought.

‘I don’t think it’s got anything to do with Ireland,’ I said. ‘The murder I mean.’

‘What about Ryan Carroll?’ she asked.

She had been following me after all, and she wasn’t beyond lying to me when she was pretending to come clean – useful to know.

‘What about him?’ I wondered if Reynolds’ conversation always ricocheted around its subject like a pinball or whether this was the jet lag talking. I started feeling increasingly knackered just looking at her.

‘Is he a suspect?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘A person of interest?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why did you go and interview him?’

Because some of his ‘pieces’ or whatever you call them are partially constructed with something so strongly