Cage of Bones

out a location for this farmhouse at the present time, as that information might leak and the abductor could run. And we wouldn’t want that.’ He looked quickly round the room, ready to stifle any more dissent. ‘If there are no further questions, I must prepare. This is going to reflect well on the whole department. A huge morale boost, a great collar. Thank you.’

He walked out from behind the desk, through the room, past Marina and Mickey and swept out of the office. Silence followed his departure.

Marina turned to Mickey. ‘Was that a “once more unto the breach” moment?’

People around her laughed. Mickey didn’t.

‘What was all that about?’ he said to her. ‘Where did he get that information from? Lynn Windsor?’

‘I don’t think it matters,’ said Marina. ‘He’s playing a different game.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got to make a phone call.’

‘Who to?’

‘To your boss. Your proper boss. I think the team need a real briefing. Come on. We can’t stay here.’

She turned and left. Mickey, confused but excited, followed.

109

The Hole in the Wall pub wasn’t one of Mickey’s favourite places to go in Colchester. In fact, it was one of his least favourite.

He associated it with the remnants of the town’s counterculture: indie kids, real-ale drinkers and students. Arty types, attracted by the theatre across the road. All mismatched wooden furniture and vintage leather sofas that you could sink into. That was the trouble. Once you were sunk in there, that was the day gone. And before you knew it, your life. Sitting there with your mates, drinking, arguing about something you’d read in the Guardian, dissecting the latest book or film or album, sorting the world out before it was your round. Even as a student he hadn’t enjoyed places like this. They had made him feel uncomfortable. It was the waste. Talking when you could be doing something. But that, he thought, tipping his head back and putting the lager bottle to his lips, was just him.

Despite the alcohol, it wasn’t a social gathering. They had needed somewhere to meet, not too far from the station, just far enough to not be discovered. And the pub was perfect. The last place a clandestine police briefing would be expected to take place in.

Mickey looked round the table. Marina was sitting next to Phil, the pair of them looking a lot friendlier and more content than they had been recently. On the other side of Phil was Don Brennan. The older man looked thrilled to be back in the fray again. Rejuvenated. And enjoying the pint of dark beer that was in front of him. Across the table were two SOCA officers, Fennell and Clemens. Clemens seemed angry, itching to go. Fennell more measured. He, thought Mickey, would be the more approachable of the two. Although the way they sat, backs straight, wearing near-identical suits and ties, they could have been Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses.

It was late afternoon. The pub was in its post-lunchtime lull, before the evening busy spell. Darkness was creeping in through the windows. They had managed to secure the largest table, furthest away from the bar. They went overlooked and unheard. But they kept their voices down just in case.

Phil made introductions, looked round the table. ‘You’ll be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here,’ he said, smiling grimly. The smile dropped. ‘Everyone’s been brought up to speed. Everyone knows what’s happening. It looks like this is the MIS team, not what’s going on over in Southway.’

No one argued.

‘Now we know the shipment’s coming in tonight. But there’s been an added complication. Mickey?’

‘Glass won’t be there,’ he said. ‘He’s just announced that he’s found the whereabouts of the Gardener, and he’s leading a firearms team against him.’

‘And he has to do that tonight?’ said Clemens.

‘It’s a smokescreen,’ said Marina. ‘Something to divert attention away from his shipment arriving at Harwich. He establishes an alibi for himself and makes a high-profile arrest at the same time.’

And we miss out on him,’ said Fennell.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Phil. ‘You’ve still got his DNA all over Donna Warren’s house. As well as Donna’s first- hand testimony. You can get him that way. Plus the other Elders might want to roll over on him for a bit of leniency.’

Clemens shrugged. ‘Possible. But we would have preferred a clean arrest.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Phil. ‘But it’ll still stick this way. He won’t be able to wriggle out.

‘And speaking of the raid,’ he added, looking at the two SOCA officers, ‘I won’t be able to take an active part in it due to my suspension, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Clemens. ‘We didn’t invite you.’

‘He means,’ said Fennell, sugaring Clemens’ words, ‘that we haven’t made provision for you.’

‘No,’ said Phil, ‘but I think it’s time you got us locals involved, don’t you?’

‘What did you have in mind?’ said Fennell.

Phil pointed to Mickey. ‘The finest detective sergeant in the county. Mickey Philips. Take him with you.’

‘Well,’ said Clemens, ‘we don’t-’

‘I insist,’ said Phil.

The two SOCA men looked at him, then at each other.

‘It’s time to play nicely,’ said Phil.

Fennell nodded. ‘You’re right.’

‘Good,’ said Phil. ‘Give the Super a ring in Chelmsford, tell him what’s happening. Don’t worry. He won’t tell Glass. Not if he wants his career to continue.’

‘Right,’ said Fennell. He turned to Mickey. ‘We’ve got a firearms unit coming up from London. They’re on the way now.’

‘OK,’ said Mickey. ‘Let’s go and join them.’

‘Which is all fine,’ said Marina, ‘but it still doesn’t tell us where Glass is going to be. Where the farmhouse is. Or the Gardener. We don’t know any of that.’

Phil thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I think I know someone who could tell us.’

‘Who?’ said Clemens.

‘Remember I told you about that tramp? Paul?’

‘The one you thought might be Paul Clunn,’ said Fennell.

‘That’s him. If anyone knows where the Gardener is, and the farmhouse, it’ll be him. In his own addled way.’

‘And you know where he is?’ asked Marina.

‘I do. Want to come along?’

She did.

Phil smiled. ‘Better bring your boots.’

‘What about me?’ said Don.

Phil looked at him. Mickey was aware of something passing between them. He wasn’t sure what, though: he got the impression it could have been a father-and-son moment, or the sense of a baton being passed.

‘Could you look after Donna and the boy?’ asked Phil.

Don nodded. ‘I’ll call Eileen. Tell her we’ve got more coming round for dinner.’

‘Thanks, Don.’

Don nodded. Looked away.

And in that gesture, that sad, defeated, redundant gesture, Mickey saw his own future. He was sure that Phil saw his too.

‘Right.’ Fennell looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’

Phil looked at Marina. ‘So had we. Good luck, everyone. We’ll need it.’