Hard Landing

'Good man. Don't go near him again, not even a phone call. Persona bloody non grata.'

Carpenter cut the connection and put the phone away. He smiled savagely. As soon as he found out who the grass was, he'd take care of him. Permanently.

The next day the newspapers and mail weren't delivered until after dinner. Carpenter was lying on his back listening to Mozart on his headphones when Healey appeared at his cell door with his papers and two letters, one from Bonnie, the other from his lawyers. Both had been slit open. All his mail, incoming and outgoing, went through the prison censors. 'Short-staffed again,' said Healey. 'Lot of lead-swinging at the moment.'

'Gym's still on?'

'Yeah. The problem's over at admin,' said Healey. He left and Carpenter pushed the door shut.

The manila envelope was inside the Guardian. Unlike the posted mail, it was sealed. Carpenter opened it. There were three sheets of A4 paper, a printout of a computer file. There was a name at the top of the first sheet. Daniel Shepherd. There was a photograph in the top left-hand corner. As he recognised the man Carpenter swore. Bob Macdonald. Bob fucking Macdonald. Carpenter felt a surge of anger. He'd talked to the man, shared confidences with him. And everything Macdonald had said had been a lie. It had been a set-up, right from the start. Bob Macdonald was Daniel Shepherd, and Daniel Shepherd was a lying, cheating undercover cop.

Carpenter read through the file. School in Manchester. Studied economics at Manchester University. Left before taking his finals and joined the army, the Paras. After two years passed selection for the SAS. Left to join the police. Currently attached to a Home Office undercover unit but his salary was still paid by the Met. A list of a dozen commendations.

Carpenter flicked through the sheets. Married. One son. Carpenter smiled. He'd take care of Daniel bloody Shepherd. Inside and on the out. He'd show him what it meant to cross Gerald Carpenter.

Moira ruffled Liam's head. 'Gran, I'm concentrating!' moaned Liam, his thumbs flicking across the controls, his eyes glued to the television set.

'Those video games are bad for your eyes,' said Moira.

'So's reading,' said Liam. On the television, a racing car was hurtling along a crowded city street.

'Oh? Who told you that?' said Moira.

'Everyone knows that if you read too much you need glasses. All my teachers have glasses.' Liam groaned as the car crashed into the side of a bus and burst into flames.

'Doesn't that have a parental-guidance warning?' asked Moira.

'It's a video game, Gran.'

'Why don't you go and help your granddad in the front garden?' she said. 'He's pruning the roses.' She looked through the sitting-room window. Tom was standing at the garden gate, talking to two men in dark coats. Moira frowned. They weren't expecting visitors. The men looked like policemen. The man talking to Tom was smiling a lot. He had very white teeth, Moira noticed, too white to be real.

As she watched, Tom and the two men walked towards the house. Moira's stomach lurched at the thought that something might have happened to Daniel. She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. It had been two police officers who'd broken the news of Susan's death. She'd opened her front door and known from the look on their faces that something bad had happened, and as soon as they'd asked her to confirm her name she'd known it was Susan they had come to see her about. They'd wanted to step inside the house, but she made them tell her on the doorstep and collapsed in the hallway. Her heart raced, but then she saw that the man with the white teeth was smiling and Tom was chatting to him. It couldn't have been bad news.

'What's wrong, Gran?' asked Liam.

'Nothing,' said Moira. She went to the front door and opened it, just as Tom and the two men arrived on the doorstep.

'These are two policemen, love,' said Tom. 'They want to check our security.'

'Why do we need security?' asked Moira defensively. 'Has something happened?'

'Nothing's happened, Mrs Wintour,' said the man with white teeth. He had a slight lisp, Moira thought, giving credence to her impression that his teeth were false. 'Just better safe than sorry.'

'But why would we need security?' asked Moira.

'It's okay, love,' said Tom. 'They just want to look round. Check the locks, the windows, that sort of thing.'

Moira sighed. 'I suppose you'd better come in,' she said. Tom waved the men inside. They wiped their feet on the doormat before stepping into the hallway. 'Would you like a cup of tea?' asked Moira.

'Tea would be lovely,' said the man with white teeth. 'Where's Liam, then?'

'In the sitting room, playing video games.'

Tom shut the front door.

'Kids!' said the man with white teeth. He pulled a large revolver from his coat and pointed it at Moira's face. 'Now, do as you're told, you stuck-up bitch, or I'll put a bullet in your face!'

Carpenter was sitting in his cell, reading a copy of Investor's Chronicle. Most of his investments were offshore, well away from the grasping hands of HM Customs and police asset-seizure teams, but he liked to keep an eye on the UK stock markets.

He looked up as Rathbone appeared at his doorway. The officer glanced back down the landing, then ducked into the cell. 'Special delivery,' he said, slipping a brown envelope from under his black pullover. 'Rush job, yeah?' He handed it to Carpenter, then bent down and slipped a mobile-phone battery out of his shoe.

Carpenter took the battery, and studied the envelope. 'Have you opened this, Craig?'

Rathbone smiled easily. 'Might have done,' he said.

'Have you forgotten what we agreed?'

Rathbone pointed at the envelope. 'That's Macdonald's boy in there, isn't it? Saw him visiting.'

'Why's that any concern of yours?'

'Because you're up to something. If Macdonald gets hurt, I could too.'

'Have you opened my correspondence before?'

Rathbone shook his head. 'That one felt different,' he said. 'Lucky I did.'

'Luck doesn't come into it,' said Carpenter. He sighed. 'Look, there's nothing for you to worry about. You've brought in other stuff for me, and you've been well paid for it. I gave you ten big ones for the phone. You get a grand for every letter you take in and out.'

'Yeah, but that's not a letter, is it?' said Rathbone.

'So, you want more?'

'I want five big ones for that. And I want five for any other envelope that's got more than a sheet of paper in it. Agreed?'

'Agreed.'

Rathbone turned to go.

'One more thing, Craig. I don't want you opening any more of my mail. Five grand pays for confidentiality, right?'

'Don't worry, Gerry.'

Rathbone left. Carpenter glared after him. He wasn't worried in the least.

Shepherd was doing press-ups in the corner of the exercise yard when a pair of white Nike trainers appeared in front of him. He looked up, holding his weight on his fingertips. It was Gilly Gilchrist, the prisoner who fetched and carried for Carpenter.

'What's up, Gilly?' asked Shepherd.

'The boss wants a word.'

'Okay. Tell him I'll be up when exercise is over.'

'He says now.'

'Yeah, well, I only get an hour a day in the fresh air, Gilly, and I want to take advantage of it.' He continued his press-ups.

'He says now,' repeated Gilchrist.

Shepherd stopped again. 'You're starting to piss me off, Gilly.'

'He said it was important,' said Gilchrist. 'If I go back without you, he's going to be pissed off at me. So I'm