to. Where violence was the only language available to those who were frustrated at every turn by the way the world was run. George Bush had been right, it was a crusade. Just not the one that bastard in the White House thought it was.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. This wasn’t the time or the place for grief or for second thoughts. Yousef opened the toolbox and lifted out the top shelf. Underneath, wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, was the bomb. It didn’t look much. Somehow, Yousef felt it should be grander. More of a statement than could be made by a ghee tin and a kitchen timer.
He checked his watch. He was doing just fine. Twelve minutes past three. He took out a roll of duct tape and fastened the bomb to a bunch of cables halfway up the wall. Then, his mouth dry and his stomach churning, he started to set the timer.
Two minutes in, and Phil Campsie had made a blinding run down the left side, only to be brought low by in a bruising but fair tackle. ‘Oh no,’ Tony cried.
‘Oh no is right,’ Carol said, marching in, all flags flying indignation. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Tony gave her the bemused look of a man who has only been doing what men are supposed to do, not taking in her body language at all. ‘I’m watching the footie,’ he said. ‘The Vics and Spurs. It’s only just started, pull up a chair.’
Carol slapped the screen of his laptop shut. Tony looked outraged. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘How dare you suborn my staff to run around the countryside in pursuit of your little fantasies,’ she shouted.
‘Ah.’ Tony grimaced. That would be Paula, then.’
‘How could you? Especially after I said I didn’t think there was any point?’ Carol paced agitatedly to and fro.
‘Well, that’s precisely why I had to.’ Tony eased his laptop open again. ‘If I could have done it myself, I would have. But as it is, you’re saved the embarrassment of having to admit you passed on the best lead you’ve got so far.’
‘Bullshit. We have a suspect who is nothing to do with Danny Wade.’
Tony tapped the mouse pad to bring the match up again. ‘And I have no doubt that you will also find he’s nothing to do with Robbie Bishop. At least, not as far as his murder’s concerned.’ He gave her a brilliant smile. ‘And now Paula has given you another lovely lead. I mean, she must have. Because if she’d drawn a blank, you’d never have been any the wiser.’
Carol stabbed her index finger at him. ‘You are bloody impossible. You are bang out of order. Paula works for me, not for you.’
Tony gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘I could say she helped me out in her own time,’ he said. ‘Because she likes me so much.’
Now it was Carol’s turn to smirk. ‘But that would be a lie. She did it on Bradfield Police’s time, when she was supposed to be working for MIT.’
Tony shook his head, his blue eyes darkening as he prepared to play hardball. He looked at the game on his screen but his words were directed at Carol. You can’t have people working completely undefined hours and then claim all of their waking time is dedicated to your service. Paula’s entitled to breaks. You can’t really complain if she rolls them up into one big slice of time off. I bet she didn’t get eight hours clear between coming off duty last night and starting again this morning. Even your prisoners are entitled to that.’
Carol glared at him. ‘I hate it when you twist things to suit yourself. You were out of order, and you know it. And Paula of all people. You know she’s vulnerable.’
‘I think when it comes to Paula’s mental state, I’m probably a better judge than you.’ He scrutinized her, trying to gauge how angry she still was. ‘Come on, come and sit down and watch a bit of the football with me. The lads are playing their hearts out for Robbie. It’d bring tears to a glass eye, I promise you.’
‘You can’t just deflect this, pretend it didn’t happen,’ Carol said. But he could see she was softening.
‘I’m not. I agree, I was out of order. All I can say is that normally, I would have done it myself. And I thought it was too important to a murder investigation to leave it undone. I will apologize to Paula for putting her in an awkward position, but I’m not going to apologize to you for putting your investigation on the right track.’ He patted the arm of the chair next to the bed. ‘Now, will you sit down and watch the bloody game?’
With obvious ill grace, Carol threw herself into the chair. ‘You know I hate football,’ she grumbled.
‘We’re the ones in yellow,’ he said.
‘Fuck off. I know that,’ she said.
‘So, are you going to tell me about Paula’s brilliant new lead?’ he said as Spurs gained possession and began to make ground.
‘Hasn’t she told you all about it herself?’
He grinned. ‘No, we both understand the chain of command too well.’
‘You ganged up on me,’ she said. He could tell the storm was over.
‘Be grateful we care enough to want to save you from falling on your arse. Like he just did.’ He pointed at a Spurs player apparently tripping over a blade of grass.
As they watched, the commentary was drowned out by a tremendous roaring rumble. Smoke drifted across the screen, then a storm of debris began to rain down on one side of the pitch. Carol and Tony stared at the screen, dumbstruck. Then the commentator’s voice, hysterical, shouting, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, there’s a hole…I can’t hear. Oh my God, there are body parts…I think there’s been a bomb. A bomb, here at Victoria Park. Oh Jesus Christ…’
Now the director had got his act together. The scene changed from the pitch to what had been the Vestey Stand. In the centre of the middle tier, nothing could be seen except a billowing grey cloud of dust. In the rows of
