‘Earl Grey, please. Stacey was already immersed in her screen again.
Carol leaned against the wall, waiting for the kettle to boil. Chris Devine barrelled through the door looking thoroughly pissed off. ‘Fucking CTC bastards,’ she said to Stacey, who gestured with her head towards Carol. ‘Sorry, guv,’ she muttered, throwing her jacket over the nearest chair.
‘No need. You want a brew?’
‘I could use a large Scotch,’ Chris grumbled. ‘Failing that, a mug of builder’s tea would hit the spot.’
‘What happened?’
‘I was just wrapping up my interviews with the hospitality reception crew when half a dozen of them came barging in. You can hear them coming a corridor length away.’
‘It’s the boots,’ Carol said, pouring water on teabags.
That and the swish of their musclebound thighs rubbing together. So in they come, and as soon as they see me, it’s “on your bike, love,” like I was a journalist or something. I was out of there before you could say jackbooted fascists. And before they’d let me come back here, they made me sit down and type up my interview product. Like I was going to sneak off and not let them look at my homework.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought I was leaving them SO12 arseholes behind when I moved up here.’
Carol handed over the teas. ‘We have to co-operate,’ she said. ‘Which is not to say we can’t also plough our own furrow.’
‘Speaking of which, where’s the rest of the crew?’
‘Paula and Kevin are out there following up on the A1 Electricals van, see what they can get ahead of the CTC. People have a way of clamming up when the men in black kick the doors down,’ Carol said. ‘I’m not sure about Sam. He was checking out CCTV in the Vestey Stand last time I saw him.’
‘He’ll be off following some red-hot lead he doesn’t want to share with the rest of us poor imbeciles,’ Chris said dryly.
‘He’s his own worst enemy,’ Stacey said without looking up. ‘He does it for all the right reasons.’
Chris and Carol shared a look. Neither could remember Stacey ever commenting on any of her colleagues. Her complete refusal to gossip was legendary. ‘Later,’ Chris mouthed conspiratorially at Carol. She slurped a mouthful of tea and breathed deeply. ‘I tell you, I never want to see the likes of that again. I still can’t get my head round the carnage. Thirty-five dead, they’re saying. I never thought I’d see that in Bradfield.’
‘It’s amazing it wasn’t more,’ Carol said. ‘If he’d planted it at the same spot on the opposite stand where there were just seats instead of corporate boxes, there would have been hundreds dead.’ She closed her eyes momentarily. ‘It’s too horrible to contemplate.’
‘There would have been more if the crowd hadn’t behaved so well. I expected more crush injuries. I tell you, I know it’s a cliche, but it is things like this that bring out the best in people. Did you see that woman on Grayson Street, set up a trestle table outside her house, making cups of tea for people? Spirit of the Blitz an’ all that.’
‘And sometimes it’s the unlikeliest people who end up being heroes,’ Carol said. ‘I saw a bloke this afternoon- one of the paramedics was taking him to an ambulance, he’d taken too much out of himself getting people out of the wreckage. And I knew this bloke. He used to be one of us till he got drummed out of the Brownies for planting evidence in a murder inquiry. He’s the last person I would have had down for helping anybody other than number one. So I suppose we’ve all got it in us to do the decent thing.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Except maybe the men in black.’
Right on cue, one of the foot soldiers stuck his head round the door. ‘You got a DCI Jordan anywhere round here?’
That would be me, officer. How can I help you?’
‘You’re wanted down Scargill Street. Some spot of bother with one of your lads?’ He began to retreat but Carol stopped him with a look that would have corroded tungsten.
‘Who wants me?’
‘Whoever’s in charge. Look, I’m just the messenger, all right?’ He breathed heavily and cast his eyes upwards. ‘You already know all I know.’
‘I’ll finish my bloody tea,’ Carol muttered. But the defiance was only skin deep. Within five minutes, she was out the door, leaving Stacey and Chris to wonder what the hell Sam Evans had done this time.
They didn’t have much time for speculation. Not long after Carol’s departure, Paula and Kevin burst in, looking pleased with themselves. Kevin, who was walking like a man with a bad back, made straight for Stacey, then opened his jacket and took out a laptop. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘The bomber’s laptop.’
Stacey raised her eyebrows. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘From the bomber’s bedroom.’
‘Alleged bomber,’ Paula cut in. ‘Yousef Aziz. He was certainly driving the van and wearing the overalls earlier today.’
Chris came over and prodded the laptop with her finger. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to have this.’
‘No, and I don’t think we’ll be hanging on to it for long, so I need to get as much off it as I can,’ Stacey said, reaching for it.
‘How did you get that away from the men in black?’ Chris said.
‘Speed,’ Paula said. ‘We were in and out before they got there.’ She explained their progress from Imran Begg to Yousef Aziz. ‘I suspect the CTC guys freaked them out so comprehensively it took them a while to give up Aziz and his address. They’re so bloody scary, it’s counter-productive when you’re dealing with decent law-abiding people. They just freeze up. Which worked to our advantage. We got a good twenty minutes with Aziz’s brother Sanjar, and the CTC were just turning into the street as we were driving out of it.’
‘Nice work,’ Chris said. ‘So how’s it looking? The usual? Young bloke gets his head turned by the mad mullahs and the Al-Quaeda quartermasters fix him up with the necessary?’
