might do the opposite. He might try to use her as collateral to talk his way out of trouble with Kerridge.
Making up her mind, she went out into the shop. Joe had his head down, adjusting the large reprographic machine. He looked up as she approached, his expression quizzical.
‘OK, so you were right, smart-arse,’ she said. ‘As always. I’m dead on my feet. If you resist saying I told you so, I’ll let you hold the fort for the rest of the day.’
His face showed no surprise at her change of heart. ‘No problem. Any particular instructions?’
‘Just keep Darren from destroying the place.’ She glanced over to where the young man was engaged in sorting some reams of paper – a task with no real purpose except to keep him safely occupied.
‘There are limits to my talents,’ Joe said. ‘But I’ll do my best. You go and get some rest.’ He moved away and began to tinker with the machine again, but looked up as she moved towards the door. ‘And Marie – take care, OK?’
She turned, surprised. ‘I always do, Joe. You know me.’
His face was unexpectedly earnest. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know you.’ And he sounded, one way or another, as if he really meant it.
Chapter 15
‘You’re sure about this?’
Salter was staring out at the quays below them, watching the cars and the trams and the scattering of ant- like pedestrians. It was a bright, chilly day, nearly lunchtime, and office workers were scurrying out to grab a sandwich or get a breath of air. He turned back and gazed at Hodder for a moment, his blue eyes blank behind his steel-framed glasses.
‘Questioning my judgement, son?’
Hodder blinked and swallowed, as though struggling to come up with the right response. Salter didn’t blame him.
‘No. Of course not. I’m just—’
‘Covering your own arse. Quite right. I’d do the same.’
‘It’s not exactly—’
Salter leaned back against the car park railing and smiled at the young officer. ‘You’re smart enough,’ he said. ‘You’ll go far if you get the breaks. And, yeah, if you make sure your arse is always covered. Otherwise, you’ll get shafted by cynical buggers like me.’
Hodder had no immediate answer to this. He moved to stand next to Salter, following his gaze. For some reason, Salter had chosen to park on the roof of the Lowry car park, the gallery itself immediately ahead of them with its distinctive silver cylinder. Beyond that, across the water, there were the angular lines of the Imperial War Museum, and then the industrial skyline of Trafford Park. Further to their left, there were the quays themselves, Old Trafford and the hazy rooftops of suburban Manchester.
‘I’m just not really sure what this is all about,’ Hodder tried again.
Salter smiled. He took a deep breath, as if enjoying the fresh morning air. ‘Me neither, son. That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘But this isn’t official?’
Salter’s narrow eyes were fixed on the view below, his expression that of a not particularly benevolent god reviewing his creation. ‘No, son. Not official.’ He paused, the smile widening slightly, as if he was perhaps contemplating a thunderbolt. ‘Just using our initiative. Always a good quality in an ambitious young officer.’
‘And she’s one of ours? Donovan.’
Salter glanced at the young man, momentarily surprised. ‘Who told you that?’
‘You did. You were talking to her on the phone when we were at Morton’s flat. You said she was deep cover.’
Salter nodded, his eyebrows raised. ‘Good memory, son. Useful quality in this business. Yes, she’s one of ours.’
Hodder said nothing for a moment. ‘So what’s our objective?’
Salter swivelled so that his angular body was against the concrete wall. He brought his hands together in faint, ironic applause. ‘Very good, son. Senior management material.’
Hodder shrugged embarrassedly; he had no clue what Salter was talking about.
‘I’m assuming “What’s our objective?” is management-speak for “What the fuck are you up to?”’ Salter was still smiling mirthlessly. ‘Good question, as well.’
‘It’s just that I don’t really understand—’
‘What the fuck I’m up to. No, well, that’s fair enough. Not sure I do.’ Salter fumbled in his pocket and brought out a cigarette packet. He proffered it vaguely towards Hodder who shook his head. ‘Good lad. Me, I’ve given up. Till just now. Pressure of work and all that. Thought I’d follow Mr Welsby’s good example.’ He lit up, sheltering the cigarette from the buffeting wind. ‘Right, son, let’s try to answer your question. What the fuck am I up to?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s the right question. See, I’m going out on a limb here. I’m putting some trust in you not to saw through the branch behind me. Not exactly my style.’ The humourless smile returned. ‘Mind you, I’m sure you know better than to shaft me.’
Hodder opened his mouth, but realized that no response was possible.
‘So, to return to the question at hand, what the fuck am I up to?’ It wasn’t clear now whether Salter was talking to Hodder or to himself. ‘I could spin you some bullshit about having Donovan’s best interests at heart. And there’d be some truth in that. She’s out there, twisting in the wind. We’ve a duty to keep an eye on her. But, then, one reason we’ve left her out there is that we don’t know what she’s up to. You know what I reckon?’
The last question was unexpectedly directed at Hodder. ‘What’s that?’
Salter nodded, satisfied that Hodder was still paying attention. ‘I reckon she was a bit closer to Morton than she’s letting on. Her business, of course. So long as she didn’t get too close, if you get my drift. But I still think she might know some stuff she’s not sharing. So that’s another reason for keeping an eye on her.’ He paused, as if wondering why he was telling Hodder all this. ‘Just filling you in on the mission, you understand? Just clarifying the
Hodder said nothing. Despite the morning sunshine and the scattering of iconic buildings, the quays looked a bleak, inhospitable place from this vantage point. Rows of soulless office buildings and apartment blocks. Anonymous hotels and chain restaurants. Acres of industrial buildings in the distance.
‘But the real question,’ Salter went on, ‘the question that must be troubling you, is why I’ve not gone through official channels. Why I’ve not involved Mr Welsby. Why we’re standing out here in the cold without any official mandate to cover our backsides.’ He paused, apparently watching a suite of white clouds drifting slowly across the lower part of the sky. ‘Thing is, son, I really don’t know who to trust.’ He moved his head to look Hodder in the eye. ‘I’m trusting you. That’s a big thing for me. But I don’t kid myself that you wouldn’t go running up the line if you thought I was going too far. In fact, I’d be disappointed if you weren’t smart enough to do that. But for the moment, I’m putting my faith in your good nature and your – what’s that word? – your integrity. That’s why I’m telling you all this. There’s some strange shit going on here. Someone’s leaking. Donovan reckons someone might be bugging her flat.’
Hodder frowned, trying to work out the implications. ‘You mean, that we might—’
‘Christ knows. I don’t, anyway. All I know is that I’m feeling jittery. I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all. I want to get some control of things. Make sure my own back’s covered before I go any further.’ He paused. ‘So that’s the objective. You up for it, son?’
‘Guess so. If that’s all we’re talking about.’
‘That’s all I’m talking about. Keep an eye on her. See what’s going down. Then we can decide whether to take it up to Uncle Keith. Mr Welsby to you.’
‘You don’t think he’s involved in this?’ Hodder looked genuinely shocked.
Salter stared at the young man for a moment. ‘Keith? Christ, no. One of life’s line-toers. If I take this to him
