‘Fair enough. Yeah, that would be good. In a while. First, though, tell me what the fuck’s going on.’
As if he hadn’t heard her words, he poured tea for them both, leaving her to add her own milk. He sat down heavily on the sofa, gesturing her to take a seat. She lowered herself on to one of the armchairs.
‘So?’
‘We’ve got a leakage problem,’ he said. ‘The Agency.’
‘You said. At our last meeting.’
‘It’s an occupational hazard. You know that. However careful we are with vetting, you get the odd bad apple who’ll take a backhander. But they’re usually juniors. The admin staff who get paid three-fifths of fuck all because we think that their sense of national duty will cover their mortgages. They take a few quid, leak a few titbits. Doesn’t usually do any serious harm. Every now and then we spot one and give them the bullet. Part of life’s rich pattern.’
‘And this is more than that?’
‘A shitload more than that, yes. This is someone at a senior level who seems to be working hand in glove with the other side.’
‘And by the other side, you mean Kerridge and Boyle?’
He stretched himself back on the sofa. ‘Ah, now, that’s an interesting question.’
‘Is it?’
‘You’re assuming that Kerridge and Boyle are, as it were, one entity.’
‘Well, aren’t they? As it were? Joined at the hip, from what I’ve seen.’
‘Always been that way, hasn’t it? Kerridge the intellectual, the business brains. Boyle doing the dirtier work, but still managing to keep his hands more or less clean. The perfect partnership.’
‘You’re saying it isn’t?’
‘Not quite. Not any more. Or so it seems.’
‘My heart grieves. Wonder who’ll get custody of the kids.’
He smiled, very faintly. ‘Impression I get is that Mr Boyle was perhaps getting a bit too big for his boots. Taking too much for granted. Maybe becoming a wee bit of a threat to the old man. Not so much
‘I’ll take your word,’ she said. ‘All that book learning will get you into trouble one day. So what’s the upshot of all this?’
‘The upshot,’ Salter said carefully, ‘is that Kerridge shafted Boyle.’
She looked up, surprised for the first time. ‘You mean Boyle’s arrest?’
‘Looks that way. A lot of information came our way. Interesting thing was, most of the evidence implicated Mr Boyle while leaving Mr Kerridge squeaky clean.’
‘Maybe Kerridge was just smarter.’
‘Could well be. But it was all just a little too neat. We’ve been pursuing this bunch for years, and then this stuff falls handily into our lap. Very convenient.’
‘Where did it come from, this evidence?’
‘Various sources, over the last few months. Most recently, quite a lot from your friend Morton.’
‘You think Morton was doing this for Kerridge? I can’t see it. He wanted to shaft both of them.’
‘I don’t doubt it. You knew him better than me.’ He left the comment hanging in the air for a beat or two. ‘I reckon Morton acted in good faith. If you can ever say that about a grass. But I think Kerridge had him sussed.’
‘As an informant? Jesus.’
‘Well, that’s where our leaker comes in. Could be that Kerridge had been tipped off. And was able to use Mr Morton as a nice little conduit to spread more poison about Boyle.’
‘Honour among thieves. Still, I imagine you didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘Christ, no. Only too happy to have a bit of internecine warfare if it helps us do our job. We want to get both of them, of course, but Boyle will do nicely for the moment. The worrying thing is the leak, though. It might have helped us with Boyle, but it leaves everyone exposed.’
‘Including me.’
‘Including you.’ He paused. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you provided us with one or two useful titbits on Boyle.’
It was true. The information had been nothing spectacular, just intimations she’d picked up on the grapevine about deals that Boyle had supposedly been involved in. Something and nothing, most of it, but stuff that was worth logging if it added to the sum of intelligence. She couldn’t even recall where most of it had come from. Just whispers. But who had been doing the whispering?
‘You reckon he might have had me sussed as well?’
‘I don’t know. But, yes, we think so.’
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘That’s scary.’
‘Yeah. Potentially means that all our operations could be compromised. And all our agents.’
She could feel a rising tide of anger. How long had Salter known this? How long had he allowed her to stay out there, knowing that her role had been exposed? Had he been happy to leave her at risk, hoping that she might become another nice conduit?
‘What about Morton? Who killed him?’
‘Boyle’s people. They’ve been systematically shutting down anyone who might provide witness evidence. Couple of grasses just disappeared. Frightened off, I’d guess. Probably couldn’t frighten Morton so went to the next step—’
‘And me,’ she said quietly. ‘Framed.’
‘Yeah. And you. Framed.’
‘That why you think I’ve been sussed?’
‘One reason. But, yes, if Boyle thinks you’re worth bothering with, there’s a reason for that. I don’t know whether he’s got you pegged as undercover, but my guess is that he at least thinks you’re a grass.’
‘That was what Joe— Morrissey said. Christ.’ She looked around her at the shabby sitting room. ‘So where does all this fit in?’
‘Professional Standards.’
‘What?’
‘I’m working for Professional Standards. Have been for a year or two.’
‘But you’re not—’
‘No, well. Covert. Aren’t we all?’
She stared at him, trying to take in the implications. Professional Standards was the internal division charged with ensuring the integrity of the Agency’s staff. Watching the watchmen. Policing the police. Investigating corruption, vetting staff. An essential function in an organization like theirs, but nevertheless regarded with suspicion and distaste by their colleagues. Big Brother. The Stasi.
‘So who are you working to?’ she said.
‘The highest. This goes a long way up.’
‘Good to know you’re above suspicion, anyway.’
‘I don’t imagine I was to start with. They must have had me checked out pretty thorough. But they need someone on the ground. Top brass doesn’t get its hands dirty with stuff like this. They’ve been aware of the problem for a long time. Just didn’t know how to deal with it.’
‘Till you came along. Must be very proud, Hugh.’
‘God, Marie. It’s the job we do, isn’t it? No different from what I did before. No different from what you do.’
‘Except that you’re spying on your own.’
She knew she was being unfair, that Salter was right. He was just doing what he had to, the way they all did. But she was still angry with him, and she was feeling a growing anxiety, as if the ground was continuing to shift beneath her, as if nothing was certain.
‘They’re not our own, anyway, are they?’ he went on. ‘Not if they’re working for the other side.’
She gazed at him for a moment. ‘OK. No. You’re right. You’re just doing a job. Doesn’t mean I have to like the thought of you spying on me, though.’
‘Not you,’ he said. ‘You were never seriously in the frame.’
