‘Suffolk Constabulary, of course,’ he said. He smiled, a face coming to mind. And not just a face, a body too. Rounded and curvy and moving under the sheets like no one else ever had. ‘Billie Cornish.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘She. Billie was colleague of mine when I was on the Met. I’d completely forgotten she moved to East Anglia. If she’s still there and in the job she might be able to help.’
‘Are we talking work-related help?’ Javed was digging, a grin on his face suggesting he’d worked out Holm’s past relationship with Cornish wasn’t solely on a professional level. ‘Only we don’t need any distractions.’
‘It was a long time ago. I was younger and she was much younger.’
‘I didn’t know you had it in you, boss.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Sounds like I might have to if you’re planning to meet this woman. What are you going to tell her?’
‘I’ll tell her MI5 would appreciate some help.’ Holm looked round for his phone. ‘While I do that, you enter some of those crimes into our mock database so we have an excuse to go up to Suffolk and do some groundwork.’
‘Right, boss.’
Holm wasn’t surprised to find Billie Cornish had moved on and up. She’d been a Detective Constable fifteen years ago, wet behind the ears, wet… he felt a shiver go through him. He’d never met anyone as exciting before or since, and even though their affair had been short-lived, he still remembered every moment like yesterday. She wasn’t much more than half his age back then, mid-twenties to his early forties, but she’d made all the running. She’d ended it too, three months down the line. She was going places, she said. Too many things to do, too many people she wanted to screw. He was sweet, he was a great lover, but it was never going to be a long-term thing between them – he could see that, couldn’t he?
Yeah, he supposed he could. He’d had two kids under ten, a wife who’d made a nest without a word of complaint about the long hours he worked or the fact she’d had to sacrifice her own career to raise their children, a nice house in a decent part of London. And yet…
‘You going to actually make that call?’ Javed. The grin was now verging on subordination. ‘Only we’re supposed to be catching Taher before he retires and draws his pension.’
Holm dismissed Javed with a wave. He found a number for CID in Suffolk, but it took several calls before he was put through to Detective Chief Superintendent Billie Cornish at force HQ in Ipswich.
He found himself stumbling through a couple of minutes of casual chit-chat, embarrassed it had been so long since they’d been in touch. He congratulated Cornish on her rise through the ranks, played down his own position with JTAC and then he was on to the meat of the call.
‘We’ve had some intelligence recently about a group of animal activists planning something big, something to rival the jihadis. The fox-hunting debate has been won, animal testing is on the way out and the public have lost interest. They need a marquee event to garner a little attention.’
‘Other people taking their thunder, hey?’ Cornish said.
‘Something like that.’ Holm paused. Even though he’d worked a long time in the security services, he still found the lying difficult, and he didn’t like deceiving Cornish. ‘The way the wind is blowing they need publicity to promote their cause.’
‘We’re not talking Huntingdon again, are we?’
‘No, this is something different. It’s right on your patch so I figured you’d be willing to get your hands a little dirty in order to help us.’
‘Dirty?’ Cornish sounded wary, unconvinced. She’d emphasised the word in such a way as to imply a degree of scepticism. ‘What do you mean by that, Stephen?’
Holm sighed to himself. Cornish had always been keen on professional integrity, dead straight, and part of him was grateful her integrity hadn’t been compromised on the scrabble up the ladder to the top. On the other hand a little bending of the rules would come in handy right now.
‘Nothing dodgy.’ Holm glanced across to Javed. The young man had raised his head and was listening intently. Holm turned and faced away. ‘We just need to keep a lid on things and ensure nobody at your end gets too carried away.’ Holm coughed. ‘National security and all that.’
‘Right.’ Cornish still sounded hesitant. ‘What do you want, then?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get there. If you could clear your diary from, say, elevenish on Monday morning?’
‘Clear my diary? Stephen, that’s going to be—’
‘Lives are at stake, Billie.’ If Taher was involved then there was no deception here, Holm thought. ‘Many lives.’
There was silence for a moment before Cornish spoke again.
‘See you at eleven Monday, then.’
Holm hung up.
‘We’re off up the Yellow Brick Road, then?’ Javed said.
‘Yes,’ Holm said. ‘But if we want to get to Ipswich the A12 would probably be a better bet.’
In the evening Silva and Sean met up with Itchy and his girlfriend, Caz. Caz’s stomach bulged beneath her flimsy dress, a piece of news Itchy had been keeping from Silva. After a round of congratulations, Itchy began to open up on the joys of fatherhood.
‘Man, in four months I’m going to be a dad,’ Itchy said. ‘How does that sound?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Silva said. ‘Should I call Social Services to prewarn them?’
‘You’ll do fine,’ Sean said. ‘But kids are expensive – how’s the money?’
‘Tight.’ Itchy grimaced and reached for his pint. He glanced at Silva. ‘We were shafted, weren’t we? Cast off. No demob money, no pension to look forward to. I’ve got bits and pieces here and there, but nothing permanent. Still, I couldn’t be happier if I’d won the lottery.’
As Itchy turned to Caz and kissed her, Silva felt Sean’s hand under the table, reaching for
