‘Forgive me for saying so, but you’re taking your time.’
Mike’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘That’s your problem, Tina. It always has been. You ride roughshod over the rulebook, totally convinced of the rightness of your cause. Just like Mason. The man who just over twenty-four hours ago executed an unarmed man in his underwear and shot several others. You can’t operate like that. It makes you part of the problem, not the solution. And I’ll tell you this: if we find any evidence that you’ve been harbouring him, don’t expect any favours from me.’
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘Have you finished?’
He stared at her for several seconds. ‘For now,’ he said finally, then turned and walked away.
‘You had a fling with Mike Bolt, didn’t you?’ said Arley when she and Tina were in her car and driving back to her house in Essex.
Tina settled back in the seat. Arley’s car was a Mercedes so obviously the lawyering was paying her well. ‘I did. A long time ago. We’re still friends, or at least we were until tonight.’
‘He’s a good-looking man.’
‘He’s a good detective too.’
Arley nodded slowly. ‘I’ve heard that. I’m not going to ask you whether or not you did harbour Ray Mason, because I don’t want to know. What I do want to know is whether the police are going to find his DNA traces in your car and house.’
‘Almost certainly. But we were in a relationship so he’s been in both places before often enough. What do you think my chances of being charged are?’
Arley sighed. ‘I think if they turn up DNA evidence showing that Mason’s been in your house and car, and the witness they’ve got who saw a man running out of your house and into your car can ID him as Mason, then they’ll definitely charge you. If the witness is wavering, I don’t think they will, not without some other hard evidence, because it’ll be too hard to get a conviction. You’ll be good in court, they know that. Because you’re a decorated former police officer, a jury will probably want to believe you. And because Mason’s been in your car and house before, albeit a year ago, we’ll be able to find an expert witness who’ll argue that it’s not entirely impossible for the DNA traces to have lasted that long, and the NCA and CPS know that too. But that’s all assuming they don’t find anything else that ties you to him.’
‘They won’t,’ said Tina, with more confidence than she was feeling.
34
‘And in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, what we need is not just strong leadership, not just a clear, ambitious vision of a streamlined, forward-looking Great Britain which rewards hard work and where rich and poor alike have a real stake, but the unwavering strength and self-belief needed to make it happen.’
Alastair Sheridan paused for effect, looking confidently round the huge U-shaped table at which thirty-six MPs, including five junior ministers, sat hanging onto his every word, all having consumed a huge dinner and copious quantities of alcohol.
‘And if the Prime Minister does not possess those three traits – and although it truly saddens me to say it, it seems quite clear by her performance these past two years that she doesn’t – then it’s high time she was replaced by someone who does. Thank you.’
There were shouts of hear-hear, and some of the more raucous of the group banged their empty wine glasses on the table in appreciation. Alastair was also pleased to see the MP for Ely South, the statuesque blonde Hannah Walker, grinning and nodding her head enthusiastically. He’d always wanted to have a go on her, and had never understood why she’d lasted as long as she had married to Geoffrey bloody Barker, a sweaty, slap-headed creep fifteen years her senior. One day he’d have her, he thought. One day. Then he’d wipe the smile off her face, by God.
At that moment, Alastair was in his absolute element. He found this whole process of infiltrating the party and plotting against the leadership, while simultaneously giving the appearance of being a loyal servant forced into disloyalty out of a desire for the greater good, hugely entertaining. And these fools, the supposed elite of the country, were lapping it up. Politics, Alastair had found, was like finance. In other words, it was largely about using your common sense and sounding confident. You didn’t really have to learn anything in any detail. You didn’t even have to be that bright. And like everything else in life, it was simply a race to the finish line, by which time you’d either tripped up your opponents along the way, or persuaded others to do the tripping for you, until you were the only one left in the race.
What you did after that was anyone’s guess. Alastair had no real vision at all for what he’d do for the country if, as was looking increasingly likely, he became Prime Minister. In truth, he was only interested in the status and power that such a role gave, and the respect people would be forced to give him.
The dinner, which was being held in the private upstairs room of a country house hotel just outside the M25 in Berkshire, finally finished. All those present had offered their support to Alastair should he choose to run against the Prime Minister for the leadership of the party, and Alastair had suggested that each of them spend the parliamentary summer recess canvassing the opinions of their constituents on whether or not they supported a leadership election. Alastair, of course, had no intention of canvassing the opinion of his constituents on anything, but it sounded like the sensible thing to say. Instead, he was looking forward to going on holiday the day after tomorrow, flying on a
