Winston gave her a slow clap. “Oh, well done. You do have a talent for pissing off all the right people.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “I thought it was going so well, too.”
“Oh, climb down off the cross, Winston.” Sarah fixed him with a basilisk stare. “You set us both up. Wanted to see us go at it, did you?”
“A bit. Mostly I wanted to see what you thought about Albion.”
“And here I thought that’s why I invited you.” Sarah gnawed her lower lip. “He’s a smarmy creep and having his jumped-up stormtroopers in my territory irks my sensibilities.”
“Mine as well. But that’s the way the wind is blowing, dear heart. It’s a new world, with a new way of doing things. Including policing, it seems.”
Sarah sighed. “You sound as if you’re leaning towards the Prime Minister’s view on the matter. I expected better of you, Winston.”
“No you didn’t.” Winston smiled. “And I haven’t decided anything yet. Neither have you, unless I miss my guess.”
“I’m still pondering the variables.”
Winston laughed. “Polite way of saying you’re trying to grab what you can.” He waved her protestations aside. “And what was that little speech about growing up here? Trying out some new material?”
She didn’t reply. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, and then Sarah said, “I want to view that facility. I want to know what they’re getting up to in Limehouse.” Her eyes flicked towards her fellow MP. “And I want you with me.”
“Limehouse is your problem, not mine.”
“Limehouse is in Tower Hamlets. It’s our problem. Besides, I can tell you’re dying to know what Cass is hiding.”
Winston shrugged. “You have me there. Fine. We’ll issue a joint request, put some pressure on him. I doubt we’ll get the full tour, but… we’ll see something at least.” He paused. “What was that about Faulkner and the shooting?”
“As I said, I was curious. Still am, in fact. Faulkner showed up far too quickly for my liking, police wavebands or no.”
“You think they were – what? – expecting it?”
Sarah frowned. “I don’t know. And what’s more, I don’t like not knowing.”
8: Investigations
The locker room was crowded when Danny arrived at headquarters for his shift. Leave had been cancelled, and everyone was gearing up. Word had come down that a show of force was scheduled today, boots on the streets and Albion operatives on every corner.
Danny knew why. They all did. Faulkner was planning to make a scene at Bethnal Green police station during the handover of the evidence from the shooting. The Sarge was going to show up in full tac-kit to make a statement, and that statement was “do not fuck with us sunshine, we are not in the mood.”
Danny wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but no one had asked his opinion. Such decisions were far above his pay grade. He was just glad that the handover was now happening in the afternoon, rather than the morning. The change had come down from on high, for reasons that weren’t especially clear. Danny figured it had to do with the press. Faulkner wanted a strong showing to make up for the clusterfuck the previous day.
He looked around. The room was really just a stretch of lockers isolated by particle board walls from the rest of the facility. The building had been a warehouse at one time. Now it was centre of operations for Albion efforts in Tower Hamlets.
Albion had three such facilities in Tower Hamlets – or at least three that were common knowledge. One was the drone facility on Limehouse Basin. The other two, of which this building was one, were temporary deployment sites – one in Tower Hamlets North, and this one, in Tower Hamlets South.
Danny got his gear down and pulled on his kit without thinking about it. His mind was still on the night before. On Ro and his mother. Worry simmered at the back of his head. If Ro wasn’t in trouble now, she soon would be. She couldn’t help it – it was just her nature.
She’d always been that way. Even as a kid. He’d broken up so many fights and listened to so many excuses over the years. The worry he felt wasn’t so much about her as what she might bring to their mother’s doorstep. Ro could take care of herself.
Even so, he wondered whether he should push a bit – maybe see what the files had on the Kelleys. There was bound to be something of use, even if it wasn’t immediately apparent. He was still thinking about it when someone slammed the locker beside his, startling him.
“She called you yet?” Hattersley asked, grinning.
Danny looked up. “Who?”
“The plod. Jenks – that was her name, right?” Hattersley sat down on the bench beside him. “She called you?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Fair enough. Ready for today?” Hattersley asked.
“Ready enough. You?”
“Easy, innit?” Hattersley grinned. “We show up, give the plods a bit of a tweak, and roll out, reputation restored. Textbook.”
“That’d make for a nice change.”
“Danny boy, oh Danny boy – come to me, my blue-eyed Danny boy,” Faulkner mock-sang from the doorway of the locker room, interrupting Hattersley’s reply. Danny reluctantly looked up.
“Got brown eyes, Sarge,” he said, as he stood. Hattersley turned back to his locker, trying to look busy. Danny wondered what Faulkner wanted. Nothing good, most likely. He was set to be a part of the handover squad, though he wasn’t especially looking forward to it.
“Have you, lad? To tell the truth, I never noticed. Come here.” Faulkner gestured. Danny moved briskly. Something in Faulkner’s voice told him hesitation wouldn’t be looked on fondly. Faulkner was already in full kit, his helmet dangling from one hand.
“Sarge?”
Faulkner grinned in a friendly fashion and clapped him on the shoulder. “Smile lad, it’s good news – you’ve been volunteered.”
Danny frowned. “For what, Sarge?”
“Special assignment. You and your mate, Hattersley. You’re
