“Is the counter terrorist squad still sniffing around then?”
“What do you think? Crowne vanishing from Belmarsh prison is a very large blot on their reputation.”
“The counter terrorist squad are an ungrateful lot …” Harris had returned to his devilish self. “They managed to eliminate an entire terrorist cell … right in the middle of London … before they could wreck complete havoc.”
“They would have done that in any case, Harris. My team knew where they were and we would have got them regardless.” Pole stopped his car at the entrance to the car park. An armed officer came out of his surveillance booth and checked Pole’s ID, giving him a nod. The large steel bollards descended slowly into the ground, the iron gates opened noiselessly. Pole entered Scotland Yard’s secure car park.
“But there was no damage done. I just needed a bit more time to infiltrate my assets into this new cell. That sort of work keeps me sleeping better at night.”
“I’m glad I’m talking to you from a burner phone.” Pole grumbled. “You seem to forget about facilitating the escape of a high-profile city banker who had been an IRA operative for years.”
“Minor detail, Inspector … You know it was for the greater good.”
“Not sure Marsh or Ferguson would agree.”
“Oh, The Super would agree if he had been involved … Marsh has a flair for drama and a good intrigue. I suppose he is pissed off he can’t involve Henry Crowne in one of your ultra high-profile cases any longer.”
Pole stopped the engine without replying. Harris was right and there was no point arguing otherwise.
“One last thing. Let’s not get everything mixed up. Might be a good idea to keep Ms Wu out of this one.” Harris stopped Pole before he could protest. “It’s going to be mighty difficult. But if matters involving MI6 or the CIA come to the fore, I’m not sure you want her involved.”
“A threat … From which side?” Pole remained in the car to finish the conversation.
“Not from me if that’s what you’re thinking mate.” Harris grew serious again, his faint East End accent now a little stronger.
“Good to know.”
“And when it comes to Marsh, keep me posted too. I don’t want him to come anywhere close to our mutually beneficial arrangement.”
* * *
Cora was safe surrounded by her friends and Pole had convinced Nancy that DS Branning would afford her more than adequate protection. Nancy had left the Rotunda restaurant on foot and Pole was making his way back to Scotland Yard. Pole had jumped in a cab to collect his car from the UCH car park. Marsh would be kept waiting but Pole, as ever, didn’t care.
Nancy turned into the small backstreets of Islington, not all of which had benefited from the recent transformation that had changed the area from a mix of arty, showbiz and middle class dwellings, to more upmarket contemporary apartments for the wealthy.
The few estates that remained looked sad and untended in comparison to the now up and coming Islington. Nancy cut through an old estate to the market she enjoyed browsing through at the end of each month and crossed into Camden Passage. She found herself walking through a mixed crowd of young people chatting on their iPhones, at the top of their voices. They looked about Cora’s age. The deep blue colour of a young girl’s hair contrasted with the golden yellow of a long fleece. Her nose piercings bobbed up and down as she talked animatedly into her pair of headphone. Her friend was holding out her own phone, looking for directions … Perhaps trying to locate an undisclosed location for the private view of an art or fashion show.
Nancy arrived at her destination less than 10 minutes later. Philippe was waiting for her. He looked pleased to see her but perhaps a little more stressed than usual.
“How lovely to see you …” Philippe placed a quick peck on Nancy’s cheek. She smiled in return. “You do have a moment I hope?”
“Absolutely …” Philippe moved to the back of the long room used as the Gallery space. The office area at the back was neat and tidy. He offered Nancy a cup of tea which she accepted and they both settled onto the old leather couch that occupied the far wall.
“How is Cora?” Philippe drank a little tea forgetting it was still very hot and grimaced.
“She’s doing fine in the circumstances … Her young friends have rallied around her.”
Philippe nodded. He took off his round, frameless spectacles and breathed onto the lenses. He started to clean them methodically with a cloth he always kept in one of his trouser pockets.
“Did you ever speak to Ollie … I mean at length?” Nancy sipped her tea with half closed eyes. Philippe always kept an excellent Darjeeling for his best clients and Nancy was glad she counted as one of them.
“Not really … I don’t think I ever met him on his own. He was always with Cora and if we spoke it was always about her shows.”
“I realise I didn’t know Ollie that well either. Not in the way I know Cora, at least.”
“I think he was happy to be the artist’s other half.” Philippe used his fingers to underline the word artist with air quotes.
“And yet he seemed to know a lot about art … And was happy to engage …” Nancy had almost finished her cup. Philippe stood up to get the teapot from the kitchen, refilling Nancy’s cup. He rested it on the ground.
“It’s so very upsetting. Cora has had a fair share of heartache …” Philippe stiffened a little.
“Don’t worry Philippe … My own loss was a long time ago.” Nancy smiled kindly. No need to make him feel uneasy even though she had rediscovered how raw the memories still were.
“How much has she told you about her parents’ disappearance?”
Nancy leaned back against
