Maurice here, cheek by jowl the best part of twenty years and what gets his withers in a turmoil is still a mystery. And just as well.'
The engine of the SUV was flooded and, with the woman watching, several men were trying to push it out of the way.
'That awful business, Grant going down, the boy Draper being killed, she'll have talked about that, I shouldn't wonder.'
'A little, yes, not much.'
'Confided, though.'
'It upset her, yes. What happened to Paul Draper, especially.'
'And Grant? Did she say much about that? The shooting.' For a moment, Mallory's hand was on her knee.
'No, not that I remember.'
'If there was anything -'
'Really, there's not.'
'Of course.' As if he'd suddenly lost interest, Mallory shunted across to his own side of the car and a few moments later they were pulling in at the kerb.
'Your stop,' Repton said, without turning round. 'Hendon Central.'
'Camden Town and change,' Mallory said. 'It is Kentish Town you're stationed?'
'Yes.'
'Marvellous thing, London Underground. Where would we be without it, that's what I want to know?'
'Thanks for the lift,' Vanessa said, pushing open the door.
'Any time,' Mallory said, with a generous wave of the hand. 'Any time.'
Watching as the car eased out into the traffic, pedestrians spilling round her, Vanessa held her hands fast down by her sides, her legs weak and her guts churning, without quite knowing why.
21
If there was one thing guaranteed to make Elder feel he was getting old, it was a pub in Camden on a Saturday night. The tables, square and heavy, were crowded and crammed with empty bottles and glasses, awash with beer and the language of the brag. Not a spare seat anywhere. A scrum, three deep, at the bar. A large television screen showing continuous music videos, nobody listening, nobody watching. Tobacco smoke laced with the instantly recognisable scent of cannabis. Voices raised, loud, above a mixture of reggae and some kind of stripped-down sledgehammer rock. Age aside, Elder stood out for not having some part of his body studded or pierced, for not wearing black.
'Over here,' Vanessa said, seizing his arm.
With a fast smile and judicious use of the elbows, she found them a haven of sorts, squashed up against the window which faced out on to the High Street, smoke and condensation blurring the pane.
'Sorry,' she said.
'What for?'
'Bringing you here.'
Elder summoned up a smile. 'I've known worse.' He just couldn't remember when.
'Of course,' she said, 'it might be nothing.' Her words all but lost in an upsurge of sound.
'I'm sorry?'
'I said, it might be nothing.'
'Try me.'
He had to lean forward to catch every word. What Mallory and Repton had been playing at, he wasn't sure, but one thing was certain, they'd got Vanessa truly rattled.
'And you weren't holding anything back from them? Something Maddy might have said?'
'God, no.'
'You said they gave her a pretty tough time at the inquiry.'
'Yes. Said they were likely going to have her back in, but I don't think they ever did.'
Elder had obtained a copy of the Hertfordshire team's report and had still to get around to reading it.
Vanessa's face tilted up towards his, perspiration on her upper lip. 'It did make me think of something Maddy mentioned, about the Grant thing, something I'd more or less forgotten. There was this guy, SO19, Firearms, you know? Coming on to her. Not just the once either. Didn't like no for an answer.'
'You know his name?'
'Don't think she ever said. But ginger, she did say that. Ginger-haired. No wonder she never fancied him.'
'You think he might have persevered? Chanced his arm again?'
'You never know, do you? What some blokes will do.'
A bottle broke near the far end of the bar and Elder slipped down from his seat. 'Let's drink up and get out of here, okay?'
The street was busy with the slow passage of cars; rain dithered in the air and glossed the headlights. Young men and women trawled the pavement in threes and fours, the occasional couple arm in arm or hand in hand. Oblivious, a girl of no more than sixteen or seventeen sat cross-legged on the ground, tears raking her face. An elderly black man, dreadlocks streaming out from under his beret, pantomimed a sinuous shuffle to a tinny song from a beat box on the ground.
Always the intermittent sound of police sirens, some little distance off.
'I'm hungry,' Vanessa said suddenly. 'How about you?'
'I don't think so,' Elder said, realising as he spoke it wasn't true.
They bought falafels from a stall and ate them in pitta bread, leaning up against the wall.
'How's it all going, anyway?' Vanessa said. 'The investigation.'
'Oh, you know.'
'Still stuck?'
'Pretty much. But something will open it, it usually does.'
She smiled. 'I don't think I've exactly been a great help.'
'No. You were right to tell me. Ginger, we'll check him out. Besides, it's a good falafel. Can't get this in Cornwall, you know. Pasties, that's about it.'
'Cream teas.'
'That too.'
A youth wearing an England soccer shirt and little else, despite the cold, lurched against them, apologised, and staggered on his way.
'I'd best be making a move,' Elder said, stepping clear.
'Okay.'
'How d'you get back from here, Tube?'
'Bus.'
They walked together towards the station.
'Take care,' she said at the entrance. 'Good luck.'
'You too.'
The street light shone bright on her face.
When Vanessa sidestepped the usual coterie of druggies and near-drunks on her way to the bus-stop, it's doubtful that she noticed the dark blue saloon illegally parked near the crossroads, the man watching her carefully from behind the wheel.
