Elder walked to the window and looked out, not really seeing anything, thinking about Katherine. Relieved that it was over, that part of it at least.
Rob's got friends up Hull way. Family too.
Wondering if she were truly safe, for now at least.
You're old enough to make your own decisions.
Make my own mistakes, that's what you mean.
Happy even, what chance was there of that?
Framlingham woke him at a little after six thirty.
'Coffee on, Frank? I'll bring the croissants. My treat.'
Elder was only just out of the shower, still towelling himself down, when the buzzer sounded. He let Framlingham in, switched on the kettle, and went into the bedroom to get dressed.
'Knew if I didn't get to talk to you first thing,' Framlingham called after him, 'we'd likely be looking at day's end. Maybe even tomorrow.'
'Busy, then?'
'Meetings, Frank. Forward planning. Position papers. Targets. Bloody government's target mad.' He got two plates out of the cupboard. 'When this country finally goes under, it's not going to be invasion or revolution or even some God-forsaken plague, it's going to be paper, the sheer weight of bloody paper, committee after committee, report after report, commission after commission. It'll sink us, Frank, between the North Sea and the bloody Atlantic, you mark my words.'
Elder came back into the kitchen wearing dark trousers and a faded blue shirt.
'Hard to get better than these,' Framlingham said, setting down two fat croissants, one on each plate. 'Picked them up in Hampstead on the way through. Bakers in South End Green. Bloody marvellous.'
'How strong?' Elder asked, before spooning coffee into the jug.
'Strong.'
Elder switched off the kettle and waited a few moments before pouring in the water. What Framlingham, with a wife and house the other side of London, was doing this far north in the relatively early hours of the morning, he didn't ask.
'So,' Framlingham said, 'something important, you said in your message.'
Barely touching coffee or croissant, Elder recounted in detail his conversation with Lynette Drury, while Framlingham ate, drank and listened. When Elder had finished, he sat a short while longer, thinking.
'Any chance she'd stand up in court?'
'Doubtful.'
'Not even to shop Mallory?'
'I really don't know. No love lost between them, that's pretty clear. Maybe if there was a way she could shop him without taking down Slater at the same time, but who knows?'
Framlingham reached across and appropriated a piece of Elder's croissant. 'Shame you weren't wearing a wire.'
'Likely inadmissible anyway.'
'Stick with it, Frank. Something about Grant put the wind up him and whatever it was, it hasn't gone away. And we need to find out what it was. Could haul him in, of course, face him with some of those allegations, but I'm not sure that's the best way to go.'
He steepled his fingers together and pressed hard enough for the blood to drain from the tips.
'Keep pushing, Frank. We're getting close.'
48
Elder caught up with Graeme Loftus early: Loftus already pumped up, rumours of something major about to go down, striding out across the car park, wearing his red hair like a flag.
'A word,' Elder said, stepping out.
Loftus had either to barge into him or stop short.
'What the fuck about? No, wait. Wait. I didn't recognise you at first. It's that murder again, right? Maddy Birch? Look, I've already answered all your questions about that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hope you get the guy, right? But just get out of my face, okay? It's nothing to with me. Nada. Nothing.'
Elder didn't move.
Several other officers, passing, turned their heads and slowed their pace but nobody stopped.
'It isn't Maddy Birch,' Elder said. 'Not exactly.'
'What then?'
'A few more questions about the shooting.'
'Shooting?'
'Come on, Loftus.'
'Christ! What is it with you people? Grant, you mean? The same bloody stuff over and over again.'
'It's called police work. At least, it used to be.'
Loftus half-turned away, shaking his head. 'All right, okay. Let's get it done.'
'Here?'
'Here.'
'After the two shots, the ones that killed Grant, you were the first in the room, yes?'
'Yes. I mean, just seconds maybe. But yes, I was first through the door.'
'And you saw what? Exactly.'
Loftus released his breath slowly, keeping himself in check. 'Like I told you before. Detective Superintendent Mallory's standing with his back to me, right arm raised, pistol in his hand. At least that's what I assume. From where I'm standing I can't actually see the weapon, but Grant, he's down and wounded. Dying if not already dead. And Birch, she's sort of crouching, head down, between the two of them.' He looked Elder square in the face. 'There. That's it.'
'When you described the incident to the inquiry, you said Maddy had blood on her face.'
'So?'
'So now you're saying she was facing away from you, away from the door.'
'That's right.'
'Then how did you see blood on her face?'
'God! Does it matter?'
'Everything matters.'
'All right, then I suppose I must have seen it later, the blood, I mean.'
'You suppose?'
For a moment Loftus closed his eyes. 'Yes, I saw it later. I must have. She had her head down, facing away.'
'You could only see what? Her back? The back of her head?'
'Yes.'
'And she was positioned between yourself and Grant?'
'Yes.'
'Shielding him?'
'Partly, yes.'
'You could see what? His head?'
'He was sort of kneeling, leaning forward. I could see he'd taken a shot to the head.'
'Nothing more?'
'Not really, no.'
