as though Monahan might snap, but then he sucked his teeth and grinned, as though it had been no more than a cosy chinwag, before turning and walking to the door.
A guard appeared and Monahan told him that he was done.
'Have fun in class,' Thorne said.
EIGHT
They caught the two-thirty train back to London. As soon as they were settled in a relatively quiet carriage, Thorne gave Anna a ten-pound note and sent her to the buffet car for hot drinks and sandwiches. Once she had gone, he phoned Brigstocke.
'Well, I don't think we were telling Monahan anything he didn't know,' Thorne said.
'Other than the fact that we know.'
'Right.'
'That shake him?'
'I think so. We'll need to come back at some point, have another crack at him, but in the meantime we can gather a bit of ammunition. We need to look at his family. Get their bank statements, check out new cars they shouldn't be able to afford, where they've been going on their holidays, usual stuff.'
'I don't think it'll be as simple as that,' Brigstocke said. 'Probably all done in cash, nothing that can be traced.'
'You never know,' Thorne said. 'Give some people more than they're used to and there's always some idiot who can't resist flashing it around. The main thing is that word gets back to Monahan. As long as he knows we're looking, putting on the pressure, he won't be quite so cocky next time we come to visit.'
'Course, he might not know much,' Brigstocke said. 'If Langford organised that side of it, he might have decided that the less people who knew the better.'
'Monahan knows something that's worth paying for. He could have made some sort of deal ten years ago, told us the truth and got himself a shorter sentence, but he swallowed it. Langford obviously promised him a decent whack in exchange for keeping his mouth shut, and I don't think he would have done that unless Monahan knew something… dangerous.'
'Like who was really in that Jag.'
'I reckon.'
Brigstocke told Thorne that he'd set up a meeting with somebody from the Serious and Organised Crime Agency, because trying to build a case against Alan Langford was likely to involve them at some point. They had departments that could uncover any financial irregularities or examine in forensic detail the business dealings that Langford – or whatever he was calling himself these days – had been engaged in since his 'death'. SOCA had money and manpower, but was not always easy to deal with and moved notoriously slowly.
'Be a damn sight simpler for everyone if we could just nail him for murder,' Brigstocke said.
'I'm doing my best,' Thorne said.
'And there's the small matter of finding him…' Again, Brigstocke explained that SOCA would have far greater resources available than any homicide team when it came to tracing overseas felons, but that they did need to know which country they should start looking in.
In the absence of the high-tech photographic facility Anna Carpenter had been talking about, Thorne had sent copies of the Langford photographs to a man he hoped would be able to help. Dennis Bethell was an informant of many years' standing. He was also something of a genius when it came to cameras and film development, albeit one who chose to use his talent in the production of hardcore pornography.
'I've told Dennis we're in a hurry,' Thorne said.
'How were things with your new partner?' Brigstocke asked.
'We need to have words.'
'That good, eh?'
When Thorne spotted Anna on her way back from the buffet car, he told Brigstocke that they were about to go into a tunnel, that he'd give him the details next time he saw him. Brigstocke told him not to bother coming back to the office, so Thorne agreed to call him from home.
'Have fun with young Miss Marple,' Brigstocke said.
Thorne took his tea and sandwiches and swore loudly enough to provoke disgusted looks from the elderly couple across the aisle when Anna told him there was no change from his tenner. He sugared his tea and lowered his voice and said, 'So, what the hell was all that about back there?'
'All what?'
'I told you not to say anything.'
'Come on, I couldn't just sit there like a plank,' Anna said. 'It would have looked really strange.'
'I don't care how it would have looked. I was there to question a potentially crucial witness and you were there to observe, that's all. I did not want you chipping in.'
'I thought we made a good team.'
'We're not any sort of team,' Thorne said.
'Whatever.'
'And what was all that stuff about his son?'
'That worked. You know it did. It got a reaction.'
'It's about getting the right reaction.' Thorne's voice was loud enough to have attracted the attention of the elderly couple again, but he was past caring. 'You were there as a courtesy, and you abused that.'
'Sorry-'
'It won't be happening again.'
'I said I'm sorry.'
Thorne sat back and bit into his sandwich. He lifted the bread and peered down at the sliver of sweating ham. Rain was starting to streak the window, and the countryside moved past in blocks of brown and grey.
'Maybe you've got a problem working with women,' Anna said.
Thorne swallowed quickly. ' What? '
'Some blokes do. The bloke I work for certainly does.'
'We were not working together.'
'You said that already.'
Thorne glanced across at the elderly couple and smiled. They both looked away. He lowered his voice. 'Anyway, that's bollocks. I've worked with plenty of women. I still work with plenty of women.'
'Are you married?'
'What?'
'I'm just making conversation. I mean, I presume that woman I met the other night…'
'We just live together,' Thorne said. 'Off and on. I don't mean that the relationship is off and on. I mean… we have our own places.'
'Sensible.'
'I'm glad you approve.'
'What does she do?'
'She's a police officer.' Thorne shoved the remains of his sandwich back into its bag. 'Not that it's any of your business.'
Anna held up her hands. 'Sorry.' She turned towards the window. ' Again.'
Thorne wasn't sorry. It had needed saying, all of it. In spite of that, he started to feel a little guilty, watching her stare out at the damp and desolate Yorkshire landscape as the silence grew between them. She looked like a teenager who wanted to be older, trying hard not to show that she cared about being slapped down. She looked thwarted, and Thorne found himself thinking she was probably used to feeling like that. He also found himself wanting to know more about the 'bloke she worked for'. Wishing she would start jabbering again.
'Look, it was out of order,' he said, 'But you were probably right. That stuff about Monahan's son.'
She turned from the window.
