thought about cases with too many loose ends. He remained deeply unhappy about what had happened, and still fretted over whether he could have dealt with it better. Above all, he still felt irritated at his inability to close the case properly, lay all the facts on the table and let all the principals take responsibility for their actions. As the investigation had reached its conclusion, Carlyle had attempted to pressure Holyrod into at least acknowledging what had taken place. But the Mayor was not going to be browbeaten by a lowly policeman, and he stood his ground.
A lowly policeman.
That was what rankled as much as anything. Being treated like the hired help. A gamma male who had stumbled into an alpha world.
One of the little people.
Well, now their paths had crossed again. Maybe belatedly there would be a chance to settle the score.
Frowning, the inspector leaned over the railing and looked down at the small crowd. Holyrod was speaking from notes written on pieces of card: ‘ Britain and Chile are two countries sharing a belief in fairness, democracy and freedom… ’ He paused, waiting for the smattering of polite applause which duly followed.
Carlyle yawned and glanced at his watch.
This evening, however, Holyrod chose to keep his remarks mercifully brief. After barely two minutes, he signed off with a reference to ‘our long-standing political, social and military links with Chile’, and invited his guests back to London to attend a conference called TEMPO, which was taking place in September. Acknowledging the further applause, he handed the microphone over to the Ambassador.
Being a diplomat rather than a politician, Claudio Orb’s remarks were even shorter and blander that those of Christian Holyrod. As the Ambassador stepped away from the microphone, to exactly the same applause as his host, Carlyle began making his way down towards the throng.
The free bar must have been closed before the speeches had started, because the place had pretty much cleared in the forty seconds or so that it took the inspector to descend the stairs. Passing the guests heading out, he made straight for the Mayor, who was still in discussion with the Ambassador and another man by the front of the stage.
Fixing a big smile on his face, Carlyle stepped up to Holyrod with his hand outstretched. ‘Mr Mayor,’ he said warmly, gratified to see that the former soldier had put on quite a few pounds. The extra weight didn’t suit him, for it looked as if he had gone in age from thirty-five to fifty-five in about twelve months. ‘How very nice to see you again.’
Holyrod broke off from his discussion and looked up. Recognising the policeman, he fought to keep a look of displeasure off his face. ‘Inspector…’ He shook Carlyle’s hand firmly, trying to step away from his guests at the same time. But Carlyle had deliberately boxed him in and he had no alternative but to remain at Orb’s side.
‘… Carlyle,’ he prompted. ‘Inspector John Carlyle, from Charing Cross police station.’
Holyrod scanned some interesting spot in the middle distance. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Nice speech,’ said Carlyle, looking at the Ambassador.
‘Thank you,’ Holyrod replied, even more concerned now lest he become Carlyle’s quarry.
Still grinning like an idiot, Carlyle returned his gaze to the Mayor. ‘I thought perhaps you could introduce us?’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Holyrod, looking unhappier by the second. ‘Mr Ambassador,’ he said stiffly, ‘this is Inspector John Carlyle of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector.’ Claudio Orb extended a hand and flashed the smile of a man who had nothing to fear from London’s finest. He was a trim, dapper man in an elegant three-piece navy suit, white shirt and bright red tie. About 5 feet 8 inches, with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes, he looked to be well into his seventies. I hope I age that well, Carlyle thought, knowing that it was extremely unlikely. He glanced at the much younger man standing next to Orb. At most in his late thirties, the guy looked fit and tanned. He had the most well- tended beard that Carlyle had ever seen. He made no attempt to introduce himself, so Carlyle, writing him off as some flunky, quickly returned his full attention to the Ambassador. ‘I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time, sir,’ he asked in his most deferential tone, ignoring the baleful glare coming from Holyrod.
‘Of course!’ Orb’s eyes twinkled with delight. Carlyle wondered if the Ambassador had had a few; maybe he was even a little drunk. ‘It would be my pleasure to help the police with their enquiries.’ He nodded to the others. ‘Excuse us, gentlemen.’ He took Carlyle’s elbow and began marching him back up the walkway, in the direction from which he had arrived. ‘Why don’t we step outside for a minute. I could do with some air.’
Out on the vast empty terrace, Carlyle felt the cool breeze from the river on his face and realised how stuffy it had been inside.
‘What a pleasant evening,’ Orb said, holding on to the rail and inhaling deeply. ‘It’s nice to enjoy some fresh air, is it not?’
‘Or as near to fresh as it gets in London,’ Carlyle replied.
‘Hah!’ The older man grinned. ‘You should try Santiago sometime.’ He looked the policeman up and down. ‘Have you ever been to Chile, Inspector?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, you should. It’s well worth a visit. I know I’m biased, but it’s a great country.’
‘Maybe one day.’ Carlyle shrugged.
‘So… what can I do for you?’ the Ambassador continued cheerily. ‘Ask and you shall receive, as they say. I’m already in your debt for saving me from your Mayor, if only for a short time.’
Carlyle laughed. ‘So he’s not to your taste either?’
‘No, no.’ Orb wagged an admonishing finger, ‘it’s not that. I’m a diplomat, so taste doesn’t come into it. And, in many ways, Mr Holyrod is a very admirable man. Apart from anything else, he was a fine soldier.’
‘But?’ Carlyle, relaxed about being distracted from what was, at best, a fishing exercise, was curious about the man’s opinion of the Mayor.
‘But he’s playing games with us a little bit.’
‘How so?’
‘The last time I looked,’ the Ambassador said gently, ‘I was Ambassador to the Court of St James’s, not to the Court of St Christian Holyrod. The Mayor wants to use people like us as he tries to develop his own mini-foreign policy on the side, while expanding his own business interests at the same time. He wants to be the next Prime Minister and needs to fill in gaps in his CV. That’s why he’s touting TEMPO.’
‘What is that?’ Carlyle asked.
‘TEMPO is a big arms fair, held in London every other year,’ Orb explained. ‘Chile has a successful military technology industry, so it is an important event for us. But we do not seek publicity.’
‘No?’
‘It should be a discreet place to do business. If Mayor Holyrod goes and turns the event into a political platform, well, that is not good for anyone.’
‘No,’ Carlyle agreed. He had never stopped to consider the problems faced by international arms dealers before, but he could see the Ambassador’s point.
‘Then there’s the whole question of conflict of interest,’ the Ambassador continued. ‘I thought that you British were always quite.. proper when it came to that kind of thing.’
‘What conflict of interest?’ Carlyle asked, trying not to sound too interested.
‘Christian Holyrod is a non-executive director of the company called Pierrepoint Aerospace.’
Carlyle shrugged, none the wiser.
‘“Aerospace”,’ Orb continued, ‘is a widely-used euphemism for “arms manufacturer” these days, Inspector. Sophisticated arms, true, but they still kill — when they work, that is. Holyrod is busy trying to drum up business for his company — and, no doubt commission for himself — at the same time as he’s supposed to be running this city.’
Carlyle made a face. ‘I thought that you had to give up outside interests like that when you took office?’
‘Apparently not,’ Orb sniffed.
‘And you think that’s wrong?’
‘It’s not my country.’ Orb held up a cautionary hand. ‘And it’s not my business. It would be wrong for me to express a view. Anyway, I have seen a lot worse activities in my time.’
Carlyle smiled. ‘I’m sure you have.’
