Page 16

chapter sixteen

James wanted to spend Sunday with Gabriella.

He didn’t care what they did.

He woke early and got dressed, checking his watch as he ate toast, wondering if it was too soon to go round to her flat.

He had no idea if she slept in or not. The two times he’d spent the night with her had been under fraught circumstances, and they didn’t really count.

He had spent the whole of Saturday at New Scotland Yard with Hartridge, going through any like crimes, after he’d come to the conclusion their killer was too efficient to be doing this for the first time.

They had gone back five years, and while there had been a few that looked similar, they had not managed to find anything that was close enough to be a sure thing.

He shook his shoulders, trying to put that all aside. He needed a break, and he needed Gabriella.

As he pulled on a jacket and got his wallet and keys, his telephone rang, and he turned to look at it with trepidation.

It could be Gabriella, ringing him up from the phone box on the corner of her street, inviting him to breakfast, or it could be work.

He lifted the receiver.

“Archer.” DI Whetford’s voice was clipped. “There’s a nuclear disarmament march today. Seems like a lot of rank and file have come down with the flu, and uniform are stretched too thin, so the Met is having to offer up our detectives. Sorry if you had plans today, but you’ll need to come down and suit up by ten.”

James kept his voice steady with some effort. “Ten?” he asked. It was seven thirty now.

“They’re marching into the city from Aldermaston. Ten’s the earliest they’ll get here, by Uniform’s estimates.” Whetford cleared his throat. “Get hold of DC Hartridge and make sure he comes, too.”

That seemed like a very specific request.

“I’ll be happy to stop by and let him know, but won’t he already have heard, if everyone is being called in?”

“Perhaps.” Whetford’s tone was sharp. “But as your bagman, he’s your responsibility.”

James leaned against the wall, wondering what game Whetford was playing. “Sure, I’ll swing round, see if I can give him a lift.”

“You do that, Archer.” Whetford cut the call short.

Whetford was James’s immediate superior, but someone senior from uniform branch could just as easily have rung him up. And Whetford never stirred himself to any effort unless there was something in it for him.

This felt like a set up, or a trap, even though James had read the paper that morning, and the march had been mentioned. It was definitely happening today, and they definitely needed all hands on deck.

He went back to his room to change into heavy boots and uniform pants, the only things he had in the flat of any use on a cordon line. He would have to get a thick jacket at headquarters.

He drove to the barracks to find Hartridge, but parked a few streets away. If Galbraith was watching, as he had a suspicion he might be after the strange call from Whetford, he’d rather slip in unnoticed.

He couldn’t decide if he was being paranoid or not, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

He used the side entrance to the building, following behind two officers who turned as he came up behind them. He knew one of them, remembering him from a case earlier in the year, and nodded in greeting.

“Here for Hartridge?” the officer asked.

He recalled the man’s name. “Morning, Norris. Yes, we’ve got a lead on our current case, but I’ve also had word that they’re short staffed for the CND thing. We’ve been asked to help.”

“You and everyone else, mate,” Norris said with a grimace. “I’ll show you where Hartridge’s room is.”

But he didn’t need to. Hartridge was coming down the stairs when they stepped into the main entrance hall.

He exchanged some banter with Norris and his friend, and then ran lightly down to James, who jerked his head back toward the side entrance, and led Hartridge out.

“Galbraith came knocking,” Hartridge said. “Do you know what that’s about?”

“That’s interesting.” James glanced at him. “Did you answer?”

“No. I’m ashamed to say I hid under my bed, but you told me not to interact with him, and I was worried he was going to break the door down. Someone obviously reported his banging, because the barracks manager came up and gave him his marching orders from what I could hear through the door.”

“Whetford called me. Made sure to let me know I was expected to help at the CND march, and that I was to make sure you were with me.” By the sounds of things, Galbraith was originally supposed to arrange that, but James guessed that when he couldn’t get hold of Hartridge, Whetford had to actually stir himself to pick up a phone.

No wonder he sounded so sour.

James led the way to his car, and once they were inside, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Something is up. I don’t believe it’s the normal course of things for Whetford to phone me himself to tell me we have to be at the march. I’m guessing if we turn up at headquarters, we’ll be assigned somewhere very specific, where we’ll get a beating, all conveniently explained away by violent elements participating in the march, if we ever think to bring charges.”

Hartridge looked over at him. “A beat down to ensure our cooperation, you mean?”

James nodded. He couldn’t see how Whetford’s insistence on them being together and at the march made sense any other way.

“What’ll we do?” Hartridge sounded defeated.

“I’ve got an idea.” James leaned back. “Do you know where Norris is going to be situated today?”

Hartridge nodded. “He’s stationed at the nick near Hyde Park Corner, and the march will go straight past there, through St. James’ Park.”

“Good enough.” James had read in the paper that morning that the marchers were finishing the march at Trafalgar Square, so walking through St. James’ Park made sense. Wherever Whetford was going to put them, it wouldn’t be in the wide open park, in easy view of multiple witnesses. So that’s exactly where he’d make sure to go.

“Go back in, find Norris, and tell him I just realized the interview I mentioned to him will put us close to his nick, and rather than battle the crowds and traffic, we can present ourselves there rather than at New Scotland Yard. Tell him to keep protective gear aside for us and that we’ll check in with whoever’s in charge of his section.”

“Whetford will accept that?” Hartridge asked.

“Whetford never told me where I had to help out, just that both you and I had to. He assumed we’d show up at headquarters, but we won’t be disobeying the order to assist by presenting elsewhere.” James glanced over at him. “Go now, before Norris leaves.”

Hartridge nodded, getting out of the car and running back down the street. He was back fifteen minutes later, a little out of breath.

“All sorted,” he said as he slid back into the car. “Norris will let his sarge know we’re going to help in their sector. We’re to arrive by nine fifty at the latest.” He leaned back against the seat and blew out a breath. “Even if we aren’t technically disobeying orders, Whetford won’t be happy.”

“No.” That wasn’t a small thing, James knew. Whetford would retaliate. So he would need to find a more permanent solution to whatever this was.

This shakedown by his own boss.

“What do we do now?” Hartridge asked. “We don’t actually have a new lead, do we?”

“No.” And not much could be done today, James realized. Most of the people on their list would not appreciate a call on Sunday morning. He turned to Hartridge. “Where did you drop off the bookie that Galbraith arrested?”

“Wembley Stadium. He’s the go-to man for greyhound racing.” Hartridge glanced at his watch.

He had a point.

It was already after 8 in the morning, so they didn’t have time to drive out to Wembley and back.

“All right. Let’s go sit somewhere and talk about what we’re going to do about Whetford,” James said. “I’ve only had one piece of toast for breakfast.”

“I didn’t have breakfast at all. I was hiding from Galbraith.” Hartridge looked like the world was suddenly a better place.

“Let’s find somewhere close to Hyde Park Corner. We can walk to Norris’s nick when it’s time.” James merged with the traffic and headed for St. James’ Park.

He had thought of a plan, but it had a flaw—he didn’t know how high up the corruption went.

If he tapped the wrong shoulder, he could be landing both himself and Hartridge in even more trouble.

So maybe the solution was to assume everyone was bent. Right up to the Police Commissioner himself.