Page 62 of The Dead Come to Stay

“I wasn’t questioning your decision,” he said. “Honest.” Green pursed her lips.

“Right, I guess you weren’t.”

MacAdams sipped his black-no-cream. “You did right, protecting your people.”

“Well. Training.” Green cleared her throat. “Anyway, we looked in that rucksack of Benny’s. It had two items; one was a horse and rider in terra cotta, and the other a pillar figure made of clay. Gridley found ones like them in a museum collection—Syrian, Euphrates region. And I’m guessing it’s part of the loot in York.”

“We’ve contacted the British Museum; they’re supposed to send us experts to verify provenance. But it’s a good guess thatit’sallSyrian. Looting funds terrorists, and targets include religious sites, cultural institutions and archeological sites to traffic the spoils.”

“Fucking hell, boss!” Green bucked her sharp chin. “That’s not exactly a precinct kind of problem, is it? I mean, the British and American governments haven’t been able to stop it; what arewesupposed to do about it?”

The answer was: not much. They’d already notified UNESCO—The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural organization acted as the UN’s watchdog on such things. Multinational art theft lay with the international police. But of course, Abington CID had problems much closer to home.

“Whatwedo is find out how this relates to the murder of Ronan Foley—or the butty van or Hammersmith,” he said. His headwasstill pounding. Sort of a background thump, as if a car park were going up just outside his frontal cortex. “Burnhope’s been out ahead of us,” he added. “As soon as Burnhope had news of our raid, he made a public statement. It’s in the paper already, I’d guess. Claimed to haveno ideathat the property had been used to nefarious ends; all Foley’s doing, and so on. Appalled, horrified, betrayed.”

“He told press it was Ronan Foley?” Green grimaced. “Thank God we managed to get the obituary out ahead of this—but who’s gonna claim him as next of kin now?”

Another question to ricochet in MacAdams head; he needed to clear it before they interviewed their young perpetrators. He peered through the interview glass at Miss Rose. Her foster mother had not yet made an appearance, but the youth counsel had. They could start there. MacAdams pushed the door open to face the sad-looking creature before them, still wet-headed but presently wearing Rachel’s pants and Green’s Newcastle United sweatshirt.

“Detective Chief Inspector MacAdams and Detective Sergeant Green to interview Rosalind Ellis,” he said for the recording.

“It’s Rose,” she sniffed into her teacup.

“Okay, Rose. You were carrying an envelope today. Did you know what was in it?”

The counsel nodded to her client. “You can answer,” she said.

“No.”

“There was money inside. You saw me open it,” Green said.

“I didn’t knowbeforehand,” Rose clarified. “Was just a packet, like.”

“Okay. Where did you get it, then?” Green asked.

“Dunno.”

“Rose,” MacAdams said quietly, “if you don’t want to get into trouble, just tell us where it came from.”

“They said there wouldn’tbeno trouble!” she moaned.

“Theywho?” MacAdams asked.

“Just boys. I don’t know.”

“Boys?” MacAdams asked, but Rose had shut up like a book. He tried asking twice more, but Rose said nothing, and the counsel reminded him that he could not force her to answer. It was a quiet minute, then Green cleared her throat.

“Hi, Rose. That’s my shirt; I hope it’s warm enough.” Rose nodded, so Green went on. “The people who told you; they were at the job center, right? Because someone there told Benny, too. You recognized him, I think?”

That got a response, if a small one. She looked up through her eyebrows.

“I don’t like the center. It’s hard getting jobs. Not good ones that pay you anything.”

“You’re right,” Green agreed. “Newcastle is hard like that, especially for early leavers.” MacAdams noted she did not call the girl a dropout, though it amounted to much the same thing. Good tactic; he let her carry on.

“So somebody was going to give you a better job, right? Some regular pay,” she said—only this time, Rose shook her head.

“Not regular. We only had to do it every couple of months. But it was five hundred pounds each time!” That had been the amount in the envelope meant for Benny, too.