A Man of Sorrows (11 page)

He blushed slightly, which, suspending disbelief for a second, she found almost endearing. ‘Yeah.’

There was a lull in the conversation while each of them sipped their pints.

‘You’re looking nice,’ Smallbone said finally.

‘Sam,’ she said patiently, ‘I’m a police officer, you’re a criminal. That’s not a good combination, socially speaking. Don’t try and hit on me.’

‘I’m not! It’s just . . .’

Roche took another mouthful of beer and placed the glass to one side. It was still almost half-full but she’d had enough. ‘Look,’ she said, reaching for her bag, annoyed at herself for agreeing to the meeting, ‘what did you want to talk to me about?’

‘That diamond robbery in the West End,’ said Smallbone casually, chugging down the last of his beer.

‘Yes?’ Roche let her bag slip back to the floor and placed her hands in her lap.

‘I’m assuming that there’ll be a reward for information.’

‘That depends on the information,’ Roche said evenly, trying not to sound too keen. It was more than likely that the little weasel was going to give her a load of old tat, but it wasn’t like they were making great progress on their own.

‘If I tell you where they are,’ Smallbone played with his empty glass, ‘what do I get?’

Roche gritted her teeth and tried to smile. She hated being jerked around by idiots, but it was part of the job. ‘Where
who
are?’

‘The guys who did it.’

‘What are their names?’ she asked a tad too eagerly.

‘Dunno,’ he laughed, happy that she had taken the bait. ‘What I
do
know is that a couple of berks are going round with a bag full of gear they don’t know how to sell. And I know where they’re holed up.’

‘Mm.’

‘So, what’s it worth?’

Roche took a breath and exhaled deeply. ‘If you help us catch them, I’m sure it will be a decent amount.’

Smallbone thought about it for a moment. It was almost as if she could see the cogs working in his brain. ‘How much?’

Roche’s mobile started ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket she glanced at the screen.
Martin
. Sadly, she concluded that the boyfriend would have to wait. Killing the call, she dropped the phone back in her pocket and looked up at Smallbone. ‘The insurance company is on the hook for more than forty million,’ she said, ‘so it’s bound to be a lot.’

‘Give me a number.’

For God’s sake
, Roche fumed,
just tell me the bloody address
. Sighing, she got to her feet and pulled the phone back out of her pocket. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Let me step outside and make a call. Why don’t you go to the bar and get yourself another beer?’

Roche watched Smallbone slope off to the bar, picked up her bag and stepped outside. On the pavement, she put breathing distance between herself and the small knot of drinkers who had come outside for a smoke, and rang Carlyle. He picked up on the fourth ring.

‘How’s it going?’

You sound tired
, Roche thought.
Maybe you should take a break.
‘I’m fine. I just need to run something past you.’

‘Do you think this guy is genuine?’ Carlyle asked when she’d finished explaining the situation.

‘I think Sam’s a complete tosser,’ Roche reflected, ‘and not the sharpest tool in the box. But he could know something. After all, he does mix in the right circles – he’s done a couple of jewellery-store jobs in the past, albeit nothing remotely in this league, and one of his uncles is a known fence.’

‘Criminal royalty,’ Carlyle grunted.

‘Hardly,’ Roche replied, ‘but he is potentially plausible.’

Carlyle laughed. ‘
Potentially
plausible – I love it.’

‘Anyway,’ Roche continued, ‘it’s not like we’ve got a whole lot else to chase down at the moment.’

‘I suppose not.’ Carlyle yawned. ‘How much does he want?’

Roche watched a cab go slowly past. In the back, a young couple were arguing vigorously. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘We don’t know how much the insurance company will pay.’

‘Tell him a million.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Fuck it, why not. If it comes to it, he can argue the toss with the insurance company. Just get the address and I’ll round up the troops.’

SIXTEEN

Carlyle stood on the corner of Exeter Road as he watched the uniformed officers move slowly into place. Willesden Green wasn’t a neighbourhood he was familiar with and the inspector felt slightly disconcerted at having to run such a high-profile operation so far away from what he would consider familiar turf. Roche appeared at his shoulder and pointed towards a black taxi parked about a hundred yards down St Gabriel’s Road. ‘That’s 137, where that cab’s parked. They’ve got the ground-floor flat, apparently.’

Carlyle sniggered. ‘I hope your source hasn’t started spending his reward yet.’

‘The little sod made me write the offer out on a beer mat,’ Roche laughed.

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah,’ Roche grinned. ‘An IOU for a million quid.’

‘I hope you didn’t sign it.’

‘I did what I had to do,’ Roche said primly. ‘But if you look closely, you might be able to make out that it says M. Mouse, rather than A. Roche.’

Carlyle chuckled. ‘Good for you. Let’s just hope it’s not a Mickey Mouse tip.’

‘Ha, very good, boss.’

Carlyle looked down the street. A small band of curious onlookers had gathered behind the police tape, mobile phones at the ready to record any drama. Worse were the cameras he couldn’t see but knew were there all the same. To his left, a small tower block gave a great vantage-point for anyone wanting to film their operation. God knows how many cameras were trained on him right now. It was impossible to keep anything under wraps any more.

‘This is going to be bollocks,’ he hissed. ‘I just know it.’ But he was happy to be out and about, running around kicking in doors, rather than moping around worrying about everything under the sun.

Roche’s phone went off in her hand. She opened up a text and sighed. ‘Martin’s pissed off because I blew out dinner.’

Carlyle watched a uniformed sergeant in a crash helmet and Kevlar body armour jog slowly towards them. ‘Martin?’

Did Roche blush slightly? It was hard to tell as she gazed into the middle distance. ‘The boyfriend.’

‘A copper?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No more coppers for me.’

‘Smart thinking.’

The uniformed sergeant came to a halt in front of them. ‘We’re good to go.’

‘Any sign of life inside?’ Roche asked.

‘Lights are on, but we haven’t seen anyone so far.’

Roche looked at Carlyle. ‘Do we want to wait?’

‘Nah,’ Carlyle shook his head. ‘Let’s get on with it before any TV shows up. I’ll go in with the armed officers once they’ve gone through the door. Come in behind me but, remember, we have to assume that there are guys in there who are armed and dangerous.’

At the second time of asking, the door smashed open with a satisfying crash. Job done, the officer wielding the battering ram stepped aside and let the clearing party bound inside. Following on behind, the inspector stood patiently in the hallway and let the trio of officers brandishing Heckler & Koch P30 semi-automatic weapons check each room in the flat. According to his watch it took them approximately twelve seconds to establish that the flat was empty and jog back past him without even a nod of recognition. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, he told the waiting forensics team that he wanted a couple of minutes before signalling for Roche to join him.

The flat was, he guessed, maybe about seven hundred square feet, five rooms off a central hall. He moved from the living room to the bedrooms, taking in the scene. The place was in complete disarray, with discarded fast-food wrappers and old newspapers everywhere. The kitchen was worse and the bathroom looked like it had been completely trashed.

‘God!’ Roche groaned once they had completed a quick tour of the premises. ‘What a mess!’

‘Plenty for the forensics boys to get their teeth into,’ Carlyle observed, ‘but nothing on first glance to suggest that your boy is going to be getting his million quid.’ Carefully picking his way back outside, he signalled to the technicians that the place was all theirs.

Outside, the night air was chill and Carlyle suddenly had a hankering for some whiskey, just a little drink to take the edge off things and help him sleep. He pulled out his mobile and called home. Helen answered on the third ring.

‘Hi,’ she said sleepily, ‘I knew it would be you.’

‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

‘No, no. I was just watching some TV. When will you be home?’

Carlyle explained the aborted raid. ‘We’re just finishing up here. I should be an hour or so. Don’t wait up.’

Helen laughed. ‘I won’t. Don’t be long.’

‘I won’t. Lots of love.’

‘You too.’

As he ended the call, the phone immediately began vibrating in his hand.

‘Carlyle.’

‘Dugdale,’ said a gruff voice. ‘I hear you’ve been busy tonight.’

There was more than a hint of the Commander slurring his words.
Looks like I
’
m not the only one with a taste for the hard stuff
, Carlyle mused. ‘Acting on a tipoff,’ he said stiffly, ‘we raided a house in Willesden Green about an hour ago, in connection with the St James’s Diamonds robbery.’

‘Any arrests?’

‘No,’ Carlyle said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. ‘The place was empty. Forensics are in there now.’

There was a pause while Dugdale took a mouthful of whatever he was drinking. ‘They’d better fucking find something,’ he hissed, ‘for your sake. The overtime for tonight will be astronomical.’

‘It was a good lead.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Inspector!’ Dugdale thundered. ‘You know how tight money is at the moment.’

Carlyle counted to ten. ‘Of course I understand the situation. I will let you know as quickly as possible what we turn up.’ Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call as Roche stepped out onto the pavement. ‘Wanker!’ he said angrily, resisting the temptation to smash his phone against the kerb.

Ignoring Carlyle’s ranting, the sergeant stepped in front of him and held up a small, clear plastic bag for his inspection. Inside was a single platinum raindrop earring. ‘We’ve got a result,’ she grinned. ‘It looks like they were here and this got left behind.’

Carlyle felt all his frustration with Dugdale melt away in an instant. ‘Out-
fucking
-standing.’

‘I’ll get back to the station and check it against the insurance company’s inventory.’

Carlyle scratched his head. ‘I’m fairly sure I can remember it being on the list. It can wait till tomorrow.’

‘It’s fine. We’ve got some progress at last. I want to get on with it.’

Carlyle shrugged. ‘Okay, but it’s getting late. What about the boyfriend?’

‘He’s happy to wait.’ Roche’s grin grew even wider. ‘I promised him a good time when I finally get in.’ She licked her lips suggestively.

Carlyle felt himself blush slightly. ‘L-lucky bugger,’ he stammered.

Roche raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘He’s got about as much chance of
that
as Sam Smallbone has of getting his million quid.’

‘Oh,’ said Carlyle, somewhat confused.

Tiring of explaining the psychology of relationships to her boss, Roche headed off down the street. ‘Are you coming back to Charing Cross?’

Struggling to regain his composure, Carlyle hurried after her. ‘I think I’ll call it a night,’ he said, ‘but I fancy a whiskey. Let’s go and get a drink first.’

SEVENTEEN

‘Dad! Your phone! It’s been going crazy.’

Yawning, Carlyle opened his eyes in time to see his mobile phone whizz past his head, bounce off the pillow and disappear over the far side of the bed.

‘Shit!’

‘Oops,’ Alice giggled, beating a hasty retreat. ‘Sorry.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Rolling over on to his wife’s side of the bed, he stuck out an arm and groped for the handset. In the bathroom, he could hear Helen humming to herself as she got ready for work.

‘I’m off to school now,’ Alice shouted from the hallway. ‘See you tonight.’

‘Okay,’ Carlyle called back, finally grasping the phone, which was buzzing away happily. Six missed calls.
Par for the course.
Sitting up in bed, he felt tired to the bone and had a vague headache which would need to be addressed with a couple of paracetamol before it had the chance to bloom into something worse. The two double whiskies on the way home from Willesden Green had maybe not been such a good idea after all, but it was rather too late to do anything about that now.

Helen appeared from the bathroom wearing jeans, a simple white blouse and a navy cardigan. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had applied minimal make-up. She looked at him and smiled. ‘Want some tea?’

Gazing at her, he again felt the fear rising in his throat and in his heart. ‘Thanks,’ he told her. ‘Green tea would be great.’

‘Coming up.’

As she disappeared down the hall, he scratched his balls with one hand and pulled up his voicemail with the other. There were two new messages. The first was from Roche, who confirmed that the earring found in the flat on St Gabriel’s Road had been stolen from St James’s Diamonds and said that she would see him at the station later in the morning. The second was a gruff message that simply said:
Inspector Carlyle, this is Commander Dugdale. Be in my office at eight thirty this morning
. Carlyle checked the time on the alarm clock by the bed.

‘Oops!’

The Central Line had better be working properly or he would never make it. Jumping out of bed, he pulled on some clothes and nipped into the bathroom to clean his teeth and splash some water on his face. Jogging down the hallway, he popped into the kitchen and kissed Helen on the forehead. ‘Sorry,’ he grimaced, ‘got to go.’

She gestured at a mug on the worktop, a sliver of steam slowly rising from it. ‘What about your tea . . .’

‘Sorry.’ He kissed her again, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

By 8.39 he was sitting in an ante-room outside Dugdale’s office in Paddington Green police station, sweating profusely. The underground had been working but after getting the tube to Marble Arch, he’d still had to run the length of the Edgware Road. Dugdale’s PA eyed Carlyle suspiciously and made a point of neglecting to offer him anything to drink. Fiddling with his phone, all he could do was wait.