London Calling - James Craig [55]
‘Typical.’ Carlyle yawned. ‘Half a million security cameras all over London, and not one where we actually fucking need it.’
‘It’s always the way.’ Joe struggled out of the sofa. ‘We are where we are, then. Let’s call it a night.’
‘That’s a plan,’ agreed Carlyle, as he went back to thinking about what he might have for dinner.
* * *
The remote control missed the screen by about two feet and exploded on impact with the wall behind it, switching the television off as it did so. A few deep breaths saw the frustration subside, but only a little. From the moment she had appeared on the screen, it was clear that the Snowdon woman was one of those bimbo journalists who shouldn’t be let loose on anything more taxing than a Hello! magazine interview. Even then, it was a shocking performance: no background, no insight, no bloody context. No wonder more and more people were refusing to pay their licence fees.
Breathe!
How difficult could it be for these people to see what was going on?
Breathe!
On the other hand, these journalists only regurgitated whatever the police told them. If the police themselves were clueless, why should the journalists be any better?
Breathe!
There was no point in wailing about what had happened. If people couldn’t yet put the pieces together, they could always be given more help. Next time, it would be spelt out so clearly that even this bunch of idiots couldn’t miss it.
Eva Hollander stood in the kitchen with a large glass of Château Puysserguier Saint Chinian in her hand. Dominic Silver wasn’t too keen about his wife drinking before the children had gone to bed – he didn’t want them to see alcohol as something to be consumed as a matter of routine every evening – but he wasn’t going to make an issue out of it. Their five kids weren’t around to see Mummy’s teatime boozing, anyway. They had now fled to various parts of the house in order to avoid teeth brushing, face washing, bedtime stories, etc., etc. If he listened carefully, he could hear the sound of Modern Warfare 2, interspersed with bits of Abba. Everyone was safe and happy under one roof. Domestic bliss personified, it was the best feeling in the world.
Should he have a bowl of pasta? Or a bowl of cornflakes? Dom was still undecided as Eva tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Look,’ she was pointing at the small television screen fixed below one of the kitchen cupboards, ‘there’s John Carlyle.’
She turned up the sound and together they watched the rest of the news report. By the time it had finished, Dom had decided on the pasta.
‘He looked very grumpy,’ Eva observed, bringing the glass to her lips without taking a sip.
‘He always looks grumpy,’ said Dom, as he poked around in the fridge for some tortellini.
‘It sounds like he’s working on a particularly nasty case.’
‘That’s his job.’ Dom finally pulled out a packet of pasta and closed the fridge door. ‘He’s been doing it for long enough now. It’s his choice, and it always has been. It’s what he likes doing.’
‘I wonder how Helen and Alice are getting on,’ Eva mused. ‘We haven’t seen them for a while.’
Dom carefully opened the packet with a knife and dropped half the contents into a pan. ‘Give them a call,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Get them to come over sometime. I’m sure all the kids would love a play date.’
‘I think that was fine …’
For now, thought Christian Holyrod. He eyed the callow adviser hovering beside him. Should I have told him about Blake? There was no use worrying about it now.
‘… and the important thing was that your name was kept out of it.’
The boy’s fruity aftershave was giving him a headache. ‘Give me a minute alone, will you?’ he said, and it wasn’t a question. ‘And close the door on your way out.’
With just the slightest pout, the aide did as he was told. Alone for the first time that day, the mayor turned down the sound on the television and pulled a bottle of Tullibardine 1994 out of a desk drawer, along with a small shot glass, before filling the glass almost to the brim. Sitting back in his chair and lifting his feet up to the desk,