London Calling - James Craig [62]
Five minutes later, once he had explained the situation, the same dinner party was off. As expected, Simpson did not take the news well. Listening to him in silence, she clasped her hands together as if in prayer, while gnawing on her lower lip. In fact, she seemed to have aged ten years during the short time that he had been speaking.
Carlyle thought she might burst into tears at any moment. All in all, that made him feel a lot better.
After taking a moment to compose herself, Simpson spoke. ‘John, you know how careful we must be here?’
‘Yes.’
‘You realise just how … sensitive this is?’
No fucking shit, thought Carlyle. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Who else knows about this?’
‘My sergeant,’ Carlyle replied. ‘No one else.’
‘Good. It goes no further than that,’ Simpson said quietly, a steely determination colouring the words. ‘If the press get hold of this, I will have your balls … and Szyszkowski’s.’
Spare me the macho bullshit, thought Carlyle. ‘Understood,’ he replied, in his most clipped, no-nonsense manner.
She looked him up and down. ‘Do you have any idea who is doing this? Or why?’
It was a tricky question that called for a straight answer. ‘No.’
Simpson gave no indication of being surprised. ‘Well, maybe I should see what I can do to help you move this along, Inspector.’
‘That would be very kind. I would be most grateful for any assistance.’
‘Let my office reach out to the remaining Merrion Club members, appraise them of the situation, and then we can take it from there.’
My office? She even talks like a politician, Carlyle thought, not a policeman. He nodded and said nothing as he watched the light bulb coming on above Simpson’s head. It was clearly beginning to dawn on her that this case might not prove a total pile of shit after all. It could offer her the chance to do some favours for some of the most important men in the capital, and therefore in the country. And, if everything turned out well, another promotion beckoned.
‘Once I have made the initial contact,’ Simpson continued, ‘it will become easier for you to speak to them.’
Carlyle kept his expression neutral. ‘Thank you.’
‘These are very important men, so we have to approach them correctly.’
‘Of course.’
Simpson looked him up and down, searching for evidence of sarcasm or unreliability in one of her least favourite officers. Carlyle gave her none. Having laid down the rules of engagement, she switched tack. ‘On the plus side, at least the mayor and the prime minister and his brother will have their own security already.’
‘He’s not the prime minister,’ Carlyle pointed out evenly.
‘Yes,’ said Simpson, clearly put out at being pulled up. ‘A Freudian slip.’
‘Easy to make,’ Carlyle smiled.
‘Yes, indeed. He will be prime minister, of course. And sooner rather than later. Do you look at the polls?’
Carlyle made a non-committal gesture.
‘He’s got the biggest lead since polling began.’ She seemed quite excited.
‘I thought his lead was slipping,’ Carlyle said mischievously, vaguely remembering reading something about it in The Times that morning.
‘You always get the odd rogue poll,’ she replied. ‘It doesn’t matter. He’s a certainty.’
Carlyle looked at Simpson carefully: ‘That doesn’t make any difference, though, does it?’
‘To what?’
‘To the way we handle the case.’
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly. ‘What it means is that the killer, if he is after these remaining gentlemen, is very unlikely to be able to get close to at least three of them. Out on the stump, in the public eye and surrounded by security, they’re pretty safe.’
‘Unless our guy changes his MO,’ Carlyle mused.
‘The thing to do,’ said Simpson, ignoring this thought, ‘will be to concentrate on the others … once I have spoken to them.’
‘Understood,’ he repeated.
‘Remember,’ Simpson said with some feeling, ‘there absolutely must be a media blackout on this. It cannot be allowed to … pollute the election. You know how the Met would get the blame. The mess would cover us all. Maybe we should get a DA-Notice out tonight?