London Calling - James Craig [78]
Edgar stopped her with a gentle wave of the hand. ‘Everyone knew about that anyway,’ he sniffed,
‘Maybe in Westminster,’ she replied politely, ‘but it didn’t make the papers.’
Xavier snorted: ‘Who cares about it not being in the media, when all your peers know anyway?’
‘Yes,’ said Simpson, nervously standing her ground, ‘but the situation here is rather different.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Edgar smiled graciously.
Xavier watched his brother moving into campaign mode. He had seen it so many times before when they needed to build the ‘hired help’ up, not knock them down. It was now time to throw a bone to one of the little people.
‘You are absolutely right.’ Edgar’s smile grew wider still.
‘Indeed,’ Xavier nodded.
‘It is,’ Edgar continued, ‘in the absolute best interests of all concerned – especially the victims and their families – that this most unfortunate and difficult situation is dealt with quickly. A total information blackout, while the matter is resolved, would therefore be a good thing.’
‘Yes,’ Simpson agreed.
‘That should help your people catch this lunatic soon.’
‘I have already explained that to my people,’ Simpson concurred.
‘I am sure,’ Edgar said gently, ‘that our people will be able to help you, too.’
Our people?
Simpson made no comment at all when she was informed, in so many words, that William Murray would be dispatched to mark Carlyle’s card and report back to Edgar Carlton himself.
‘Your Inspector Carlyle,’ Edgar said casually, as they were finishing up the conversation, ‘he seems quite … unusual.’
Simpson finally lifted her head and tried her best to smile. It merely made her look constipated. ‘He has had some issues over the years, yes. To be frank, there are some who consider the inspector an inverted snob with a chip on his shoulder. He is not well liked and amongst ourselves …’ She paused, glancing at the two politicians, wanting to believe in their discretion.
‘Of course,’ Edgar said gently, ‘nothing that is said here today goes beyond the three of us.’
I’ve heard that, too, thought Xavier, smirking.
‘Well,’ Simpson continued, ‘I think it is reasonable to assume that he is now in the slow lane to retirement. As I am sure you know, he has had more than a few problems with authority down the years.’
‘That’s not really what we need here, is it?’ Xavier piped up.
‘No,’ Simpson agreed gently, addressing Edgar rather than his brother, which pissed Xavier off considerably. ‘But it would be more trouble than it’s worth to take him off the investigation at this stage. It might lead people to ask awkward questions.’
‘My thoughts entirely,’ said Edgar, shooting his brother a sharp look.
‘Anyway,’ said Simpson, ‘Carlyle has a reasonable track record when it comes to actually closing cases. There’s a chance that he will be able to wrap this business up quickly. If not, and if he takes a few wrong turns, it will be easier to have him replaced later.’
‘That all makes great sense,’ said Edgar Carlton sweetly. ‘Thank you for giving us such reassurance. We’ll leave it in your capable hands.’
TWENTY-TWO
Brixton, London, June 1987
Yawning widely, Larry Guthrie strolled down Mostyn Road on his way to the New World café round the corner. It was a beautiful day, temperature in the mid-twenties, with a slight breeze and the occasional cloud skipping across a sharp blue sky. It was the kind of day that should make you happy to be alive, but the weather currently didn’t interest Larry very much. It had been a late night and the seventeen year old could have done with more than a couple of extra hours in bed. Sleep, however, would have to wait. Right now, Larry was hungry. And he was also on a schedule. There was more work to be