London Calling - James Craig [89]
‘Rosanna! How nice to see you,’ Edgar replied warmly, before kissing her on both cheeks. Carlyle was amused to see him firmly squeeze her backside at the same time.
‘You were on good form this morning,’ she remarked.
‘Thank you.’ Edgar glanced at Carlyle, who was hovering at Snowdon’s shoulder like a lost schoolboy, and casually removed his hand from her left buttock. ‘Do you need an interview?’
‘No,’ Rosanna replied, ‘I think we’ll take a clip of the bit where you talked about your “iron will to repair the shattered hopes and dreams of a generation”.’
‘Very good.’
Grabbing Carlyle by the arm, she dragged him forward. ‘I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine.’ She took a half-step to one side. ‘Edgar, meet Inspector John Carlyle.’
The German reporter didn’t notice the cloud pass over Carlton’s face as he turned towards the policeman. It passed in the brief moment that it took Edgar Carlton to set his jaw, but Carlyle caught it. Nice to be welcome, he thought, resisting the urge to get out his badge and start flashing it about.
‘The inspector is investigating the death of Ian Blake,’ Rosanna continued.
‘A terrible business.’ Carlton bowed his head slightly.
‘I was wondering if I could have a couple of minutes of your time,’ Carlyle said, smiling.
‘Absolutely,’ said Carlton, smiling back.
‘I just wanted to ask—’
Carlton held up his hand. ‘We will have to do this later, because I’m afraid now is just impossible. I’m already behind schedule and, as you can, imagine, we’ve got a lot to get through today.’
‘Just a few minutes would be much appreciated,’ insisted Carlyle gently.
Carlton gestured to his flunky, who had by now ushered all the journalists out of the room. ‘Speak to Mr Murray here, and we will get something in the diary. Today is a desperately busy day, but I’m sure that William can arrange to get you a slot sometime this week.’
‘Well …’ Carlyle started to protest, but Carlton had broken eye contact and was already moving off. Clearly, as far as he was concerned, the policeman no longer existed.
‘Come on, Rosanna,’ Carlton said, taking her arm, ‘you can escort me to my next appointment.’
‘See you later, Inspector,’ she said, looking over her shoulder.
Once they were gone, Carlyle stood facing the flunky. He looked about twelve years old and wore an expression that suggested Carlyle was about as welcome as a piece of shit on his well-polished shoe.
‘William Murray.’ He held out a limp hand. ‘I’m one of Mr Carlton’s special advisers.’
‘And what does that mean?’ Carlyle asked.
‘I’m sorry?’ Murray looked confused.
‘What do you do?’
‘I advise,’ the boy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
‘Advise on what?’
‘On whatever comes up.’
Carlyle gritted his teeth, realising that he had to get out of there before he tried to strangle this little tosser. Focus on the matter in hand, he told himself. Keep breathing. Stay neutral. Don’t let this little shit wind you up.
‘So when can I have ten minutes with Mr Carlton?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Murray sniffed.
‘But he said …’
‘I will need to consult with the PA in charge of Edgar’s diary and then I’ll get back to you.’
Carlyle handed Murray a card. ‘My boss told me that I would receive Mr Carlton’s full co-operation.’
Murray briefly turned the card over in his hand, before dropping it into his pocket. ‘You can be assured of our full co-operation. We are the police’s biggest supporters.’
Glad we cleared that up, thought Carlyle. ‘Let me know a time as soon as possible.’
‘Of course. But, remember, there is an election going on.’
He had expected a card from Murray in return, but none was forthcoming. ‘This is just a matter of routine,’ Carlyle said, ‘but it is nevertheless important. People have died, and this is a murder investigation. I have a job to do, just the same as you do. Just the same as Mr Carlton does. If you delay my enquiries any further, I will start making a considerable fuss.’
‘A considerable fuss?’ Murray smirked. ‘We wouldn’t want that,