London Calling - James Craig [98]
Christian glanced around at his brothers in arms. ‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ he said, gesturing towards the door. ‘We can’t leave them out there forever.’
‘Yes,’ Xavier agreed, ‘let’s do it. I have a lunch appointment in an hour’ – he rolled his eyes to the ceiling – ‘with the bloody Women’s Institute!’
‘Fine.’ Edgar gestured to William Murray, hovering nervously in the shadows. ‘Bring them in.’ As the special assistant headed out of the room, Edgar turned to the other two. ‘Leave this to me. I’ll do all the talking.’
Two minutes later, Carlyle and Joe Szyszkowski were ushered into the room and offered the chairs closest to the door. Immediately to their left, Edgar took his seat at the head of the table. Murray slipped round to sit on Edgar’s right, pen and paper in front of him, ready to take notes. Xavier and Holyrod sat down a couple of places down, directly facing the two policemen.
‘Our apologies for keeping you waiting, Inspector,’ said Edgar as he poured himself a fresh glass of sparkling water. ‘I think that you will know everyone round the table, by reputation at least.’
Carlyle nodded.
‘Good,’ Edgar smiled. ‘I also thought it would be useful to have our head of security present, too.’ He nodded at Murray, who again skipped out of the room, returning almost immediately with another man.
Entering the room from directly behind Carlyle, the new arrival offered nothing by word of greeting, merely moved around the table and dropped heavily into the seat next to Edgar Carlton, depriving Miller of his place. For several seconds, time stood still. The new arrival eyed the two policemen, silently, only the slightest of smiles playing across his lips. It took Carlyle a moment to accept the reality of the situation. He hadn’t seen the man facing him for more than twenty-five years – and he wished he was not looking at him now.
Carlyle bit down firmly on the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath.
‘Hello, Trevor.’
Time had not been kind to his old adversary. His face looked worn, greyer; the hair was largely gone and he had gained a lot of weight. He could easily pass for a man ten or even fifteen years older. But, beneath the additional layers of fat, Carlyle could still make out the same petulant child. More than anything, it was the eyes. They were the same: dead, and sullen and dangerous.
Looking uncomfortable in his suit and tie, Trevor Miller glanced at his boss and grunted.
‘Of course,’ Edgar smiled warmly, ‘you two already know each other.’
‘We go back a long way,’ Carlyle replied evenly.
‘That’s good,’ Edgar said cheerily. ‘Anyway, Inspector, you now have our full attention.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We only have a little time, so how can we be of help to you?’
Carlyle looked him straight in the eye. ‘What can you tell me about Robert Ashton?’
Edgar took another sip of water and prepared himself. ‘What happened to Robert was tragic, truly tragic. He always did appear to have a self-destructive streak, but no one thought that he would go that far. I will remember his suicide as long as I live.’
It was a well-rehearsed opening. Bloody Simpson, Carlyle thought, she’s marked their card. This meeting is going to be a complete charade.
‘I attended the funeral,’ Edgar continued. ‘So did Christian here.’
‘It’s not something you are ever going to forget,’ added Holyrod.
‘What was his connection with the Merrion Club?’ Carlyle asked.
Edgar looked slowly around the table before his gaze settled back on Carlyle. ‘We knew him … he was an acquaintance.’ He paused. ‘No, he was more than that; he was a friend. But he was not a member of the club.’
‘So why are former members of the Merrion