his head in disgust. Hall knew that the frisson of satisfaction he felt was a pyrrhic victory. He might be new to this game, but even he knew that the bloody corpse found in the back of the black cab meant only one thing: Mossad were still in town, and furthermore, they had unfinished business.
Hall’s phone started ringing – the
Looney Tunes
theme – and he checked the screen. There was no number indicated but he took the call anyway. ‘Hello?’
‘Adam? This is John Carlyle.’
Carlyle? It took Hall a moment to place the name. Then he cursed. How did the stupid bloody plod get his number?
‘I’m kind of busy right now,’ he hissed.
‘I can imagine,’ Carlyle said evenly, ignoring the younger man’s frosty tone.
‘Can you now?’ Hall sneered.
‘Yes,’ Carlyle told him, ‘I can. Because I’m sitting at home on my sofa, watching you right now. Sky News are broadcasting live pictures from the scene of the shooting.’
‘Shit!’ Hall looked around. When he spotted the camera, he skulked out of the picture.
‘Relax,’ Carlyle laughed. ‘No one ever watches rolling news.’
My bosses do
, Hall thought.
‘And even if they did, they still wouldn’t know who you are.’
You may have got that bit right
, the junior spook reflected sullenly. ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to. The sexy blonde reporter with the big hair is giving me a full update every fifteen minutes.’
Hall located the blonde woman standing in the middle of a small group of reporters beside the police tape. ‘Hell!’ he groaned.
‘Don’t worry,’ Carlyle said soothingly. ‘I know you’re having a tough time at the moment. I have no intention of adding to your problems.’
‘Thank you,’ Hall replied, clearly unconvinced.
‘But presumably,’ Carlyle continued, ‘this latest shooting confirms that Sergeant Szyszkowski’s killer is still in town.’
‘Is that what Sky is saying?’
‘No,’ Carlyle sighed. ‘They’re not talking about him at all. As far as the media is concerned, Joe is ancient history already. They’re only focused on the guy in the cab.’
Hall lowered his voice: ‘It certainly looks like a Mossad hit squad is in London to take out some Hamas bigwigs.’
Bigwigs? That
’
s a rather archaic use of language
, Carlyle thought. Presumably this boy went to a very expensive school. But Hall had at least started talking, so he waited silently for him to continue.
‘Your own guy was just unlucky to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Tell me something I don
’
t know
, Carlyle thought. ‘Why are these people bringing all their shit here to London?’ he asked.
Hall coughed. ‘We don’t know.’
‘And why haven’t they slithered back under their respective rocks after the first shooting?’
‘Things are just not clear,’ Hall replied limply.
‘It’s just as well that I’m here to help then,’ Carlyle said cheerily,
There was a pause while Hall stepped straight back into shot. Behind the tape, ten yards or so from the Sky camera, he stared towards the lens. ‘
Can
you help?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Carlyle nodded at the screen. ‘I think I can.’
SIXTEEN
He found Alison Roche standing in the internal courtyard at Charing Cross police station. It was a grey day with more than a hint of rain in the air. Aside from a mechanic working under the hood of a police Skoda in the far corner, the place was empty. Wearing a thin navy cardigan over a black T-shirt, she shivered as she watched Carlyle approach.
‘Those things are bad for your health,’ he began, nodding at the cigarette in her hand. He hadn’t realized that she was a smoker. Smoking was a major character defect in Carlyle’s book, so he wondered if he’d been rather too hasty in trying to get her transferred. After all, he knew next to nothing about this woman – other than she was no good with dogs but she did know a bit about Italian football. And now, it appeared that
Hall’s phone started ringing – the
Looney Tunes
theme – and he checked the screen. There was no number indicated but he took the call anyway. ‘Hello?’
‘Adam? This is John Carlyle.’
Carlyle? It took Hall a moment to place the name. Then he cursed. How did the stupid bloody plod get his number?
‘I’m kind of busy right now,’ he hissed.
‘I can imagine,’ Carlyle said evenly, ignoring the younger man’s frosty tone.
‘Can you now?’ Hall sneered.
‘Yes,’ Carlyle told him, ‘I can. Because I’m sitting at home on my sofa, watching you right now. Sky News are broadcasting live pictures from the scene of the shooting.’
‘Shit!’ Hall looked around. When he spotted the camera, he skulked out of the picture.
‘Relax,’ Carlyle laughed. ‘No one ever watches rolling news.’
My bosses do
, Hall thought.
‘And even if they did, they still wouldn’t know who you are.’
You may have got that bit right
, the junior spook reflected sullenly. ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to. The sexy blonde reporter with the big hair is giving me a full update every fifteen minutes.’
Hall located the blonde woman standing in the middle of a small group of reporters beside the police tape. ‘Hell!’ he groaned.
‘Don’t worry,’ Carlyle said soothingly. ‘I know you’re having a tough time at the moment. I have no intention of adding to your problems.’
‘Thank you,’ Hall replied, clearly unconvinced.
‘But presumably,’ Carlyle continued, ‘this latest shooting confirms that Sergeant Szyszkowski’s killer is still in town.’
‘Is that what Sky is saying?’
‘No,’ Carlyle sighed. ‘They’re not talking about him at all. As far as the media is concerned, Joe is ancient history already. They’re only focused on the guy in the cab.’
Hall lowered his voice: ‘It certainly looks like a Mossad hit squad is in London to take out some Hamas bigwigs.’
Bigwigs? That
’
s a rather archaic use of language
, Carlyle thought. Presumably this boy went to a very expensive school. But Hall had at least started talking, so he waited silently for him to continue.
‘Your own guy was just unlucky to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Tell me something I don
’
t know
, Carlyle thought. ‘Why are these people bringing all their shit here to London?’ he asked.
Hall coughed. ‘We don’t know.’
‘And why haven’t they slithered back under their respective rocks after the first shooting?’
‘Things are just not clear,’ Hall replied limply.
‘It’s just as well that I’m here to help then,’ Carlyle said cheerily,
There was a pause while Hall stepped straight back into shot. Behind the tape, ten yards or so from the Sky camera, he stared towards the lens. ‘
Can
you help?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Carlyle nodded at the screen. ‘I think I can.’
SIXTEEN
He found Alison Roche standing in the internal courtyard at Charing Cross police station. It was a grey day with more than a hint of rain in the air. Aside from a mechanic working under the hood of a police Skoda in the far corner, the place was empty. Wearing a thin navy cardigan over a black T-shirt, she shivered as she watched Carlyle approach.
‘Those things are bad for your health,’ he began, nodding at the cigarette in her hand. He hadn’t realized that she was a smoker. Smoking was a major character defect in Carlyle’s book, so he wondered if he’d been rather too hasty in trying to get her transferred. After all, he knew next to nothing about this woman – other than she was no good with dogs but she did know a bit about Italian football. And now, it appeared that
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