insisted. He and Parsons had been planning to meet at a gastropub out in the country, but under the circumstances Parsons had cancelled the booking and would be getting something together in the privacy of her own home. She anticipated a lengthy discussion, and the last thing she needed was an audience.
Willard was a big man, physically imposing. He’d won a force-wide reputation as a detective’s detective and commanded respect as well as a degree of fear. Suttle had never seen him out of a suit.
‘Winter?’ he said.
They were sitting around a highly polished table in Parsons’ dining room. There were only single-course settings, and Suttle was wondering why she bothered with a silver candelabrum at midday. At least she hadn’t lit the candles.
Suttle explained about the meet he’d had last night. Winter had tired of life with Bazza Mackenzie. He was definitely looking for a way out, and if the price of the ticket was stitching up his boss then so be it.
‘And you believe him?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Mackenzie’s started to frighten him.’
Willard wanted to know how. Suttle explained the political campaign he was trying to mount. The man’s ambition knew no limits. In Winter’s view, Mackenzie had lost touch with reality. He was in denial about the gathering storm that threatened to swamp his various businesses, and in the shape of Leo Kinder he’d found the playmate of his dreams. As ever, the world was his for the taking. Next stop Westminster.
The news that Mackenzie might be facing ruin drew a smile of grim satisfaction from Willard. He’d always believed that one day Mackenzie would be the cause of his own undoing. Maybe that time had come.
‘I’m still not clear about Winter,’ he said. ‘Why so sudden? Why now?’
Suttle had been anticipating exactly this question. He should of course tell Willard about the possibility of a European Arrest Warrant but knew that this would be the end for Winter. In Willard’s book the ex-D/C was public enemy number two. Turning your back on the Job, betraying everything that it represented, was the cardinal sin. Nothing would please him more than to know that Winter might spend the rest of his life in some khazi of a foreign jail.
‘I think it’s been building, sir. I think it’s a long-term thing. Mackenzie’s an animal, and even Winter’s realised nothing’s going to change.’
‘He knew that all along.’
‘Maybe not in the way he knows it now.’
‘So what’s happened?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Would he tell you?’
‘He might.’
Willard nodded. One of the reasons he was a hot favourite for ACPO rank was his talent for seeing through every variety of bullshit. This skill had served him well as a sharp-enddetective, and Suttle was uncomfortably aware that the conversation was about to become deeply personal.
Parsons appeared with a basket full of rolls, hot from the oven. Willard reached for one without taking his eyes off Suttle.
‘Winter’s a godfather to your daughter. Am I right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Was that wise? Given the fact that you’re a serving officer?’
‘Probably not, sir.’
‘
Probably not
? You’re a policeman. Winter’s taking money off a known criminal. He works for the man. He probably does a good job. He probably makes him feel safe. And you treat him as a
mate
? Some kind of
family friend
?’
Suttle said nothing. At this rate he’d start next week by looking for a new job.
‘They go back a long way, Geoff. And if Jimmy wasn’t still in touch I dare say we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
It was Parsons. She’d been listening from the adjoining kitchen. Now she stepped back into the room with a bowl of salad and a bottle of wine. She gave the wine to Willard and fetched some glasses from the sideboard.
Suttle wondered whether to volunteer his services with the corkscrew. He liked her use of Christian names and was grateful for Parsons’ intervention.
Willard was a big man, physically imposing. He’d won a force-wide reputation as a detective’s detective and commanded respect as well as a degree of fear. Suttle had never seen him out of a suit.
‘Winter?’ he said.
They were sitting around a highly polished table in Parsons’ dining room. There were only single-course settings, and Suttle was wondering why she bothered with a silver candelabrum at midday. At least she hadn’t lit the candles.
Suttle explained about the meet he’d had last night. Winter had tired of life with Bazza Mackenzie. He was definitely looking for a way out, and if the price of the ticket was stitching up his boss then so be it.
‘And you believe him?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Mackenzie’s started to frighten him.’
Willard wanted to know how. Suttle explained the political campaign he was trying to mount. The man’s ambition knew no limits. In Winter’s view, Mackenzie had lost touch with reality. He was in denial about the gathering storm that threatened to swamp his various businesses, and in the shape of Leo Kinder he’d found the playmate of his dreams. As ever, the world was his for the taking. Next stop Westminster.
The news that Mackenzie might be facing ruin drew a smile of grim satisfaction from Willard. He’d always believed that one day Mackenzie would be the cause of his own undoing. Maybe that time had come.
‘I’m still not clear about Winter,’ he said. ‘Why so sudden? Why now?’
Suttle had been anticipating exactly this question. He should of course tell Willard about the possibility of a European Arrest Warrant but knew that this would be the end for Winter. In Willard’s book the ex-D/C was public enemy number two. Turning your back on the Job, betraying everything that it represented, was the cardinal sin. Nothing would please him more than to know that Winter might spend the rest of his life in some khazi of a foreign jail.
‘I think it’s been building, sir. I think it’s a long-term thing. Mackenzie’s an animal, and even Winter’s realised nothing’s going to change.’
‘He knew that all along.’
‘Maybe not in the way he knows it now.’
‘So what’s happened?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Would he tell you?’
‘He might.’
Willard nodded. One of the reasons he was a hot favourite for ACPO rank was his talent for seeing through every variety of bullshit. This skill had served him well as a sharp-enddetective, and Suttle was uncomfortably aware that the conversation was about to become deeply personal.
Parsons appeared with a basket full of rolls, hot from the oven. Willard reached for one without taking his eyes off Suttle.
‘Winter’s a godfather to your daughter. Am I right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Was that wise? Given the fact that you’re a serving officer?’
‘Probably not, sir.’
‘
Probably not
? You’re a policeman. Winter’s taking money off a known criminal. He works for the man. He probably does a good job. He probably makes him feel safe. And you treat him as a
mate
? Some kind of
family friend
?’
Suttle said nothing. At this rate he’d start next week by looking for a new job.
‘They go back a long way, Geoff. And if Jimmy wasn’t still in touch I dare say we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
It was Parsons. She’d been listening from the adjoining kitchen. Now she stepped back into the room with a bowl of salad and a bottle of wine. She gave the wine to Willard and fetched some glasses from the sideboard.
Suttle wondered whether to volunteer his services with the corkscrew. He liked her use of Christian names and was grateful for Parsons’ intervention.
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