Read Online In the Dark by Mark Billingham - Free Book Online Page B

it usually worked: a meal and a few decent bottles of wine; maybe a day out at the races or an evening in some club or casino; and always on them. ‘ No, no, you keep your hand in your pocket, mate . . . don’t be daft, mate, my treat .’ Nothing changing hands, though; not at the beginning.
    Just making the intentions clear from a safe distance.
    The taxi had picked him up in the same place as before. Ray every bit as garrulous, giving it Marcel Marceau all the way to Shoreditch. Flashing a dangerous look when Paul stepped out of the cab and told him how much he’d enjoyed the chat.
    Shepherd was waiting at a table in the corner. He was texting someone on his mobile phone and getting stuck into a generous glass of something. Very relaxed, or making a good job of looking like he was. ‘You’ll enjoy this, Paul.’ He passed the menu across, poured a second glass of wine. ‘I could tell when we met that you’d have a taste for places like this. Mind you, we enjoy egg and chips in a greasy spoon when someone else is stumping up, don’t we? Human nature.’
    Paul enjoyed every mouthful of a wild mushroom risotto, and linguine with clams in a spicy sauce. Shepherd complained that his pasta was overdone, smiling sadly at the waiter, then winking at Paul as his plate was rushed back to the kitchen. He was suitably gracious when a replacement arrived, and when coffee and tiramisu were provided on the house. Paul tried to look ever so slightly impressed while he was thinking that Shepherd was even more of a twat than he’d first taken him for.
    They talked about Shepherd’s place in Languedoc, and the converted warehouse in Docklands; the cars he drove, and those he kept locked away as investments. Shepherd tried to worm a few more personal details out of Paul, and Paul saw no harm in letting him.
    He told him about his flat in Tulse Hill, about his girlfriend and the baby that was just a few weeks away. Shepherd looked genuinely pleased and raised a glass. Joking about how everything was going to change: the nights out on the piss, the sex life, and not least how much money Paul would have left in his bank account at the end of every month.
    They both let that one hang in the air for a few seconds.
    Obviously, not a great deal was said about money laundering or carousel fraud. No in-depth exchanges about Stanley knives and staff discipline. Just casual conversation, chummy and unbusinesslike - par for the course at this most delicate stage of a relationship. Until they were outside, at any rate; waiting at the kerb for the taxi to swing around.
    â€˜This stuff you know all about,’ Shepherd said. He had lit up a large cigar and waved it around as he spoke. ‘My theoretical business dealings with Romanians and what have you. This is specialised knowledge then, is it?’
    Paul looked at him. ‘That’s right,’ he said. He toyed with using the same kind of round-the-houses language that Shepherd seemed to enjoy and talking about ‘intelligence that had been independently acquired’. In the end, though, he couldn’t be arsed. ‘It’s just down to me, for the minute.’
    Very important, that last bit.
    Shepherd blew smoke from the side of his mouth. ‘I work with a number of police officers and staff, and I suppose they’re all specialists of one sort or another.’
    â€˜Sounds like you don’t need any more,’ Paul said.
    Shepherd shook his head. ‘You’d be stupid not to broaden your network of associates whenever the chance presents itself. Everyone brings something different to the table, don’t they? Some kind of expertise.’
    â€˜Experts don’t usually come cheap.’
    â€˜You get what you pay for, Paul.’
    The cab pulled up and Shepherd opened the door for him. Paul said thank-you for a good night, then nodded towards Ray. ‘You need to tell him to keep the chat down, though. That