The weekend intervened, so it couldn’t take place until Monday after work. McLaren asked if they were bringing people, and though the answer should have been ‘no’, everyone was dying to see his new girlfriend Natalie, so pressure was put on him to extend the invitation. No-one else wanted to bring anyone. Hollis said gloomily that he hadn’t anyone any more, everyone else’s spouses avoided these things like the plague, and Atherton said he’d arrange to meet his date du jour afterwards rather than subject her to a work outing.
Joanna was working – the first of her dep dates in the West End. Slider was both pleased and anxious for her.
Atherton didn’t help. ‘Second violin in a Lloyd Webber?’ he said with a delicate shudder. ‘How can you let your wife do work like that?’
Slider gave in to a bit of shameful curiosity and asked Connolly if she was bringing anyone, but she only rolled her eyes and said, ‘Love a God, sir!’ as if it were a ridiculous question.
In spite of everyone’s intentions, the mood was a little subdued as they trooped into the bar. It was galling to work so hard and have the rug pulled at the last minute. Still, there was the first sighting of Natalie to cheer them up. She turned out to be remarkable mainly in that there was nothing remarkable about her at all, and they had never thought old Maurice would be able to land a normal mate. She was just a nice, ordinary female, not ragingly pretty but quite all right, neither fat nor thin but normally well-covered, evidently good-natured and good humoured, and ready to like Maurice’s work colleagues for his sake.
He was plainly besotted with her, poor goop, but this time everyone had a good feeling about it, and after a very short time had settled down to thinking it might be all right after all. McLaren beamed with proprietary pride and fussed about her like a mother hen, plying her with food and drink. It was really rather touching.
The second round was going in, and the platters of sandwiches, sausage rolls and scotch eggs were well depleted, when Andy Barrett, the publican, beckoned Slider over and told him sotto voce that there was someone wanting to see him privately in the snug. Slider was at a loss who it could be, thinking perhaps one of his snouts had tracked him down, but he was even more surprised when he slipped into the otherwise empty bar and found Mr Porson standing there.
Porson gave him a placatory smile, while his eyebrows signalled some momentous news. ‘Don’t worry, laddie, I haven’t come to spoil the party. That’s why I came in here – I know a whiff of a boss can ruin the merriment. But I’ve got some good news for you.’
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Slider said.
‘No, thanks all the same. I just came to tell you that there’s been some thinking going on over the weekend, and they’ve decided to prosecute Masterson after all.’
‘On the fraud? Or the murder?’
‘Both,’ said Porson. ‘Bit of a job to separate the two in the circs.’
‘But why did they change their minds?’ Slider asked.
‘Mr Wetherspoon had a word,’ Porson said, his eyebrows doing arabesques. ‘Pointed out how bad it would look for the government if the press got hold of it and it looked like they were protecting their own. Especially with all the media connections to make the story good and juicy and guarantee maximum exposure. The Home Secretary and the PM decided Masterson wasn’t worth the risk. Apparently, he doesn’t have a lot of friends in the party. Also, in case of a by-election, there’s a very good candidate ready to stand for the constituency, who as luck and complete chance would have it is the godson of the Director General of the BBC.’
‘Amazing coincidence, sir,’ said Slider.
‘So all in all, they’ve decided to let justice take its course and rely on mitigating circs to spin the story away from complete bloody disaster. Egerton being a worse villain than Masterson and so on.’ He cocked an eye at Slider. ‘You mustn’t be too upset if he doesn’t go away for a long, long time. They’ll want the lightest possible sentence. Given it wasn’t premeditated, and the provocation, he could even get a suspended.’
Slider was studying his boss. ‘What made Mr Wetherspoon step in?’ he asked abruptly.
Porson gave him a bland look. ‘Did it off his own belt. Purely in the interests of justice. Doing the right thing, eckcetera. As a matter of fact, the DC’s decided to give him a promotion as a pat on the back for conspicuous virtue. So Mr Wetherspoon’ll be leaving us. He’s going to the Yard. Not sure what job he’s getting, but he’s pleased as a dog with two willies, is our Mr Wetherspoon.’
‘Good God, sir,’ Slider said blankly.
Porson rarely smiled, in the interests of not terrifying people, but he smiled now. ‘So pleased, he’s dishing out bokays right and centre. He’s making you a detective chief inspector, as a farewell gift.’ He surveyed Slider’s face. ‘Don’t look too happy about it, will you?’
‘I’m still trying to work it out, sir,’ Slider said.
‘Nothing to work!’ Porson barked. ‘Give the brain a rest, Slider, and that’s an order! Go and have a jar. Or two. Tell your firm well done, and—’ He dug into a pocket and came out with two twenties. ‘Tell ’em to have a drink on me.’
Slider rejoined his men with such a look of bemusement that the conversation died, everyone stared, and Atherton said for all of them, ‘What’s happened, guv? Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ Slider said, trying to shake off the feeling of strangeness. ‘In fact, everything’s suddenly right. The CPS is going to take the case after all.’
There were cheers and glass-waving and back slapping before someone asked, inevitably, ‘Why did they change their minds?’
Slider thought of the oversized tale he’d been told and took it in a couple of inches. ‘Mr Porson made them.’
The cheers this time made the chandeliers shake. Slider waved the twenties, managed to convey the boss’s congratulations, and went and sat down before he fell down.
Atherton put a pint in front of him and sat down beside him. ‘What’s up, ol’ guv of mine? You look somewhat poleaxed.’
‘Post-case blues,’ Slider excused himself.
‘The bad guy got done,’ Atherton pointed out. ‘Both bad guys, in fact.’
‘I can’t help remembering that Bunny Rabbet loved Egerton. As did John Lavender, in his own way. And his fans were legion.’
‘They were morons.’
‘Don’t be so judgemental. We’re all fans of something. And no-one deserves to be murdered.’
‘All right, I’ll grant you that one.’ He knew it was time to be serious. ‘Even if Masterson doesn’t get jail-time, his career’s finished, his wife’s dead, and he’ll have to live with how the knife felt going in and the sounds Egerton made while he died, for the rest of his life. It’s all over for him. Natural justice has been served. The Furies have been appeased. You can stand down.’ He studied his boss’s face. ‘What else?’
Slider made the effort. ‘Nothing else,’ he said. ‘It’s all right, I’m ready to party now. Shove me over a sausage roll, will you?’
‘Put it on the floor, and I’ll gladly shove you over it,’ Atherton said obligingly.
Slider took a good long swallow of his pint and chomped the sausage roll. All around him his firm – his other family – were in rare old spirits. He thought of Joanna sawing away in the pit at that moment and longed to be home with her; just to go to bed, spoon up, and sleep in the blissful heat of her body.
Mackay was proposing a toast to him. He raised his glass and smiled back at them all. He decided he’d tell them about the promotion some other time. He hadn’t been able to take it in properly himself, yet.
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Star Fall Page 27
