“Why, Hedge?” Shard’s tone-was rather harsh, Hedge thought.
“Well … why not? All this time —”
“All right, forget it. I just thought I detected a sort of nuance, that’s all. A suggestion that the guilty man had seen sense.”
“Oh, goodness gracious, Shard, certainly not! But do I gather —”
“I’ve read all about it. They showed me the newspapers. And they confirmed it.”
“They?”
Shard said, “I’ve a lot to tell you, Hedge. But first I want to ring Beth.” He reached out for Hedge’s open line, but Hedge’s hand got there first and clamped down on the instrument. Shard flushed. “What’s that in aid of, Hedge? I said, I want to call my wife. I’ve not been home, I came straight here, after certain things had been done.”
Hedge asked, “Why did you not call her earlier?”
“Because I felt it my duty to report first — in all the circumstances.”
“Yes. Yes, quite.”
“And now I’ve done that — not fully. But I’ve reported back, and I want to set Beth’s mind at rest, Hedge.”
“I’d prefer to have your full report first.”
“Why?” Shard was truculent, felt his fists clench, the nails dig into his palms. Hedge was a bastard.
Hedge said, not looking at Shard, “This dreadful business — you know what I mean. It has to be got out of the way between us before you contact your wife — surely you can see for yourself?”
“No. Or do I take it you believe I’ve accepted bribes?”
Hedge shifted uneasily. “No. Certainly not. But there have to be the — the formalities. I shall have to consult Sir Edmund, you know, and perhaps Hesseltine — it may be necessary to call in A10. Just a formality, of course —”
“You’ve got your lines crossed, Hedge. A10 investigates complaints against police officers. In this case, A10’s inappropriate. Isn’t it?”
“Oh well — you know what I mean, Shard.”
“Yes, I think I do.” Shard had not been bidden to sit down; he remained standing, staring down at Hedge, his eyes hard. “I think you’re trying to nerve yourself to a suggestion that I might be suspended from duty. Isn’t that it?”
“Well … er.”
“I see.”
“It might have to come to that, I don’t know. If it does, it’ll be the press to blame very largely. It’s become a matter of public confidence.”
“You mean there has to be a scapegoat, and I’m the obvious one?”
“I didn’t say that, Shard. You should know very well what the police procedures are. Any public scandal … oh, I apologise, Shard, indeed I do, but there’s that pregnancy to be thought of as well as — as the rest. The baby, by the way, was not born. So —” Hedge broke off, coughed from a red face: he’d been about to say, so you won’t be landed with fatherhood. He didn’t know why; he genuinely didn’t believe the dirt. He covered up, or tried to, with a mumble; but Shard had got the drift.
Shard said, “Some people can’t help being four-letter men, can they? In the meantime, I’m still a detective chief superintendent on secondment to the Foreign Office. You’d better listen.”
“Your report will be taped,” Hedge said. This was in a sense routine, but the way Hedge said it showed he hadn’t liked the reference to four-letter men.
*
Shard kept his report brief and factual, describing the series of events from the time he had left the Clyde Submarine Base to his eventual emergence into the streets of London — his guess had been spot on: the house had been on the North Circular Road, a clearway out of London. He gave full descriptions of Tim who might have been Tim O’Carse and of the grey-suited man. The yellow-skinned man, now dead, would be investigated also. The girl, who had so far refused to give her name, was in police custody, so far uncharged with anything. She would be brought to the Foreign Office if and when required, Shard said, but as in the case of Ho Suzy, Hedge preferred to keep interrogations away from the Foreign Office, which must still remain unsullied as far as possible. Shard mentioned the name Tack, the man whom Tim and the grey suit had been called away to visit. All these were now being sought with the help of the Yard’s CRO and fingerprint computers. The house had been dusted for prints and some good ones taken; results should flow before long.
Hedge said, “You spoke of an incinerator.”
“A dustbin, not very efficient.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I was about to. Inefficient for them, but there was something of help to us. There could be more from the half-burned bits and pieces —”
“Where are they now?”
Shard said briefly, “The Yard. Forensic. In the meantime … I found references to Faslane —”
“Ah! There’s been another attempt. Orwin’s up there now.” Hedge told Shard of the report from Defence Ministry, the small explosions alongside the nuclear submarines. “The Americans now, so unfortunate, that man Taft at their Embassy.” Hedge rung his hands. “He mentioned … well, never mind.”
“He mentioned me.”
“Yes, I’m afraid he did, Shard.”
Shard could see it all without it being spelled out: the Americans wouldn’t want any suspicions of disloyalty and none of it had yet been disproven. He forced it down to the bottom of his mind. He had a job to do, if he were to be allowed to go on doing it, and doing it successfully was the only way he could see of clearing himself. He said, “Faslane. That was indicated — in the dustbin. Both incidents, the plastic notice and the explosions. Also the Irishman outside RAMC HQ.”
“The man McMahon …”
“Yes. All the orders — what’s left of them, that is. It’s sketchy unless forensic can read more. McMahon was a hiccup in a sense. For personal reasons he’d taken against the bosses, the bosses of Detachment X, and he was believed to be about to grass on —”
“Which he did, to the extent that he spoke of this — this bribery.”
Shard stared. “He did?”
“You didn’t know that?”
“The papers didn’t have it, not the ones I was given. And those men didn’t mention it. But isn’t that proof of a frame, Hedge? The fact that McMahon revealed it?” Any straw …
Hedge said, “I can’t say and we must leave it for now — it won’t be forgotten I assure you. Now, do I take it McMahon was put on a hit list because he was about to grass?”
“Right.”
“But why Millbank?”
Shard shrugged. “The coincidence of fate, that’s all. He happened to be there when they got him.”
“But a military establishment?”
“Not the army’s teeth, Hedge. And I was coming to that — to military and naval establishments. More attacks are planned, or were planned — I’d say they’ll be in abeyance now. The —”
“Where, Shard, where?” Hedge sat forward: this was where he stole a march or two on Defence Ministry and Hocking.
Shard said, “Devonport, the submarine and frigate pens. Portsmouth —”
“There was an explosion in the New Forest. Possibly premature.” Hedge filled in for Shard. “I said it would be Portsmouth. Presumably the dockyard … anything else?”
“Yes. Salisbury Plain and Catterick.”
“Ah. Aldershot?”
“No mention of Aldershot. But don’t get too excited, Hedge. It’s just a blind.”
Hedge blinked. “What is? The non-reference to Aldershot, do you mean?”
“No. All the military and naval establishments or bases. There was a clear reference to hoodwinking … it’s all intended as a drawing-off exercise, nothing more. We’re supposed to concentrate all our thinking along the lines of those bases, Hedge. All our resources.”
“You mean something else is under threat?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Shard said, “That’s what I don’t know. That dustbin — I found no pointers except in that general sense of something else. It’s vag
ue enough, I know. But the rest was burned. The only hope is forensic. It’s not much of a hope.”
*
Hedge had somewhat grudgingly allowed Shard to go home. He’d checked with both the Permanent Under-Secretary and the ACC first and Hesseltine had been rudely caustic. When Shard had gone Hedge sat drumming his fingers and looking very worried. Something else, but what? He’d asked Shard if he thought Detachment X was big, but Shard had said size didn’t matter. It was big enough to hit where it hurt most and in fact the fewer the operatives the better chance they might stand. You could never spot the one man with the bomb. London? Not necessarily, Shard said, and that coincided with the earlier expressed views of the Head of Security, still shingled and in much pain, that the provinces were equally at risk.
For God’s sake, where and what? Hedge cudgelled his brains. Shard’s dustbin information could be said to check with the opinion of the Garda men in Dublin that the military aspect was a blind. A renewed bombing campaign — but Detachment X wasn’t the IRA. Or was it? Hedge was fogged. Detachment X had a nasty sound. If only Ho Suzy had been held and put under the grill — Hesseltine, not himself, had mucked that up. He, Hedge, had agreed to police bail but that was scarcely the point.
Put it all out of his mind for a while and something would come through. Hedge sent for Miss Fleece and got on with some routine work and in the middle of it Detective Inspector Orwin called on the closed line from Faslane. He had attended a preliminary inquiry and the result so far had been unhelpful. There had been no evidence of anything like outright treason or even of collusion by the base staff. Hedge thought it negative and rather naive: you didn’t bowl out disaffected persons as a result of a naval inquiry. The navy was so stereotyped …
Shortly after this report was received, the Yard came through. Not Hesseltine but his deputy. Forensic hadn’t been able to find anything more. The burned paper had simply been in a state of disintegration. Hedge slammed down the telephone and seethed. Sheer carelessness, either forensic themselves or Shard. Why hadn’t Shard protected the charred paper in some way, perhaps glue and polythene bags, or something?
The rest of the day was quiet. Too quiet, a sense of brooding. And the sun was scorching when Hedge left the Foreign Office for lunch at his club. It baked and burned and London was full of blasted tourists in stupid clothes. So many foreigners dropping litter, the American ones dropping chewing-gum or plastering it under park benches. London was reaching the bottom these days. It even smelled of sweat.
9
Shard rang Beth before leaving his section; he didn’t want Mrs Micklem around when he got home, it might wreck the reunion. Beth was crying when he rang off, crying from sheer relief, but she was in control when he got there and Mrs Micklem had packed and gone. Beth said she was supposed to keep an eye on her but was convinced she would never in fact talk to the press again.
“What about that lot outside?” Shard asked, waving towards the roadway. The vultures had been out in force, but he’d pushed his way through and refused to answer any questions. His face had been forbidding and he hadn’t had too much hassle.
Beth said, “I called a taxi. And there’s been a DC watching. He helped.”
“Where is he now?”
“He went with mother. I believe she was the main reason he was here.”
Shard nodded, moved restlessly about the room, went out to look at the garage, for no real reason except that had been where the five thousand pounds had been put. The place felt unclean, been through by villains and by his own cloth, which hurt. The whole thing had made him feel unclean himself. When the law moved against you, being a detective chief superintendent, even an assistant commissioner, meant nothing at all. Even the Commissioner of Metropolitan Police himself, if ever he transgressed, would not be immune to having his collar felt by a p.c. The law itself stood above its officers. With uncleanness on his mind, Shard went upstairs to shave, bath and pull on a change of clothing. He knew he wouldn’t have long at home; soon the questioning would start — Hedge had had no need to utter the warning. They would ring through during the afternoon.
They did: Harry Kenwood, to say he was required. He left immediately, watching out for trouble. Detachment X would be wanting him back, presumably. But he didn’t spot anything. When he reached the Foreign Office he was faced with what looked like a board meeting or a court of inquiry — or a court martial. The Permanent Under-Secretary was there with the Head of Security brought from bed, plus Hedge and Hesseltine, and Hocking from Defence Ministry. But there was an obvious attempt to make the atmosphere pleasant and informal, and Shard’s interrogators confined themselves to questions on his imprisonment and what he had gleaned as a result — largely a repeat of what he’d already reported to Hedge. He was told that preliminary questioning of the girl, identity still not known, had achieved a nil result and none of the men had been brought in. They had vanished. The prints had been of little help: nothing was known about the dead yellow man or the other two. Only Tack was known to the police: he had quite a record. Fraud, robbery with violence, sexual assault. No known connection with terrorism as such, but that could be something new for him.
Then the Defence Ministry man withdrew and there was an embarrassed silence and looks were exchanged, throats cleared. One or two coughs. Shard knew what was coming. It was left to the Head of Security to promulgate it.
“Shard …”
“Yes, sir?”
The Head of Security didn’t shirk it. He said, “Those allegations.”
“You’ve had my word, sir.”
“Yes. I accept it unreservedly — I think I may say we all do.” There were simultaneous nods and murmurs. A shaft of sunlight played on old mahogany furniture. Shard’s eye followed it mesmerically. The Head went on, “But you’re a policeman, Shard. Policemen look for proof. Mr Hedge has mentioned the man McMahon who released the information in the first place. Well — he’s dead as you know. And what he said can’t be taken as anything further than its face value, I’m afraid. Not at this stage. We need hard evidence that the money was paid without your knowledge or approval. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” He added, almost in appeal, “As a policeman.”
“As a policeman, sir, yes.”
“None of us doubt for one moment that you’ll be fully cleared as soon as this business is brought to a head — even before, if certain persons can be brought in and questioned. They will be.”
Shard’s heart was like lead. There was no need for anyone to underline it. In a voice he scarcely recognised as his own, he said, “But not by me, sir.”
“I’m afraid not. You are suspended from duty pending further inquiries. I’m desperately sorry, Shard, but you see, there are other considerations …”
“I understand, sir.” Hedge had already spoken of one of those considerations: the American interest. The alliance was of more importance than the fate or feelings of a detective chief superintendent. Much more important …
“Then that’s all, Shard, thank you. You’ll — er — you’ll be required to give evidence when those men are brought in, of course.”
Shard nodded without speaking and turned away for the door. He went down to his section to collect his bits and pieces and hand over to Detective Inspector Orwin.
*
Beth was shattered even though he’d warned her it might be going to happen. She was close to tears again, tears for a career that might be wrecked unless the hard evidence was forthcoming. Shard did his best to cheer her, and cheer himself at the same time. He said, running a hand through his thick hair, “It’s not desperate. It’s largely expediency.” He mentioned the American interest.
“But they can’t —”
“Yes, they can, Beth. And I can understand it. British security’s always been a touchy point with the Yanks.”
“They can talk!”
“All right, so they’re not much better. But they think they are and they have the upper hand. No use moaning about that. But I say ag
ain, it’s not desperate. I don’t doubt Hedge and the rest believe me, and Hesseltine’s a good friend. In due course, I believe a statement will be issued, clearing me.”
She said, “Yes, I’m sure it will,” but she didn’t believe it any more than he did himself. She wondered what the future might hold. Simon, sitting around the house, getting more and more despondent, losing his confidence, growing bitter and cynical, old before his time, a rejected copper who’d loved his job. And it was such a dirty charge, one for which she saw herself as partly to blame. If only she’d done what he always said and locked the garage, but it was too late for regrets now. In any case they’d have found another way. She said rather dismally, “I suppose they’ll keep you informed, Simon.”
“Yes, they’ll do that. Bob Orwin’s not only a good DI, but he’s a good friend as well. Right?”
“Right,” she said, looking a shade puzzled. His tone had been odd, she thought, unless it was imagination. And he seemed happier as he mentioned Bob Orwin. Then she clicked: Simon wasn’t going to be sitting listlessly around the house. It wouldn’t have been like him if he had. But that held dangers too.
*
Hedge took the call from the Yard and having taken it almost sent down for Shard before he remembered. He changed Shard to Orwin just in time. Hedge was in two minds about Shard: half was really quite glad not to be chivvied and treated with forebearing impatience by Shard, half knew Shard was going to be missed badly. Without him, they wouldn’t bowl Detachment X out half so quickly, Hedge was convinced of that, and he, Hedge, was going to have to do a lot more work himself. Detachment X had been clever: the removal of a top man as something nasty drew towards its fulfilment had thrown a spanner into the works.
Orwin came up. “You wanted me, sir?”
“Yes. There’s been some progress, a little, not much. The girl’s broken.” Hedge pushed things about on his desk, frowning. “Still won’t give her name — at least, she admits to Joan Smith but they’re not believing that at the Yard, quite rightly in my view. But some pressure was applied, the Yard wasn’t specific, and she’s shopped those men. Tim O’Carse, and a man she knew just as Blakey — the Yard’s checking out any Blakes on their computer files — and the man Shard spoke of, Tack. She gave an address for Tack, with whom apparently she’d been living. Somewhere around Tottenham Court Road, between there and Portland Place. The Yard’s putting on surveillance.”
Shard at Bay Page 10
