Trust No One

Chapter 12

‘Anything’s possible. But it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘You’d have been informed, though, guv, surely.’

Welsby shrugged. ‘In theory, but these days . . .’ He jerked a thumb in the direction of some unspecified authority. ‘Any one of those bastards might have authorized it. Wouldn’t necessarily keep me in the picture. Might be an oversight. Might be deliberate.’

‘Paranoia,’ Salter agreed.

‘Aye. Fucking paranoia. And when that takes hold, nobody gets spared. Even the pure in heart like you, Hughie.’

‘Or you, sir,’ Salter added dutifully.

‘Yes, son. Even me.’ He took a deep swallow of his pint and gazed thoughtfully around them. They were sitting under the smokers’ shelter outside what was apparently one of Welsby’s favourite pubs. Salter hadn’t been surprised that Welsby had suggested meeting in a pub, but he’d expected somewhere different from this. Some down-at-heel back-street local with curled sandwiches and pickled eggs, not an upmarket gastro place. But Welsby always liked to keep people on their toes.

More practically, it wasn’t the kind of place where anyone was likely to recognize either of them. Out on the edge of the Pennines, too far out of town, too middle class. A few of the upper echelons, on either side, might pop out here from time to time, but they’d be with their own families and equally keen not to be spotted.

It wasn’t really Salter’s kind of place. He wasn’t a great drinker except for networking purposes – too much risk of losing control – and, if he was going out to eat, he preferred somewhere quieter, more discreet. Even on a Sunday night, this place was buzzing, full of families and couples at the restaurant tables, clusters of young men drinking by the bar. Most were eating. Pretentious pub grub, Salter thought. He’d followed Welsby to the bar, and eyeing the impressive array of real ales, ordered a pint of Carling on principle. Welsby had ordered something dark and rustic-looking which he held up as though inspecting a fine wine.

Salter had been wondering where they’d find a quiet corner to talk in this place, but that question had been quickly and predictably answered when Welsby had led them immediately out the back door into a rear courtyard. Unsurprisingly, they were the only drinkers who’d braved the damp night air to take advantage of the tables under the canvas awning. In the darkness behind them, the land fell away into the wind-blown emptiness of the Goyt Valley.

‘So what did she say exactly?’ Welsby said. He’d lit up a cigarette, making no very obvious effort to direct the smoke away from Salter.

‘She was worried that her flat might have been broken into.’

‘She wasn’t sure?’

‘That was the point. She thought it might be a pro job.’

‘Officially sanctioned, you mean?’

‘Maybe. She’d also thought of Kerridge.’

Welsby blew more smoke into the air. ‘Like I say, anything’s possible. No one tells me anything. Not losing her marbles, is she?’

‘Wouldn’t have said so, but you never know in this game, do you?’

‘Too right,’ Welsby said. ‘Look at you. Bloody Carling.’

‘I don’t know,’ Salter went on. ‘She sounded rattled. But that’s not surprising. If we are leaking, she’s pretty exposed out there. In her shoes, I’d be rattled.’

‘Why would Kerridge break into her flat, though? Bit subtle for him.’ Welsby gazed impassively at the younger man, as if daring him to challenge this judgement.

Salter shrugged. ‘You know him better than me, guv. But Kerridge must be getting jittery himself. If the case against Boyle sticks, it’s getting bloody close to home. He’s taken out our key witness, but he doesn’t know what other dirt’s out there. He may just want to know what Donovan’s got before he resorts to scare tactics.’

‘All a bit complicated for a simple plod like me,’ Welsby said. ‘But we can’t take risks. If Kerridge is on to Donovan, we need to pull her out PDQ.’

‘This is all guesswork . . .’ Salter paused. ‘But even if he is, maybe we should think about timing.’

‘Secret of good comedy, so I’m told. OK, then, make me laugh.’

‘We need Kerridge to make a mistake. Without Morton, we’ve barely got a case against Boyle. We don’t know if Morton had anything more, and if so, whether it’s out there somewhere . . .’

‘Not even raised a fucking smile so far,’ Welsby said.

‘Our best chance is if Kerridge starts to get shaky. He doesn’t know what other dirt we might have.’

‘He’ll know what we’ve got when it comes to court,’ Welsby pointed out. ‘It’ll all be disclosable then. And he’ll need his sides stitching back together when he’s finished laughing at how little there is. There you go. Timing.’

‘But he doesn’t know that now. And neither do we. What if Donovan really does have something? Something she’s not even sharing with her friends.’

‘I hope this is going somewhere.’ Welsby stared morosely into the bottom of his empty glass. ‘I’m getting thirsty.’

‘I’m just thinking that, if Kerridge is thinking that way, there might be some benefit to us in leaving her out there, just for a little while.’

Welsby looked up and gazed steadily into Salter’s eyes for a moment, as if thinking through the implications of what the younger man had just said. ‘Bait, you mean. You should be careful, Hugh. Some people might think you were a bit of a bastard.’

‘I’m not suggesting we take any risks. We can reel her back any time we need to. All I’m saying is, let it run a little bit further.’

‘We don’t even know if Kerridge has rumbled Donovan. What about her other theory? That it was our lot?’ Welsby paused. ‘If it was authorized at our end, it was somewhere well up the chain. But, like I say, anything’s possible.’

‘If there is a leak,’ Salter mused, ‘it must be at a senior level. There weren’t many people in the know about Morton. But if it was a pro job, they’d have needed Tech Support. If someone mobilized that bunch, we can find out who, presumably.’

‘In the grand spirit of interdepartmental co-operation? Maybe. Wouldn’t bank on it, though. Even at the best of times, it’s harder to screw information from those bastards than it is to get it from the other side. If they’ve been told from on high to keep a lid on it, they’ll keep a lid on it.’

‘With what justification?’ Salter said. ‘The Boyle case is a major fucking deal. If someone’s playing silly buggers around it, Tech Support would still need to keep us in the loop.’

‘Depends what they’ve been told. Depends who’s doing the telling. Might have invoked Professional Standards. Kicked off an internal investigation.’

‘Against who?’

‘Against you or me, maybe. Think about it. If you were one of the bigwigs, maybe in Kerridge’s pocket, and you wanted a smokescreen, then getting Standards to dig about down below’s a pretty smart move. It confuses the issue, throws a lot of crap about, and gives whoever it is the opportunity to dig up more dirt with all the Agency’s resources on their side.’

‘Shit. You mean on top of everything else we might be being investigated by Standards? Not exactly career enhancing.’

Welsby shrugged. ‘For some of us, the future’s already gone. But it’s just an idea. Thinking out loud.’ He leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on Salter. ‘That’s what you like to do, isn’t it, Hughie? Explore all the angles.’

‘I’m just shooting the breeze, boss. Truth is, we know nothing. Maybe it is just that Donovan’s slipping slowly off her trolley.’

‘I wouldn’t entirely blame her, would you? Got a lot on her plate. At home as well, by all accounts.’

Salter raised an eyebrow. His buddying role with Marie was supposed to include an element of pastoral care, but he made a point of not getting too close. If she’d got problems she wanted to share, he’d be prepared to listen, but he wasn’t encouraging her to unload. Like most people in this business, he preferred to keep his private life private, and he was happy for others to do the same. Welsby, though, somehow always managed to have his finger on what was going on.

‘Boyfriend trouble?’ Salter asked.

‘Boyfriend not well is what I hear,’ Welsby said. ‘Maybe something serious.’

‘Perhaps she’ll be wanting out herself, then.’

‘She’s single-minded, that one. When she wants to be.’ Welsby paused, taking his time over lighting another cigarette, his expression thoughtful. ‘You’re probably right, though. We should leave her out there, just for the moment. That single-mindedness could be just what we need. If she stirs some shit, we can all see what rises to the surface.’ He took a first drag on the cigarette and blew out a steady stream of smoke, more or less in Salter’s direction. ‘Now, Hughie boy, it’s good to talk and all that, but are you going to get me that pint, or do I keel over from fucking dehydration?’