Dead And Buried

Thirty-eight

‘Bob,’ Sir Evelyn Grey protested, ‘you must realise that I am walking a tightrope. We have had a great scandal within a community which, for all the talk of openness and public accountability, still lives largely in darkness. Our natural inclination, mine included, was to bury it as deep as we can, but events precluded that. Nonetheless the facts must remain secret, for the good of the intelligence services, which do operate in the national interest, for all this spectacular lapse. My colleagues have to live with your involvement, but they are determined to protect their own interests.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Skinner demanded.

‘It means that once you reported that Hassett appeared to have told us everything he knew, I was forced to hand him over to his masters at Vauxhall Cross.’

‘For disposal?’

‘You don’t really want to know the answer to that question. To be truthful, neither do I. I’m sorry, my friend, but you know the way things are.’ Grey shot him a meaningful glance. ‘But, then, you’ve demonstrated that, haven’t you? There was no autopsy on the dead intelligence officer. They didn’t need one: they simply counted the bullet holes.’

‘That was different.’

‘No, Bob, it wasn’t, and you know it. If I may say so, it even handicapped the investigation on which you are now engaged. How do you intend to proceed, by the way?’

‘Carefully,’ Skinner replied. ‘I’m going to follow up Hassett’s information as far as I can. After that, there may be nothing. I may well report that there’s no evidence that the conspiracy went beyond the people we’ve identified already.’

‘Can I give Downing Street a progress report? You can imagine how anxious the PM is about all this.’

‘Are you going to tell him that you threw Hassett to the wolves?’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘Then don’t tell him anything yet. Wait for my final report.’ Skinner turned and walked out of the director general’s room. Ignoring the lift, he trotted down two flights of stairs to the office that he and Shannon had been assigned. It was in Amanda Dennis’s Serious Crime section, since it offered a natural cover story to explain their presence in Thames House.

‘How are you doing on the houseboat?’ he asked the inspector, as he walked in.

‘I’ve eliminated most of them in that area, but I’m left with one that might fit the bill. It’s a converted Dutch barge called the Bulrush, and it’s on a pier just off Cheyne Walk, in Chelsea, as Hassett said. The mooring fees are paid by a man called Moses Archer.’

‘What?’

‘Moses Archer,’ Shannon repeated.

‘Do we know anything about him?’

‘Nothing, only that name.’

Skinner picked up the phone, looked for the button with ‘AD’ on the nametag alongside and pressed it. ‘Amanda, are you free?’

‘Yes. Do you want me to come along?’

‘I’ll come to you. If your people see you answering my call they may start wondering. That’s their job, remember: to wonder about everything.’ He hung up and walked along the short corridor that led to Dennis’s office.

‘What do you need?’ she asked.

‘Everything you can get me on a man called Moses Archer: bank accounts, criminal record, family background. Start with the Port Authority: he’s paying the mooring fee on the Bulrush; it’s a barge where Hassett’s meetings might have taken place. That’s priority, but I also think we should look at the CCTV tapes from the safe-house.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to see if we can identify the man who was with Frame when he picked up Hassett.’

‘Do we need to know that? He’ll have been a Six operative, and they hate us snooping on their people.’

Skinner smiled. ‘The DG’s wrong about me in one respect: I do need to know the answers to all the questions. Don’t delegate; do it yourself, and have it all ready for me when I get back.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘We’re off to take a look at the Bulrush.’