Killing with Confetti

18

‘Peter, we’re stuffed.’

In one smooth movement Diamond zapped the rugby match he was streaming on his computer and rested his chin on his knuckles like Rodin’s The Thinker. ‘How come?’

‘The news of the wedding has leaked,’ George Brace said. He’d stepped into the office without knocking, in full uniform and as pale as a peeled potato. ‘On my way in this morning my own driver congratulated me. I was gobsmacked.’

‘You would be.’

‘I couldn’t even pretend to look pleased.’

‘Did he say where he heard about it?’

‘She. My driver is female. She’s over the moon. Women love a wedding. No, she didn’t say who told her.’ He’d taken off his peaked, silver-edged hat and was tapping it like a tambourine. ‘It’s going to be public knowledge, Peter, all over Avon and Somerset.’

If it isn’t already, Diamond thought. And no bad thing. The story had been bound to break at some stage and George’s misfortune could be his salvation. ‘It didn’t come from me. My lips were sealed.’

‘Hadn’t even crossed my mind,’ George said. ‘I trust you like one of my own.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Do you think she knows who the bride’s father is?’

‘Not if she congratulated you.’

George nodded. ‘Good point. But someone will find out. It won’t be a secret much longer.’

‘Got to agree with you there, George.’

The stricken Deputy Chief Constable moved towards the armchair in the corner. ‘Do you mind?’ He lifted off a couple of newspapers and a cushion and dropped them on the floor, sank into the upholstery and loosened his collar and tie. ‘Okay if I light up?’

Diamond shrugged. Smoking was banned in Concorde House, but how could anyone stop the second most senior officer in Avon and Somerset? ‘Be my guest.’

The pipe, pouch of tobacco and Zippo were produced from inside the jacket. ‘Filthy habit,’ George said. ‘Deplorable.’

What could Diamond say to that? He studied the back of his hand.

George added, ‘Stopped fifteen years ago and took it up again recently.’ After some tamping and a burst of flame, he got the thing going. ‘Stress.’

An understanding nod from Diamond.

George went on, ‘I was in a fool’s paradise thinking a wedding in the abbey could be kept quiet.’

A sympathetic murmur.

‘People are going to be shocked.’

Some will, Diamond reflected. And some will think it’s hilarious. ‘Maybe it’s for the best, George.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Well, if it really is common knowledge, we can police the day properly, get some uniforms on the streets.’

George looked startled. He hadn’t thought this through. ‘I don’t know about that. What’s Joe Irving going to say?’

He almost said, ‘Fuck Irving.’ Instead he remembered who he was talking to. ‘I’ve no idea, but he’ll be safer than he would with me as the only back-up.’

‘You’re not planning to pull out?’

‘Lord, no. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

A strong declaration of support. Too strong. George sucked on his pipe and puffed out smoke. ‘You’re not taking any pleasure from this, I hope.’

‘Me?’ Diamond put on a deeply pained expression. ‘I’m as shocked as you are.’

‘I invested a lot of trust in you, Peter. You gave me confidence that we’d get through unscathed.’

A boost to that confidence was wanted here. Diamond spoke with the certainty of an evangelist. ‘We can and we will. I’m not suggesting we cancel all leave and fill the city with bobbies.’

‘God, no!’

‘We can police the wedding discreetly. A patrol car in Orange Grove and another in York Street. Some of my CID in plain clothes mingling with the crowd.’

‘I’ll need to think about this.’

‘Naturally.’ He let a few seconds pass while George chewed on his pipe. ‘Let’s not forget your family and friends coming to the wedding in all innocence deserve to be protected as well.’

The eyes expanded like bubble gum. ‘You think they’re at risk?’

‘A hitman doesn’t fire a single round. He fires several to make sure. Bullets spraying everywhere...’

‘Don’t.’

‘You get my point?’

‘But you’d close him down, Peter.’

‘And what if there’s more than one?’

‘Oh, my sainted aunt! We do need back-up.’

A victory for Diamond. ‘Reluctantly, yes.’

He did feel genuine sympathy for a man whose stellar career would be shot to bits whatever happened at the wedding. At George’s age — he couldn’t be more than fifty — he could have made Chief Constable without any doubt, but it wasn’t going to happen now. It was likely he’d be put out to grass, some boring admin job like strategic planning, hidden away in headquarters chanting his business-speak until he retired.

George seemed to be thinking the same. ‘I worked my butt off getting to DCC,’ he confided. ‘Had some early successes and learned how to work the system, who to impress and how to rise up the ranks.’

There was no way Diamond would have picked a high-flying career man as a friend, but he was starting to warm to this hapless guy. With George there was no pulling rank. They talked on level terms and had from the start. He liked that. It wasn’t any fault of George’s that his son had fallen in love with a top criminal’s daughter and his wife had conspired to make the wedding unstoppable.

‘I had graduate entry, which helped. Soon got to inspector rank and got a name at headquarters for volunteering. Made sure I was never overlooked when it came to serving on key committees. If you’re savvy like me, you also get a line into the Ministry of Justice and when some crime gets beyond the scope of any single police authority and needs investigating, like phone hacking or sexual abuse, your name is high on the list. Do it well and next thing you find you’re picked to lead an inquiry and they bump you up to chief superintendent. I don’t mind telling you I pushed the boundaries, took a few shortcuts to reach the level I am now. You should be more like that, Peter. Ambitious.’

Diamond didn’t take the last comment personally. He knew George was talking about himself.

George softened his last remark. ‘I have enormous respect for genuine guys like you who get the real work done.’

‘I’ve had my moments,’ Diamond said, always uncomfortable with praise. ‘I’m not proud of what happened in the Met when I was young. And I got in trouble soon after arriving here. Threw up the job and returned to London.’

‘I know,’ George said and exhaled a cloud the size of Texas. ‘I looked at your personal file.’

‘Really?’ A sharp reminder of the pecking order.

‘You’d expect me to, wouldn’t you, when I’m putting my fate in your hands? No one could call you a smooth operator, but you’re a damned fine detective. After you resigned and we needed you back, you answered the call.’

‘Is that still on my file?’ He’d done enough soul-baring and he switched abruptly to the here and now. ‘I’d like to get my team involved and plan a strategy for the day.’

‘Your team?’ The colour drained from George’s face.

‘It can’t be a one-man show anymore.’

‘You already said. But how many?’

‘Three or four at this stage. We don’t have to bring in reinforcements until nearer the day.’

‘In plain clothes?’

‘Mostly. We’ll need those two patrol cars north and south of the abbey as a deterrent. My senior CID people will bring their own ideas to the table.’ He was starting to fall in with George’s way of speech. ‘You’re welcome to sit in if you wish.’

George removed the pipe and shook his head. ‘I’d find that too embarrassing.’

‘Understood, but are you happy for me to go ahead?’

‘“Happy” isn’t the word I’d choose, but I’ll go along with whatever you suggest.’

‘A handgun is no use to me,’ Jack Peace told the man in the pub. ‘What I need is an AK-63 and two forty-round boxes of ammo.’

‘You think I have AKs?’ the man said.

‘I know you do.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I know everything about your business, squire. I know the people you supply. I know your stock and where it comes from.’ Jack’s unblinking gaze spoke as surely as the words.

‘Clever bugger, are you?’

‘Clever enough to close you down if you don’t play ball.’

‘That’s been tried before. Didn’t work.’

‘This time it will. I was inside with Joe Irving.’

A twitch. Enough said.

‘He’s out now. Did you know?’

‘I heard he is. You think because you mention that monster I’m going to fall on my knees and beg for mercy. Are you trying to tell me you’re buying for Joe Irving?’

‘Did I say buying?’

‘What else?’ A pause for thought. ‘Ah, I get you. You want to hire.’

‘Borrow.’

‘Is there a difference?’ The man reflected on his own question. ‘Oh, no. I’m not a charity, my friend. This will cost you.’

‘No,’ Jack said, amenable as a moray eel, ‘it comes free.’

‘No chance.’

‘Don’t fuck me about. You took delivery three weeks ago of seven AK-63s liberated from the Hungarian military, broken down into components, transported overland and smuggled here in a consignment of machine tools. Do you want to see my copy of the paperwork?’

‘Where did you pick up that piece of knowledge — University of Wormwood Scrubs?’

‘No.’

‘Somewhere similar, I bet.’

In reality, Jack had called in a favour from the arms dealer’s gay partner whom he’d once protected from a homophobic bully in Strangeways.

‘I’ll collect the AK and the slugs Thursday night. You’ll get the gun back Sunday or Monday. Oh, and I will take the handgun after all.’

‘And what do I get out of this arrangement — apart from a hot weapon I can’t sell?’

‘The freedom to stay in business.’

‘Bollocks.’

Jack took that as the high five that sealed the deal.