Trust No One

Chapter 15

‘You’re sure about this?’

Salter was staring out at the quays below them, watching the cars and the trams and the scattering of ant-like pedestrians. It was a bright, chilly day, nearly lunchtime, and office workers were scurrying out to grab a sandwich or get a breath of air. He turned back and gazed at Hodder for a moment, his blue eyes blank behind his steel-framed glasses.

‘Questioning my judgement, son?’

Hodder blinked and swallowed, as though struggling to come up with the right response. Salter didn’t blame him.

‘No. Of course not. I’m just—’

‘Covering your own arse. Quite right. I’d do the same.’

‘It’s not exactly—’

Salter leaned back against the car park railing and smiled at the young officer. ‘You’re smart enough,’ he said. ‘You’ll go far if you get the breaks. And, yeah, if you make sure your arse is always covered. Otherwise, you’ll get shafted by cynical buggers like me.’

Hodder had no immediate answer to this. He moved to stand next to Salter, following his gaze. For some reason, Salter had chosen to park on the roof of the Lowry car park, the gallery itself immediately ahead of them with its distinctive silver cylinder. Beyond that, across the water, there were the angular lines of the Imperial War Museum, and then the industrial skyline of Trafford Park. Further to their left, there were the quays themselves, Old Trafford and the hazy rooftops of suburban Manchester.

‘I’m just not really sure what this is all about,’ Hodder tried again.

Salter smiled. He took a deep breath, as if enjoying the fresh morning air. ‘Me neither, son. That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

‘But this isn’t official?’

Salter’s narrow eyes were fixed on the view below, his expression that of a not particularly benevolent god reviewing his creation. ‘No, son. Not official.’ He paused, the smile widening slightly, as if he was perhaps contemplating a thunderbolt. ‘Just using our initiative. Always a good quality in an ambitious young officer.’

‘And she’s one of ours? Donovan.’

Salter glanced at the young man, momentarily surprised. ‘Who told you that?’

‘You did. You were talking to her on the phone when we were at Morton’s flat. You said she was deep cover.’

Salter nodded, his eyebrows raised. ‘Good memory, son. Useful quality in this business. Yes, she’s one of ours.’

Hodder said nothing for a moment. ‘So what’s our objective?’

Salter swivelled so that his angular body was against the concrete wall. He brought his hands together in faint, ironic applause. ‘Very good, son. Senior management material.’

Hodder shrugged embarrassedly; he had no clue what Salter was talking about.

‘I’m assuming “What’s our objective?” is management-speak for “What the fuck are you up to?”’ Salter was still smiling mirthlessly. ‘Good question, as well.’

‘It’s just that I don’t really understand—’

‘What the fuck I’m up to. No, well, that’s fair enough. Not sure I do.’ Salter fumbled in his pocket and brought out a cigarette packet. He proffered it vaguely towards Hodder who shook his head. ‘Good lad. Me, I’ve given up. Till just now. Pressure of work and all that. Thought I’d follow Mr Welsby’s good example.’ He lit up, sheltering the cigarette from the buffeting wind. ‘Right, son, let’s try to answer your question. What the fuck am I up to?’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s the right question. See, I’m going out on a limb here. I’m putting some trust in you not to saw through the branch behind me. Not exactly my style.’ The humourless smile returned. ‘Mind you, I’m sure you know better than to shaft me.’

Hodder opened his mouth, but realized that no response was possible.

‘So, to return to the question at hand, what the fuck am I up to?’ It wasn’t clear now whether Salter was talking to Hodder or to himself. ‘I could spin you some bullshit about having Donovan’s best interests at heart. And there’d be some truth in that. She’s out there, twisting in the wind. We’ve a duty to keep an eye on her. But, then, one reason we’ve left her out there is that we don’t know what she’s up to. You know what I reckon?’

The last question was unexpectedly directed at Hodder. ‘What’s that?’

Salter nodded, satisfied that Hodder was still paying attention. ‘I reckon she was a bit closer to Morton than she’s letting on. Her business, of course. So long as she didn’t get too close, if you get my drift. But I still think she might know some stuff she’s not sharing. So that’s another reason for keeping an eye on her.’ He paused, as if wondering why he was telling Hodder all this. ‘Just filling you in on the mission, you understand? Just clarifying the objective.’

Hodder said nothing. Despite the morning sunshine and the scattering of iconic buildings, the quays looked a bleak, inhospitable place from this vantage point. Rows of soulless office buildings and apartment blocks. Anonymous hotels and chain restaurants. Acres of industrial buildings in the distance.

‘But the real question,’ Salter went on, ‘the question that must be troubling you, is why I’ve not gone through official channels. Why I’ve not involved Mr Welsby. Why we’re standing out here in the cold without any official mandate to cover our backsides.’ He paused, apparently watching a suite of white clouds drifting slowly across the lower part of the sky. ‘Thing is, son, I really don’t know who to trust.’ He moved his head to look Hodder in the eye. ‘I’m trusting you. That’s a big thing for me. But I don’t kid myself that you wouldn’t go running up the line if you thought I was going too far. In fact, I’d be disappointed if you weren’t smart enough to do that. But for the moment, I’m putting my faith in your good nature and your – what’s that word? – your integrity. That’s why I’m telling you all this. There’s some strange shit going on here. Someone’s leaking. Donovan reckons someone might be bugging her flat.’

Hodder frowned, trying to work out the implications. ‘You mean, that we might—’

‘Christ knows. I don’t, anyway. All I know is that I’m feeling jittery. I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all. I want to get some control of things. Make sure my own back’s covered before I go any further.’ He paused. ‘So that’s the objective. You up for it, son?’

‘Guess so. If that’s all we’re talking about.’

‘That’s all I’m talking about. Keep an eye on her. See what’s going down. Then we can decide whether to take it up to Uncle Keith. Mr Welsby to you.’

‘You don’t think he’s involved in this?’ Hodder looked genuinely shocked.

Salter stared at the young man for a moment. ‘Keith? Christ, no. One of life’s line-toers. If I take this to him without knowing what’s what, he’ll be obliged to take it higher. That’s what worries me. Don’t know who to trust even up there where the air’s thin. So this is just you and me for the moment. If you’re in.’

‘Yeah, I’m in.’ Hodder smiled, momentarily revealing a different side to his personality. ‘Besides, I like the challenge. Keeping tabs on one of ours. She’ll know the tricks, what to look out for.’

‘Too right she will. Don’t underestimate Sister Marie. Test of your skills.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘All you can do,’ Salter said. ‘So, any more questions before we kick off?’

Hodder looked around at the grim concrete interior of the car park. The place filled up on Saturdays and in the evenings, when people were visiting the outlet mall or attending a concert at the Lowry, but on a weekday morning the upper floors were largely deserted. ‘Just one. Why’d we come up here?’

Salter pointed towards the quays below them. ‘See that building there. Smart-looking place on the edge of the water-front. You’ll know that one. That’s the place where we found Mr Morton’s mutilated body. You’ll remember that.’ It wasn’t a question.

Hodder peered downwards, wondering where this was going. ‘Don’t think I’m going to forget any time soon.’

Salter straightened and pointed towards the blurred jumble of Manchester. ‘And that block there. Square greyish place, just to the left of the Hilton. That’s where she lives. Third floor. Decent little place, apparently.’

Hodder followed Salter’s gesture, but all he could see was an indistinguishable jumble of buildings. ‘OK.’

Finally, Salter waved his hand out towards the vast sprawl of Trafford Park. ‘And that little estate over there, those rows of what I imagine are desirable industrial units . . .’ He spoke the last three words as if they were somehow obscene. ‘That’s where our Marie works. Where she runs her print shop.’ He swept his hand through the air as though drawing an invisible line between the three locations. ‘From up here, you see, you’ve got a vantage point on her whole world.’

Hodder frowned, baffled. ‘That’s why we came up here?’

‘Christ, no, son. We’re not allowed to smoke in the sodding cars. We’re not allowed to smoke in the sodding cafés. We’re not even allowed to smoke in the sodding pubs.’ He held out the stub of his still lit cigarette. ‘Where the fuck else was I going to go to relapse?’

Hodder’s eyes slid across to the large No Smoking sign that decorated the far wall. ‘Strictly speaking, I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke in here either.’

‘That right?’ Salter tossed the stub over the metal railings. ‘Well, sometimes, son, you’ve just got to break the rules.’