Ultimatum

Eighty-four

‘so, tell me. Is the job offer still open?’

‘I don’t remember making one.’

Mike Bolt grinned at Tina across the table. They were sitting in his local pub in Clerkenwell, just down the road from his flat, and he looked to be back to his old self after his recent spell in hospital. The stitches in his head wound were gone now and already his hair was growing back to cover the scar.

‘Do you really want to be part of the team?’ he asked her.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m not even sure what my position is at Westminster CID any more.’

In the end, Tina had never actually been arrested for anything, but she’d been on indefinite leave ever since the day of the bombs. Not suspended exactly, because that would have sent the wrong message. As far as the media were concerned, Tina had done everything she could to stop the attacks, and had killed Fox, the individual the Mirror had dubbed ‘The Most Evil Man in the Country’. But she was pretty sure her bosses in the Met would love to be rid of her once again. In the end, she was far too much trouble, and now that she was facing a protracted IPCC investigation over the killings of Fox and one of his would-be rescuers, the longer she stayed on leave the better.

Bolt finished the pint of lager he was drinking. ‘I’m not even sure how long Special Operations are going to be continuing for now,’ he said. ‘There’s talk of winding everything down.’

‘Well, they shouldn’t. There are still people out there who were involved in the attacks. I’m convinced of it.’

‘There may well be, but the leads have completely dried up, and there’s no one left who can help point us in the right direction. We even tried leaning on the girlfriend of Eric Hughes, as you suggested, but she didn’t say a word, and we haven’t got a thing on her, so that’s another dead end.’

He put down his empty glass. Tina finished her own drink, a pint of orange juice and soda water. Outside, the early spring sunshine was fading rapidly as night made its approach. It was at times like this — relaxing with a friend over an early evening drink — that she could really do with a nice glass of Rioja, and she felt a pang of sadness at the thought that she’d never be able to have one again.

She asked Bolt if he fancied another pint.

He shook his head. ‘No. Let’s go back and eat.’

‘What are you cooking me?’

‘Lamb rogan josh. It should be ready’ — he looked at his watch — ‘right about now.’

They got to their feet and headed for the exit, keeping a respectful couple of feet apart. It had been Tina’s idea to meet up. Having spent a reclusive couple of weeks wandering the countryside near her home and hardly seeing anyone, she’d had a real urge to catch up with Mike away from a work setting. The fact was, she was lonely and she missed him. So she’d called him up, and asked if he’d like to go out for a drink one night, steeling herself against the distinct possibility of rejection.

But the conversation had gone really well, and instead of a drink he’d invited her to dinner. She had no idea if he was just being friendly, or whether he wanted something more. And she still didn’t. But she didn’t care either. She just wanted a nice evening in good company, and if something happened, well, she probably wouldn’t say no.

As they passed the bar, Tina looked up at the TV on the wall. It was showing footage of a good-looking older man in an expensive suit talking at a news conference. Tina recognized him instantly. It was Garth Crossman, wealthy businessman and husband of one of the coffee-shop bomb’s victims. He was telling the assembled reporters of his much-publicized plan to form a new independent political party that would campaign on a pro-business, anti-crime platform. ‘Our People First’ was his slogan.

She slowed down to watch it. Crossman sounded passionate as he talked about his dead wife and his desire for her not to have died in vain.

The barman was watching him too, as was a customer sitting on one of the stools. There was something in the way he spoke that grabbed people’s attention.

‘I reckon he’s going to be a real breath of fresh air,’ said the barman, looking at Tina. ‘Better than the rest of that bloody shower in Westminster.’

‘Who knows,’ she said, and turned away to follow Mike out of the door.

But something Fox had said to her just before she’d shot him suddenly crossed her mind, and she stopped.

The next time you hear from us, it’ll be from a place you least expect. You won’t even know we’re there.

Mike turned round. ‘What’s wrong, Tina? Having second thoughts about my curry?’

She remembered something else Fox had said, when they’d first met in the prison interview room. He’d told her that the ultimate aim of The Brotherhood was to get into politics.

Could Garth Crossman be something to do with them?

She dismissed the idea immediately. She was getting paranoid.

‘Course not,’ she answered, smiling at Mike. ‘I’m starving. Come on, let’s go.’

She slipped her arm through his, and they walked out of the door together into the last of the day’s dying light.