Just what I needed, a journo from one of the tabloids.
I met him at a pub not far from the office, a watering hole for a lot of journalists and one of the last holdouts from the old Fleet Street days.
Paul Mullins was only in his late thirties, but the booze and fags made him look older than that. The closest he ever got to exercise would have been the times he ran for the Tube, which I suspect he avoided doing as much as possible.
He’d already ordered a vodka tonic, so I didn’t have to get him one. I wasn’t expecting there to be another round.
“Ravi, yeah?”
“What’s this about?”
“We got a little prezzie in the post from your client Sandra Rodriguez today. It was postmarked two days ago. She said you would act as our liaison.”
The day we first met. She must have sent it from work after David gave her my number and before we picked her up outside Holloway-Browner. Shit.
He held up a thumb drive, a duplicate of the one we already had in the office. She must have made a copy.
“What’s this?” I said, stalling.
“You don’t know? That’s how you’re going to play this?”
I looked blank.
“Oh, nice one. All right. I get it, mate. I do. Your client wants a deal. But we can’t do that until we know what’s on this drive. And she neglected to tell us the password.”
“It needs a password? What’s supposed to be on it?”
A flash of irritation crossed Mullins’s face, but he played it cool. Or as cool as a resentful alcoholic was able to muster, anyway.
“Are you approaching other papers? Is that it? The Times? Guardian? The Mirror?”
Again, I didn’t answer.
“All right, here’s what I propose: give us the password and we’ll leave out any mention that incriminates Golden Sentinels.”
Here we go. Blackmail. Roger would be pleased.
“I really don’t know what you’re on about,” I said.
“We’ve had dealings with you lot before. Your boss, he’s a slippery one. But this. Stolen bank documents, am I right? That’s worthy of criminal prosecution, don’t you think?”
Since I honestly didn’t know what was on the drive, I didn’t even need to fake ignorance here.
“Are you sure that’s what’s on it or are you just casting about here?” I asked.
“Come on. Your client’s a banker. Doesn’t take a genius to put it together. Why don’t you take my proposal to your boss? And remember, we’ve got techies, too. It’s only a matter of time before we crack it.”
Yeah, good luck with that, sunshine.
“And you better hope it’s before anyone links this with two dead bankers, maybe more, dropping like flies from the same bank within a day of each other. Interesting coincidence, innit? You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
Mullins even winked as he walked out.
Lord Vishnu sat at a table in the corner, watching and tweeting on his phone. The more chaotic this got, the more they were going to turn up.
Great.