The phone on Culpepper’s desk rattled. “I thought I’d fucking told you, no more calls!” he shouted, before remembering he’d sent his secretary home for the night. The fewer people who knew what was going on, the better.
He sighed and picked it up. “What.”
“Mr Culpepper? This is David Brodie from The Times.”
“I don’t speak to reporters.”
“I’m very familiar with your habits, sir, but I was wondering whether you’d care to comment on the story we’re about to run of a scandal brewing within your Bank.”
Culpepper froze and gripped the receiver tightly, mouth open in astonishment.
“Mr Culpepper? Did you know one of your employees, a Mr Dedman, has been detained by the police? Do you have a comment to make at all?” Brodie’s thin voice asked again.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Culpepper said, and put the phone down very gently.
He grabbed his private mobile, pressed a single button to get hold of Mr Lamb. He needed to know exactly what was going on, because his statement had been true. He really didn’t have a clue what Broadie was talking about. He barked his demands and gave Mr Lamb five minutes to call back, which he did. Exactly on time.
“Tell me what the fuck is happening,” Culpepper demanded.
“It’s true. Our boy has been arrested,” Mr Lamb said.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“This morning? Why am I only finding out now?” Culpepper spat. There was silence on the line in response. “Any charges?”
“Yes, obstructing the course of justice. It’s an attempt to hold him a bit longer.”
“Right, I’ll sort this out. Seems to me I’m the only fucking one that gets things done round here. In the meantime get your arse down there. I need you on the ground.”
Mr Lamb didn’t reply because he’d already cut the connection, which Culpepper took as an acknowledgement.
“Can you speak?” Culpepper asked when the call was answered. There was the sound of a party in the background, raised voices and laughter.
“Give me a moment,” the man said. The revelry noises evaporated, replaced by a gusting wind.
“I need your help with a little problem,” Culpepper said, then explained the situation. Finally he said, “Get him released. Immediately.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“What the fuck do I care? Just get it done.” Culpepper disconnected the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “Fucking idiot.”
Eighty miles away and two minutes later DCI Meadows’s mobile rang. He ignored it. He’d had a shitty long day and couldn’t be bothered with anything other than getting some sleep. The ringtone died for all of five seconds before it started up again. Meadows let the phone ring itself out, then turned it off.
“I can’t get through to the right person.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous!” Culpepper exploded.
“It’ll have to wait until morning.”
“But it can’t, it has to be dealt with now! Get hold of someone else.”
“Ian, if you want this contained the last thing to do is start contacting all and sundry. I’ll get hold of Meadows first thing and chew his balls off. It’ll be sorted tomorrow, I promise.”
“It had fucking better be or it’s your balls I’ll be after.” Culpepper slammed the phone down.
He flopped back in his chair. It was going to be a long night; there was no way he was going to hitting the sack any time soon because if the Met’s Commissioner couldn’t help then no one could.
DCI Meadows got to Margate nick at 8.30am. He hadn’t slept well. The seagulls around here were the size of Labradors and ten times noisier. He’d got himself a coffee (instant) before he remembered to switch his mobile back on. Within moments it rang. He answered, took the angry blast straight in the ear, listened to the brief order, frowned, confirmed that he understood the command and disconnected the call.
He sighed in frustration. First he’d had to deal with the visitor who’d stared at him blankly through the glass divide in the reception area. Meadows had been around long enough to recognise the type, the bible-black eyes always gave them away, but this guy had been on a whole new level. And then the call he’d just taken. From bad to worse to utter shite.
“Ah fuck it,” he said and went to get Dedman from the cells.