The conversation with Nell had left me with more questions than answers. I was already aware that possessing any knowledge of Al Anfal was a risk. Nearly a year had now passed since Toni had explained the fate of the men from the Afghan Increment patrol who’d first discovered the Al Anfal document. But I was more than a little curious as to why Nell had seen fit to tell me herself, and why now? Was it simply because she and Stuart had decided I ought to know? Did they really think it was time to warn Kevin off now that McNeil was out there somewhere?
A phone was ringing as I walked back into the office. There was still no sign of Nina and, with Matt engaged on another call, I picked up the receiver.
‘Finlay? Thought it was you I saw in the foyer. How did the promotion board go?’
I recognised the voice immediately. There weren’t many men I knew who spoke with such depth and power as Rupert Reid. I hadn’t spoken to the barrel-chested bomb disposal officer in several months.
‘How did you know I was up for it?’ I asked.
‘Word gets around, you know. So, how did it go? Are we going to see your imminent promotion in notices soon?’
‘Afraid not. Boss gave me the bad news a few days ago. Not that I’m complaining, but I guess I’m stuck with these two miscreants for the time being.’ I smiled at Matt as he finished his call.
‘That’s a pity. The job needs a few people with your type of character to shake it up a bit.’
‘My kind of character?’ I asked.
‘I’m sure you know what I mean, Finlay. The senior ranks are attracting far too many politically correct butterflies who flit from one job to another as they climb up the ladder.’
‘Without any real experience anywhere, you mean?’
‘A bit like me with less than a year in a detective role and now I’m a DI?’
Rupert coughed. ‘Er … yes. Anyway, that’s not really why I called. Do you have a minute to pop over to my office? Something I need to discuss.’
‘Right now you mean?’
‘If you can, yes.’
I agreed and put down the phone.
‘Have you done that Misper report for the boss?’ Matt asked, as I headed to the door. ‘He was asking for it earlier.’
‘On it,’ I said, although that wasn’t actually true. I’d been neglecting the day job, I knew that. But my head was elsewhere, and at that moment, talking to Rupert sounded like a priority.
Conversations with my old friend tended to quickly focus on the old days in Northern Ireland, how things had been then and how the Met had changed – in his opinion not for the better.
Rupert was waiting for me. As I walked in through the door to his office, he was already pouring coffee from a percolator. ‘Black, if I remember correctly, and no sugar?’ he said as he handed me a mug.
The office was empty, something that surprised me. ‘Nobody else at work today?’ I asked.
‘A few are down at Chattenden on a training day, the rest are in the canteen. Having the office to myself gave me an ideal opportunity to speak to you about something that’s been troubling me.’
‘You’re still using Chattenden then?’
‘For the time being. Word is that the MOD wants to sell off both Lodge Hill and Chattenden training areas for housing developments. Bloody disgrace if you ask me. The only thing that seems to be holding them up has nothing to do with military expedience – it’s a population of nightingales living in the woodland.’
‘You’re still a twitcher?’
‘When I can, yes. I’ve spent many a happy hour at Lodge Hill, I can tell you. Do you know that small wood is home to one percent of the entire UK population of nightingales?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Bloody heathen you are, Finlay. I bet you wouldn’t even recognise a nightingale song if you heard it.’
‘Possibly not,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t come here to talk birds. You said something’s been troubling you?’
Rupert indicated I should take a seat at a set of four adjacent desks near the coffee machine. Each of them bore the hallmarks of recent occupation – stacked files, glossy photographs and mugs filled with chewed pens. Polystyrene coffee cups, most of which looked pretty ancient, in which grew a variety of multi-coloured mould colonies.
‘I’ve had your friend Jones on the phone,’ Rupert said, as I made myself comfortable.
‘What did he want?’ I asked.
‘Remember when you came to see me at the end of last year with that Arabic document?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. Immediately, I felt my heart rate accelerate in response to yet another mention of the Al Anfal text. If Kevin was still asking questions about it, that could cause problems.
‘Well, it seems your friend has it.’
‘It was destroyed,’ I said, a little too quickly. Again, alarm bells were sounding as I recalled Nell’s warning and her mention of Brian McNeil. And I wondered for a moment if Julian Armstrong, the translator, had gone back on his word to burn the document.
‘Was it?’ said Rupert. ‘Well, I guess your friend has another copy. He asked the same questions as you did – about its meaning and the content. As I knew I couldn’t help him, I referred him on, as I did for you.’
‘To Dr Armstrong? He agreed to look at it again?’
‘Yes, he did.’
I was a little taken aback at the news. Given what Julian Armstrong had told me about the Al Anfal text, I would have expected him to want to give it a wide berth. ‘Was this call from Kevin today?’ I asked.
‘No, no. It must have been a couple of weeks ago, probably more. It was only when I spotted you in the foyer just now that it reminded me I ought to tell you about it.’
‘The copy I had was destroyed,’ I repeated. ‘Dr Armstrong reckoned it was so sensitive we would be in deep shit explaining where it came from and how come we’d laid hands on it.’
‘Seems pragmatic if it was that sensitive,’ Rupert replied. ‘We’re assuming, of course, that it is the same document, or a copy of it?’
‘Bit of a coincidence otherwise…’ I said.
‘I suppose so. Anyway, I thought you should know, just in case it was important.’
‘Yes, thanks.’ I sipped at the coffee. It was still too hot to drink and, I had the feeling that by some unholy coincidence, Rupert may just have answered the question as to why Nell had suggested I speak to Kevin. I stood up to leave.
‘In a hurry?’ Rupert asked.
‘Sorry, yes. I need to call Kevin, find out what’s going on.’
Having thanked Rupert for his help, I headed back in the direction of my own office. I didn’t want Matt to overhear the call I was about to make, so as soon as I reached the lift stairwell, I called Kevin from my mobile. He answered after just two rings.
‘I’ve just left a meeting with Rupert Reid,’ I began.
‘Ah … I wondered how long it would take before that news reached you.’
‘What the hell are you up to?’ I demanded.
There was a pause. ‘Are you busy?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I’ve kinda been expecting your call, boss.’
‘Do you want to explain to me what’s going on?’
‘Not on the phone. I’m meeting with Sandi this afternoon so, if you’re free, how about right away?’
I thought for a moment. If we met halfway, I could slip out and my absence would hardly be noticed. No time like the present, I figured.