The Minister of State for Northern Ireland had been sitting in the back of the car for more than twenty minutes, and they had travelled less than two hundred yards. Compton and the driver sat up front, staring at the back of a bus. The constant blaring of horns and rumble of London traffic did nothing to ease Edward Hargreaves’s headache. The vibration of his phone only soured his mood further.
The voice told him the Chief Constable was on the line.
“Geoff,” Hargreaves said.
“Good afternoon, Minister,” Pilkington said.
“Please tell me we’re making progress on the Belfast situation.”
“Some. Our colleagues have sent a man in to see what’s going on.”
“And?” Hargreaves asked, impatient. The car advanced another five feet closer to Downing Street. “I’m meeting the Secretary and the PM shortly, and I need something to tell them. Was it this Fegan character?”
“We simply don’t know, Minister. Circumstances point to him, but McGinty says otherwise. He says the Lithuanians got McKenna, and my men got Caffola.”
“Did your men get him?” Hargreaves asked. He knew the answer, but found amusement in irking the Chief Constable.
“Certainly not, Minister. He’s using it for propaganda, trying to better his position in the party by grabbing headlines. He gave a speech a couple of hours ago saying he’ll recommend the party withdraws its support for the PSNI if some of my men don’t swing for it. The brass neck, as if it was up to him.”
Hargreaves couldn’t help but smile at Pilkington’s predicament. “Yes, I’ve got a transcript in front of me now. He’s a clever bastard, that McGinty. And the Unionists are already making noises about walking away from Stormont. This needs to be nipped in the bud, Chief Constable. If our man can’t get to the bottom of it, you’ll have to be prepared for sacrifices.”
A second or two of silence passed before Pilkington said, “Are you suggesting I allow my men to be charged with Caffola’s killing when I know they’re innocent? Minister, let me make it clear: I will not throw good police officers to the wolves for the sake of political expediency. If you think—”
“How noble of you,” Hargreaves interrupted. “Political expediency is our stock in trade, Geoff; you should know that better than anyone. How many little transgressions have you let slide to keep the wheels turning, hmm? How many robberies have gone unsolved on your watch for want of a little effort? How many punishment beatings have been ignored for the sake of a quiet life?”
“Minister, I really don’t—”
“Don’t lecture me about expediency, Geoff.” Hargreaves felt his smile stretch his dry lips. “How many of your men would be standing trial if not for expediency?”
Pilkington sniffed. “I won’t dignify that with an answer, Minister.”
“Sacrifices,” Hargreaves said. “Everyone must make sacrifices for the greater good. Keep me informed.”
He hung up without waiting for a response.