TALLIS checked in with Rex first thing. He was told that Kennedy was spending the day quietly at Shakenbrook with his family but had left orders that, should Tallis call, he wished to speak to him.
‘Put him on,’ Tallis said, studying his nails, wondering what was going to be dropped on him this time. All thoughts of a peaceful Sunday went out into the long grass.
Kennedy’s tone was immediately repentant. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. Shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I apologise unreservedly.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Stressful situation for both of us.’
‘No, I was wrong.’
‘Well, never mind. It’s forgotten.’
Brief silence. Was that it, Tallis wondered, or was there more?
‘There will be another meeting of the Commission in five days’ time. It will take place in London, easier for some of the blokes to get there.’
Tallis felt his nerves sharpen. Why so soon? What was going on? Was this as a result of the sidebar? ‘Where exactly?’
‘Won’t know until the last minute. Even then the venue is likely to be changed.’
‘Pity.’ We could get the place bugged, he thought.
‘Security,’ Kennedy said, as if reading his mind. ‘Naturally, I’d like you to be there.’
‘That’s good.’ You don’t have a choice, Tallis thought. He supposed it came hard for a man used to calling the shots to being on the butt end.
‘Thing is, I like you, Tallis…’
‘Mr Kennedy, we have a professional arrangement and—’
‘Yeah, yeah, not cool, but allow an old guy a little indulgence. You’re the same age as Billy, did you know that?’
‘Erm…’
‘He’d have been strong, like you. Was strong. Smart talker, too, knew his stuff. Takes after his old man in the good looks department, of course.’ Kennedy let out a laugh riven with sadness. ‘So proud of him, you know. Didn’t tell him when I should have done.’
Tallis dug a fingernail into the soft part of his hand. He’s playing you, he thought. He knows your weakness and he’s going for it.
‘Listen to me go on,’ Kennedy said, more cheerful. ‘Have a good day, Tallis. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’
‘’Bye, Johnny, and thanks.’ Tallis cut the call, cursing his momentary loss of judgement. Johnny, indeed.
Deciding to go for a run, he changed into sweats and trainers and went out onto the street. A British Telecom van was parked a hundred yards down the road, one bloke sitting inside reading a newspaper, the other outside studying a telegraph pole.
‘Morning,’ one of them said as he sped past. Seven punishing miles later they were still there as he jogged back up the road.
‘Don’t you blokes ever get a day off?’ He grinned, pausing briefly.
‘Twenty-four-seven, mate.’
Tallis met the guy’s eye. Maybe, he thought, maybe not…
Tallis returned to find a blackbird flapping around in his sitting room. From the sooty marks on the furnishings, it had obviously taken a tumble down the chimney. Opening all the windows, he managed to shoo it out. The next hour was spent clearing up dirt and bird crap. In the back of his mind he remembered his late grandmother, a Croatian national, telling him that a bird in the house meant a run of bad luck. Something he definitely didn’t need right now, he thought grimly.
He took a long hot shower and dressed. Starving, he cooked himself bacon and eggs for a late breakfast, eating it in silence. No radio, and definitely no television. That leaves the rest of the day to kill, he thought, washing up. Truth was, he didn’t know what to do next so that, when his mobile rang shortly after noon, he picked it up with a sense of relief.
‘Lunch at my place.’
‘Shall I bring flowers?’ Tallis said, tense.
‘Lavender would be nice.’ Click.
Picking up his keys, he went outside, scanning the drive. The B.T. blokes, or whoever they were, had gone. There were no familiar or unfamiliar faces. Satisfied, he climbed into the TT, reversed out onto the street and drove down to the main road, heading through Birmingham and back out towards the general direction of Coventry. Deliberately overshooting to Rugby, he doubled back, eventually pulling into the tired-looking estate and parking the car in the street some distance from the safe house. There was no sign of Lavender’s Yamaha but, then, he didn’t really expect to see it on show. Letting himself in, he found her standing in the kitchen. She was wearing jeans and a tight black sweater that hugged the curves of her body. Her face, again without make-up, shone with radiance. He wondered if some of it might rub off on him.
‘At least the code worked even if it was a bit 007.’ She beamed.
He let out a laugh. ‘Thank God you came to my rescue. I was seriously thinking I’d have to do something boring like mow the lawn.’
‘Glad to be of assistance,’ she said, still smiling.
‘What I meant—’
‘Is that you’re in danger of becoming an adrenalin junkie.’
Tallis flashed a grin. Had she got him here under false pretences? Did she expect him to take her in his arms? Should he? ‘You dragged me all the way here to discuss my mental state?’
‘I wanted to show you my holiday snaps.’ She handed him a stack of photographs. The smile faded.
He shot her a puzzled look, took them. The subject in all the shots was the same: a man, medium height and build, neatly cut short fair hair, eyes blue, no particular distinguishing features, mid-thirties at a guess. Tallis ran through the photographs for a second time, paying more attention to the locations, which were familiar to him—the road opposite the clinic, streets running adjacent to the premises in Lye and Walsall, outside the greasy spoon where he’d eaten breakfast with Kennedy after Gabriel had been killed.
Charlie was studying his response intently. ‘Recognise him?’
‘Never seen him before in my life.’
‘You should have done. It’s you he’s tailing.’
Tallis looked up. ‘Not Kennedy?’
She shook her head. ‘You’re his target. He’s taken photographs of you and tried to follow you back home yesterday, but your counter-surveillance routine paid off.’
Thank God it had become second nature, Tallis thought. ‘Could be MI5.’
‘Wouldn’t waste their time.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What I meant…’ She flashed a cheeky smile. ‘They’re already overstretched.’
‘And unable to spare any more resources,’ Tallis said soberly, remembering his conversation with Asim.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘why, in heaven’s name, would they be watching you? You’re practically one of them.’
Nice of you to say so, he thought. It wasn’t exactly how Sean and Roz had made him feel, he remembered. ‘One of yours then?’ He meant Organised Crime. He wondered if Napier or Shaw were trying to muscle their way back into the inquiry, a supremely foolish move. He put the possibility to Lavender.
‘No,’ she said, adamant.
Tallis raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve already run a check.’
He drew up a chair.
‘Coffee?’ she said brightly. ‘I brought milk with me this time.’
He would have preferred a shot of whisky. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Any ideas?’ Charlie said, flicking the kettle on.
‘Some, but none fit.’
‘Problem shared and all that?’
He looked up into eyes so green they dazzled him. She was always smiling, he noticed. He couldn’t make out if this was part of her naturally cheerful disposition or whether it was a cover for nerves. ‘Remember last time we talked?’
‘And you told me about the Turkish connection.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Two of those guys at the Commission, part of the so-called Turkish Mafia, recognised me as the man who killed Tardarti.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘I speak fluent Turkish.’
‘And they actually spoke in front of you?’
‘In front of everyone, actually.’
The kettle flicked off. Charlie turned, hurriedly made coffee, spooning sugar into his mug.
‘You remembered.’ He smiled.
‘It’s my job to remember things.’ She smiled back, the hint of a blush on her cheeks. She pulled up a chair next to him. He could feel her knee close to his, her breath on his face. She tapped the photos with a finger. ‘This bloke isn’t Turkish.’
‘No.’
‘So he’s not connected to them. Next idea?’
‘Could be any one of the gang members’ goons or associates.’
‘Think that’s likely?’ she said.
‘Every single one of those dons, for want of a better description, believe there’s a bird dog in their midst.
‘A what?’ she frowned.
‘In twentieth-century parlance, a receiver of stolen goods, but there’s an older meaning—a watcher, an observer, somebody who lies in wait.’
‘Like the old CIA expression, We have a stranger in the house, meaning a mole.’
CIA? Tallis thought. He immediately remembered Koroglu, the hard bastard American working alongside Ertas in Turkey. When a man grabbed your balls, you didn’t forget him in a hurry. Revealing nothing, he agreed. ‘Back in the 1940s it also referred to a pimp, or someone who attempts to steal a girlfriend from another man.’
‘Basically, someone’s onto things,’ she stated. ‘Makes it dangerous for Kennedy.’ Perhaps that accounted for Kennedy’s bad temper the day before. Tallis scratched his forehead. If the Americans had tipped Asim off about Kennedy, and MI5 weren’t seen to be taking any action, had the Yanks decided to take the law into their own hands? Or had he got it all wrong? A part of him dearly hoped so. And that wasn’t good. He told Charlie about Kennedy speaking to the members of the Commission alone. ‘He reckons he’s persuaded them that his credibility, and mine, is unimpeachable.’
‘The fact he lost one of his own men would seem to bear that out.’
‘That’s what bothers me.’
She took a sip of coffee, gave him a shrewd look from underneath a set of long dark lashes. ‘You suspect Kennedy’s kicking with both feet.’
Outwardly playing the informer, supplying high-grade information while secretly supporting terrorism, was what Charlie meant. ‘Maybe.’
‘Why?’
‘Search me.’
Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘This little private conference he called. You have absolutely no idea what was discussed?’
‘None.’
‘And they all emerged looking a damn sight happier than when they went in?’
‘Apart from Ahmed.’
Charlie gave a sigh. ‘Which adds up if Kennedy’s right about his connections.’ When she spoke next, there was strain in her eyes.
‘But if he isn’t. If he’s playing his own game, you pose a threat, and Kennedy has access to a lot of people.’
‘And I won’t necessarily know who to watch out for.’
Charlie picked up one of the photos. ‘Maybe he’s one of them.’