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The day of Frances Holland’s funeral, Mordred dyed his hair black by way of disguising himself and left Thames House via the emergency underground exit at Pimlico. It was the height of the morning rush hour and Kevin was waiting for him in a black London taxi at the end of Lupus Street. They drove for two hours in silence to West Wittering on the Sussex coast. Just after ten o’clock, they arrived at a church called St Michael’s, where Frances Holland had been confirmed and married. The funeral was scheduled for eleven, although lots of people were here already, most, by the looks of it, to satisfy their curiosity rather than express their condolences. After a short service, the coffin was to be laid to rest in the churchyard.
It took Mordred a long time to find Talbot, and the crowds were large enough to make maintaining an unbroken sight-line almost impossible. The lecturer was alone, a red haired balding man with large wire-framed glasses and a pale complexion, and although all six remaining members of The Get Out Clause were among the chief mourners, he made no attempt to effect a reunion; in fact, he seemed eager to keep out of their way. The sky was full of large individual clouds, but a high wind kept them moving and ensured the sun got a frequent look in.
“You’d think he’d be keen to get a seat in the church,” said a woman’s voice from behind Mordred. “Planchart and company could probably guarantee it. Why’s he hanging back?”
He turned round.
Marcie Fleming. She was as disguised as he was – or maybe this was how she normally looked. Nothing like Sarah Riceland. Mind you, she was in mourning gear, including a veil. But her make-up was completely different, and even the way she stood and spoke. They could have been two completely different women.
“My father was a friend of Frances Holland at one time,” she said. “I say ‘friend’: I’m pretty sure they slept together. Years ago now. Still, huge age-gap. Obscene, some might say. Anyway, I’m here with him. I’ll probably get a seat indoors.”
“What do you want?” he asked. “From me?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to accompany my father here if it wasn’t for you. I came to tell you I’m taking a back seat. I’ll do what I can to help – Daddy’s already killed your absurd ‘radicalisation’ inquiry: Red department will find out officially tomorrow, and you’ll be informed sometime after that – and I can be very useful to you tackling Grey. All I’m looking for in return is whatever truth you finally come up with about TGOC, and Ruby Parker’s already pledged me that via White. My offer’s unconditional, in other words, so best of luck, and thank you for saving my life more than once. I may occasionally have got in deeper than I should have.” She shook his hand and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, John.”
She turned and left before he could reply. A few moments later, he saw her enter the church on her father’s arm.
Meanwhile, Talbot had become quite emotional. He’d come only half-dressed for a funeral – black coat and tie, but violet shirt, beige trousers and brown brogues - and it was clear he wasn’t expecting a welcome. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and walked out of the churchyard with the determination of one who has made a sudden decision to get as far away from the action as quickly as possible.
At the end of the road, he climbed into a red Peugeot and pulled out at speed, almost knocking a clutch of pedestrians over.
This was it. He was in a state of high sentiment. If he had anything to tell, it was now.
Mordred got into the back of the black taxi. “Follow that car,” he told Kevin.
They pulled out much less dramatically, but it didn’t matter. Whatever Kevin’s faults – and it was difficult to pinpoint them since he never spoke, at least to Mordred – he wasn’t one for getting thrown off the scent. They left West Wittering and made for the M27. When they joined the motorway, Talbot accelerated until he was doing 120 mph and stayed there, overtaking everything in his path.
Was he determined to get caught by the police? You didn’t do that sort of speed without knowing you’d draw attention to yourself.
More likely, he’d realised he was being followed. Kevin tried to keep pace with him, but a London taxi doing that sort of speed was unheard of. He slowed to 60 and switched on his satnav. The screen showed their car, but it also showed another – Talbot’s, presumably – way in front. A few moments later, it turned onto the A36 for Salisbury. Mordred put it at about five miles ahead now, and it slowed, as it would have to on that sort of road. Still, the way it was moving in spurts, it was obviously still doing a lot of overtaking. How long till the police got wind of it?
Kevin started speaking. At first, Mordred thought he might be trying to start a conversation, but then he noticed he had Bluetooth. Presumably, he was talking to base, but since he was a completely unknown quantity he could just as easily be ringing ITV1 to book an audition for Emmerdale. Best leave him be.
When he’d finished speaking, Mordred’s phone rang. Ruby Parker.
“Kevin’s just called me to say Talbot’s driving dangerously,” she said. “He suspects he may have been drinking. In any case, he’s contacted the police. They’ll probably take him into custody – I’ll see what I can do – and you’ll get a golden opportunity to act as his guardian angel. Let me know as soon as you’re finished with him. Kevin has orders to bring you straight back to London afterwards.”
“Understood.”
“Listen, Talbot has a wife and two teenage daughters. From what I understand, it’s a happy marriage. Don’t say anything to him that he could interpret as blackmail. You’re DI Jonas Eagleton again. The police will be expecting you. Kevin’s got your papers in his glove compartment.”
