Rod was still in the study when Troy returned five minutes later and he was looking at his watch. ‘Freddie, I really have to get back.’ There was an entirely different tone in his voice. Acceptance. More than acceptance.
‘If you’d care to join us . . . you know where your DJ is . . . and I’m sure Cid will have something that would fit Miss McDiarmuid
‘Rod, you’re waffling. Go and join your guests. I can’t think of a single thing I’d want to say to Ike, and the thought of having to listen to Monty is enough to put me to sleep. I got what I came for. And I’m sorry I had to do it this way. If Spoon doesn’t slit his throat in my bathroom he’ll be joining you. Enjoy it – the friendships are perhaps the only thing I ever envied about your war.’
Rod smiled faintly, touched his shoulder, and left.
Mary McDiarmuid said, ‘Why did you not give me the nod to show him Mackie’s face?’
‘We got one right. What were the odds on us getting both right? Diminishing, I’d say. If we’d got it wrong, he’d have known we were bluffing.’
‘So, you’re not arresting Spoon?’
‘For what? He’s done nothing I can or would ever want to prove.’
‘Boss, he’s also admitted nothing about the Ryans. Or did he do that upstairs?’
Troy shrugged. ‘No matter. I know the truth now. He’s tougher than I’d ever have thought, but do you really think we couldn’t crack him in the witness box? Can you see him holding up to questions from a skilled QC?’
There was sleight-of-word in this. Question without statement.
‘Tougher than we thought?’ Mary McDiarmuid echoed. ‘That I can’t deny. All the same, boss, you still need a witness who’ll talk now.’
The telephone on Troy’s desk rang. He and Rod had had separate lines for over a year now. It had to be for him. He picked it up.
‘Mr Troy? Ray Godbehere. Thank God, I’ve been trying everywhere. You’d better get back to Stepney. The Ryans just shot Mott Kettle in front of a dozen witnesses.’