Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(36)

“Who?”

“Jimmy Sarraf? Did you see him in Calais?”

He nods.

Layla badly wants to ask how he was, but doesn’t. She can’t make junior partner with the Sarraf noose around her neck.

“Don’t call me,” she says. “I’ll call you.”





17



The soup ladle had found a new purpose: scooping dead fish out of the tank. It was getting to Bish now, because he was following all the rules. Don’t overfeed. Make sure the tank is filtered and cleaned. He was even thinking of filling the tank with bottled water. Didn’t drink bottled water himself, but he’d do anything to keep a fish alive these days.

The phone rang and he saw it was Grazier. Bish had finally added him as a contact, because getting five phone calls a day really seemed to invite the inclusion.

“Charlie Crombie?” Grazier said. No salutation. Sometimes he’d come on the line midsentence.

“Hmm?” Bish concentrated on keeping the fish in the ladle as he took it to the bathroom for its final rites.

“I’m presuming that name rings a bell?”

“Responsible for Violette Zidane’s less-than-pure reputation with our tabloid-reading friends.”

“We believe there’s more,” Grazier said.

Bish thought it best not to flush the fish down the toilet in case Grazier drew the wrong conclusion.

“Why?”

“He beat up that kid from Guildford. Tried to do it incognito, wearing a Chelsea beanie. Apparently Crombie’s a Tottenham fan.”

“Kennington?” Bish asked.

“That’s right. I’ve spoken to the chief constable of the Surrey police and she’ll make sure the Guildford lot are expecting you. The other family’s pressing charges.”

Of all the parents Bish had met at the campgrounds, the Kenningtons were the only ones who hadn’t responded to his calls. They’d been the bigmouths with the press. And Bish didn’t know who he liked least: Crombie or Kennington.

“I’m not a copper here, Grazier. So what the hell am I doing? Either arrange for me to go back to work or stop sending me off to do Elliot’s.”

“We’ve got nothing to do with the Met. You answer to the home secretary for the time being, Ortley. She’s not too happy with the way that nutter Gorman handled things, and she’s less than impressed that the foreign minister, our intelligence, and French intelligence are revealing nothing.”

“Because it didn’t happen here?”

“That’s what they’re telling us. To butt out. But the home secretary has to answer to people here, and the way she sees it, the kids on that bus are ours. Anything they get up to on home ground has to be investigated.”

“And who am I down in Surrey?” Bish asked.

“I’ve told you before. Your being one of the fathers is the closest we’ll come to getting people talking. Find out if Crombie and Kennington know something.”

Bish flushed the toilet anyway because he no longer cared if Grazier thought he was taking a dump while talking to him.

“What else do you do, Grazier, apart from ordering people around?”

“The fun stuff, Ortley. I get to hang out with Eddie Conlon’s father and reassure him that his son’s not going to turn up dead. And next week I get to watch two families bury their teenage children and a town say farewell to its favorite teacher. Make the comparison. Who would you rather be at the moment?”

Bish knew he was going down to Surrey whether he wanted to or not. Grazier must have taken his silence as acquiescence. “Any theories about why Crombie targeted Kennington?” he asked.

“Kennington’s apparently a bit of a squealer,” Bish told him. “I suppose he could have something on Crombie, who may have tried to keep him quiet.”

“And the story with Crombie? By the sound of it, he’s quite the little cunt.”

“Quite,” Bish agreed. “He was at the back of that bus. He was asked to help a kid sitting in the seat close to where the bomb went off, but refused. Could have known it was there.”

“Too far-fetched. If you’re a murdering little bastard who knows there’s a bomb, you’re not going to stay on board. Plus he doesn’t have a motive.”

“And Violette does?”

“Have we ever implied Violette’s a suspect?” Grazier asked.

Bish still hadn’t worked out where Grazier stood when it came to the missing pair.

“Did you get that phone call between her and the grandparents translated?”

Grazier’s telltale sigh sounded in Bish’s ear. Didn’t know whether it was his pissed-off sigh or exhaustion.

“Let’s not talk about the translation. Let’s just find her and Eddie and bring them in. They’re our number one priority, and anything Crombie or Kennington can tell us may help.”

Bish wondered what was in the conversation between the LeBracs that made Violette Grazier’s number one priority.

“Just get over there before Crombie’s parents arrive,” Grazier said. “They’re traveling from Margate so you’ve got about an hour on them. If we’re lucky, the kid doesn’t know his rights and he’ll talk.”