Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(51)

For Bish the area brought back memories of working at Paddington Green police station. “What’s Grazier’s latest theory about the bombing?” he asked as he pulled up at the tube to drop Elliot off.

“Knows as much as you do.”

“Well, that can’t be much,” Bish said.

“According to him, MI6 weren’t taught to share their toys,” Elliot said.

“With their little brothers and sisters, you mean?”

“MI5 would never consider themselves the younger siblings of 6.”

“You’d know that from firsthand experience, would you?” Bish asked.

“Just come out and ask the question, Ortley.”

“Okay, are you and Grazier working for MI5?”

“Grazier and I work for the home secretary.”

“And MI5 answers to the home secretary.”

“You’re saying everyone who answers to the home secretary works for MI5?”

“So when bombs aren’t going off on buses and vulnerable kids aren’t on the run, what is it you do for the home secretary?”

“I do whatever she calls on me to do,” Elliot said. “Isn’t that what an employee does for their employer?”

Bish tightened his grip on the wheel. “We’re done here,” he said. “You can get out of my car now, Elliot.”

Morning peak hour was just about to hit and Bish found himself driving to Dover. He was curious about something he’d come across while searching for Ian Parker’s speeches about the migrant crisis in Calais. In the May newsletter of the Kent Garden Society he read that Katherine Barrett-Parker was forced to withdraw from a garden competition at the last minute because of vandalism. He had contacted one of his former police constables, now working for the Folkestone police, who confirmed that no report had been made about the incident, and Bish wanted to know why. He still hadn’t received a call from Ian Parker, despite Katherine taking his number, and he figured morning would be the best time to track him down at the hospital.

He reached Buckland two hours later and noticed that security had been beefed up since Saturday. There were two guards and a police officer at the front entrance, as well as at the staff entrance. A couple more policemen could be seen inside. Bish wondered if the request had come from the Home Office or whether Ian Parker had enough pull to put his own security in place.

Bish bumped into Sadia Bagchi in the cafeteria. He asked about her family, and they spoke about her husband’s stall at the Spitalfields market and how a cousin of hers was helping out while Sadia was here in Dover.

“Her father cries each time he sees Manoshi,” Sadia said, “but I have stopped weeping. If she is less than what she was before Calais, it is better than what Astrid Copely’s and Michael Stanley’s people are left with.”

He insisted on paying for her tea and then went looking for Katherine, coincidentally bumping into both husband and wife exiting the lift. Parker was dressed for work in an expensive suit with all the trimmings. There was nothing welcoming in his expression.

“Can I have a quick word?” Bish asked.

“We’ve already been interviewed by French intelligence, Ortley. Not to mention the daily attempts by the Security Service. And as far as I’m concerned the Met has nothing to do with this investigation.”

“The police are working across three counties to confirm any threats made this past year to the families of those on board the bus,” Bish said, impressed at how good he had become at lying.

“Receiving threats is part of a politician’s job description,” Parker said.

“We have a substantial security system in our home,” Katherine said.

“Then you were able to see who destroyed your garden in May?” Bish asked.

Katherine stiffened. Parker’s stare was dismissive. “You think someone who cut off the heads of my wife’s flowers is responsible for the bombing?”

Bish hadn’t known that detail. “Well, it’s not everyday vandalism,” he said. “That seems more like some kind of message. Why didn’t you report it?”

“We didn’t want a fuss,” Parker said firmly.

“And we had to concentrate on Lola at the time,” Katherine added. “She was being bullied at school and not coping. We let her go on this trip because she’d been miserable all year, and her favorite teacher was a chaperone on the tour.”

“Julius McEwan?” Bish asked.

Katherine nodded. “Lola was in his history class. Some teachers can find her annoying, but he understood her spirit. Up until the day of the bombing, she was having the time of her life.” Katherine was looking at Bish, pained. “Do you think that bomb was meant for my daughter?” she asked quietly.

“I honestly don’t know.” Bish still believed that Violette could as easily have been the target. “But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t cover every hunch.”

“If someone takes issue with my views, it’s me they should come after,” Parker said. “Not my family.”

“But that’s not how these sort of people operate,” Bish said. “They go for your nearest and dearest.”

“All I’m doing is saying the things most people are expressing around their kitchen table.”