Lies Sleeping (Peter Grant, #7)(72)

‘Yeah, why’s that?’ I asked.

Or it could have been a completely different horn.

‘Because you never think of yourself,’ she said.

The ambience changed. She was now indoors, maybe. I heard the distinctive swish-chunk of a bus door closing. On a bus now – damn – no more helpful car horns.

‘I’m more worried about you than about me,’ I said.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because you’re working for a mad fucker.’

‘I prefer working with,’ said Lesley.

‘I think working without would be better.’

‘Can we have a talk?’ asked Lesley. ‘Like, in person – without your mob interrupting.’

I felt a surge of excitement and I’ll admit a little bit of glee. I’d been right.

I looked out the window and spotted a likely venue.

‘You know that Wetherspoon’s on High Holborn?’ I said.

‘The one opposite the Sainsbury’s?’

‘Meet me there in ten minutes,’ I said.

‘Copy that,’ she said and hung up.

I jumped down the stairs, flashed my warrant card at the driver and got him to open the doors for me. It wasn’t like it wasn’t much of a hassle for him since we were barely moving anyway.

The Penderel’s Oak was your typical Wetherspoon’s pub, its interior a strange theme-park recreation of the old-fashioned British pub caught in a frozen moment between wood-panelled, tie-dyed carpeted 1970s and the rise of cream coloured gastropub. Beverley’s sister Effra, who has a degree in fine arts and considers herself a style guru, calls them the apotheosis of British pub culture.

I ordered a couple of pints of John Smith’s and picked a table near the back with limited sight of the windows and away from the fire exits. While I waited I texted where I was to the Folly and got a sideways smiley face in confirmation. Lesley must be close, but they’d still have to wait until I confirmed her arrival.

Which was before I’d even finished sitting down. Looking back later, I realised she’d probably been on the bus with me. I did catch the tail end of a strange fluttery vestigium like a bloodhound shaking its jowls, which I guessed meant she’d walked in with somebody else’s face.

She sat down, grabbed her pint and took a gulp.

‘Needed that,’ she said, putting the glass down. ‘Is Walbrook safe?’

‘Yes she is,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Does he know you tipped us off?’

‘Of course he does. I told him I wasn’t happy, so he can’t be surprised I took steps.’

‘He’s a very understanding boss.’

‘Like I said, he’s not my boss.’

‘Working with,’ I said. ‘I remember. So since when do you care for supernatural folk?’

I’ve always cared, they’re all people,’ she said. ‘Except for the ones that are not. And anyway you’ve got to have some standards, haven’t you?’

I thought of the woman we found without a face in the dripping woods outside Crawley, the drug dealer who got laminated to a tree, and all the others who got between Martin Chorley and whatever mad scheme he had in mind. But maybe it was the same old story. You’re not that bothered about the people dying far away to make your trainers, but you don’t like it when they die on your doorstep.

‘So, you can’t use my tip-off to drive a wedge,’ she said.

‘What makes you think I’d do that?’

‘Because it’s twisty and clever. I’m vexed with you for hiding that side from me. You see, I know you can do the job now, Peter.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ I said. ‘You didn’t used to.’

Lesley smiled.

‘I was willing to be convinced,’ she said. ‘And you are full of surprises.’

‘So you reckon I can do the job now?’

‘That’s what I said, didn’t I?’

But, I thought, I no longer trust the things you say – do I?

‘But that’s not your problem is it?’ she said, and sipped her beer.

‘So now I’ve got a new problem?’

‘When we first met you always wanted to go clubbing,’ she said. ‘You were the one that wanted to catch a film, watch TV, go out for a curry.’

‘Not just me,’ I said. ‘Especially the curry thing.’

‘Yeah, maybe not the curry thing,’ she said. ‘But that’s not my point.’

‘You have a point? I thought we were just chatting – now you’ve got a point?’

‘When was the last time you took leave?’ she said. ‘See? You’ve got to think about it – it’s that rare a thing. You must have accumulated a shitload of holiday time.’

‘Not as much as you’d think,’ I said.

‘I want you to take some time off.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

‘Yeah,’ said Lesley. ‘This is that chance.’

‘For how long?’ I asked, but Lesley wasn’t going to fall for that.

‘Until things have settled down,’ she said. ‘You’ll know when that happens.’

‘You think killing Punch is going to settle things down?’ I said, and shouldn’t have.