The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(53)

‘Who fed you this crap?’

Newman supped his pint. ‘You know better than to ask.’

‘C’mon, it’s a simple enough question.’

‘I don’t discuss informants and you know it. Suffice to say, I have the means to access certain information. If the price is right, anything can be bought—’

‘You expect me to take your word for it? Just like that? You’ve gone beyond your brief, pal. O’Neil is our boss, a damned good one at that. She sent you to London for a specific reason, not to dig into her private life, so why are you?’

‘The way I roll.’ Newman’s expression sent a clear message: like it or lump it, mate. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll accept what I say wholesale. I do expect you to challenge her over it—’

‘Oh yeah . . .’ Ryan held up his hands as if the spook were pointing a gun. ‘Do I look like a fool to you? You want to confront her on the subject of her sexuality, be my guest. Then close the door on your way out. She’ll axe you in a heartbeat – and Grace too.’

‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’

‘Have you told Grace?’

‘It’s none of her business.’

‘Nor yours.’

‘But it is yours.’ Newman paused. ‘You know what Grace is like. If I tell her, she’ll take the direct route, go straight to O’Neil and confront her. And maybe she’d be right to do so. Eloise is her guv’nor too.’

Ryan palmed his brow. If Newman didn’t trust O’Neil, Ryan sure as hell didn’t trust him. He dropped his head, the name on the cheque Newman had mentioned repeating like an earworm in his head. He looked up. ‘Hilary Forsythe rings a bell but, for the life of me, I can’t remember where from.’

‘It’s a name on a cheque for the time being – I have feelers out.’

Ryan was no longer cagey, he was angry. ‘You’re not sure about this, are you? You doubt your own information—’

‘No. What I gave you is confirmed. The only thing that doesn’t add up is the timing. O’Neil has owned the apartment for over a year. That doesn’t fit with why and when the unit was set up.’

‘A year?’ Ryan took a moment to think. Newman was correct: it didn’t make sense. ‘I can assure you that no one has lived there, Frank. The apartment was brand spanking new. So new I had to strip the plastic coating off the ceramic hob. It hadn’t been used, none of it had. It was like walking into a show home. You’re wise to hesitate. I’m certain O’Neil will enlighten you if you give her a chance.’

‘You sure about that?’ Newman eyeballed him. ‘What do you know about her apart from what you see on the surface? She doesn’t say much.’

‘Neither do you.’

Newman didn’t comment.

‘You made my point, Frank. Get your facts straight before you shoot your mouth off about Eloise. Maybe the unit was going to be set up ages ago and was knocked on the head. You know what it’s like: some boffin at Whitehall has a great idea, does half a job, then bins a project because rising costs have taken it over budget. It happens every day—’

‘You don’t believe that any more than I do. I’m sorry, I know you rate her. I do too, but a strong team is built on trust. There are shifting sands beneath our feet and that makes me uneasy. O’Neil was a thorn in our side when we were looking for Jack. And don’t you think it’s odd that we’re operating out of a privately owned base?’

‘Yes, but there’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation—’

‘Like what?’

‘Remember the laptops stolen from an office commandeered by John Stevens?’ Stevens, a former Northumbria and Metropolitan police chief, had been heading up Operation Paget at the time, the investigation into the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. ‘That was a security breach like no other.’ He pointed at Newman’s phone. ‘Look it up. All hell broke out over it.’

‘You’re clutching at straws, mate.’

‘Am I? Our lot said never again would they risk information of that magnitude falling into the wrong hands. It may have passed you by, but we’ve sold our empty stations and police houses. Fuck’s sake! Until recently, Grace lived in one. There’s very little real estate left to resurrect. If O’Neil wanted somewhere secure, I can think of no better place, whether she owned it or not.’

‘That still doesn’t explain her name on the deeds.’

He had a point.

Ryan was beginning to doubt himself.

Newman spotted it immediately. ‘I’m sticking my neck out here. I think she may have been recruited by MI5. She’s using you.’

Stranger things had happened. Theirs was a shadowy world where such things were not unknown. Was O’Neil capable of such betrayal? It was a question Ryan presently had no answer for. He found himself nodding, his mind racing through the possibilities, unable to disagree or come up with a plausible excuse on O’Neil’s behalf. If the intelligence gathered proved to be correct, the stress of keeping secrets went some way to explaining her strange behaviour.

‘No,’ Ryan shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it, Frank. If she was MI5, her name wouldn’t be linked to this operation, much less appear on the deeds, not in a million years.’ He spread his hands, a gesture of openness. ‘She joked about being “Eyes Only”. She’d hardly do that if she was, would she?’