46
PIECES

Marianne Waters was the kind of woman who only noticed members of staff when they made a mistake, and she regarded everyone of lower status as a member of staff, whether they worked for her or not. She handed her overcoat to the maître d’ of the discreet Italian restaurant without engaging eye contact and found her own way to Oskar Kasavian’s table. She had no time for pleasantries and no facility for small talk.

‘Oskar, don’t ever try to palm me off with one of your juniors again, do you understand?’ She poured herself a glass of wine but did not remove her jacket. She could unsettle anyone by confounding their expectations. ‘I thought the Home Office had cleared out people like Faraday years ago.’

‘He’s a legacy.’ Kasavian sighed. ‘His father—’

‘I know who his father was. The children of famous parents are nearly always less talented, which is why they make such messes of their lives. From now on, I’ll deal only with you.’

‘I don’t know what more you want, Marianne.’ Kasavian regarded her coldly. ‘Your construction crews are all back at work.’

‘I wanted Alexander Toth charged, not released. Your special unit let him go.’ Kasavian was shocked at the news. He had specifically asked Faraday to plant a spy at the PCU and get feedback every night.

‘Now the press are crawling all over this multiple-murder case. The media’s desperate to suggest that it’s the tip of a corruption scandal and they’re sniffing around us, but so far of course they have no evidence. We can’t be investigated now, not at this crucial juncture. Our investors are nervous enough as it is. One has already pulled out, and the others are keeping a close eye on developments. Nobody wants a spotlight shone on their finances or their internal policies, and they certainly don’t want to attract the attention of the Inland Revenue Services. I’m not saying there are any irregularities, just that any audit would throw us off schedule. I need to know what you’re doing for us, Oskar. I want your press officers to get something out by tomorrow morning at the latest.’

She knew—everyone knew—about Kasavian’s affair with Janet Ramsey, the editor of Hard News. Strong women were Oskar’s weakness. Marianne Waters was surprised and a little insulted that he hadn’t made a pass at her, not that she would have given him encouragement; she was seeing a twenty-two-year-old Lithuanian barman from the Sanderson Hotel who made up in vigour what he lacked in experience.

‘I’m not one of your suppliers, Marianne; I represent the state,’ Kasavian pointed out. ‘You all think you’re above the law, but if we decide to investigate you, we will do so at our convenience and our leisure, without your permission.’

‘I have the word of the Secretary of Trade on this,’ warned Marianne. ‘We have put mechanisms in place to ensure that the work is finished on time.’

‘And I have the ear of the Prime Minister,’ Kasavian reminded her. ‘You need to remember who you’re talking to. It’s your job to make sure that your investors hold their nerve. Tell them the situation has been resolved.’

‘Has it?’

‘That’s no concern of yours. The unit handling the investigation is being removed tomorrow evening. Islington and Camden will combine their CID departments and take over, and the whole thing will fall under the jurisdiction of the Commissioner of Police. He’ll make the appropriate reassurances. The work must be completed on schedule.’

‘But not at the expense of a financial scandal. I don’t want your people—’

Kasavian leaned over the table and searched her face. The effect was unnerving. ‘King’s Cross is a dirty area, Marianne. I suggest you go back to your office and make sure everything is thoroughly clean.’

It was a good time to fish for eels. In the dark they swam nearer to the surface, and the boy did not have a proper fishing rod. He’d owned one when he was smaller, but his father had broken it. His father smashed up everything when he was drunk. Now the boy sat beside the canal beneath the bridge at York Way, dangling the string and waiting for a bite. It was cold and damp here, but better than being at home listening to his parents fight.

The minutes passed without any movement in the line. He was about to give up when the plastic Christmas tree ornament he had tied to the end of his line shivered and ducked. He pulled on the line. The weight was wrong for an eel, too heavy, too still. He had snagged the hook on something. Pulling harder with his left hand, he shone the flashlight down with his right, peering into the murky green water. Slowly a pale object began to surface.

At first the boy thought it was a shopping bag. Kneeling on the concrete lip of the basin, he tugged again and leaned closer. He could see the shape rising into view.

A pair of dark eyes stared back up at him.