‘Three hours to open a shop?’
‘I went for a drink afterwards,’ says Mike. There is now a VT playing on the studio monitor. An older guy is being interviewed. He appears to be wearing a West Ham top under a suit jacket. ‘Just a couple of pints on the pier. I come back, ticket. Daylight robbery. I got a speeding fine for doing forty in a thirty the other day. Everybody does forty in a thirty.’
On the monitor there is now a shot of the man with the West Ham top walking through some sort of village, very green, but with modern buildings. He has three friends with him, and they are laughing and joking together as they walk. Probably for the cameras, but they seem genuinely happy. Andrew wonders where it is. Looks nice.
‘If I send the ticket your way, can you have a word with someone?’ asks Mike, now looking through the list of questions he is about to ask.
‘Jeopardize my career for a parking fine,’ says Andrew. ‘No.’
Mike looks up and smiles. ‘Good lad. I was only having you on. I was banged to rights to be fair. I even wrote “Mike Waghorn – South East Tonight” on a card in the windscreen. Works sometimes. You ready?’
Andrew nods, then glances over to the monitor again. Something catches his attention, and he looks closer. The four friends walking through the village. He recognizes one of them. That surely can’t be … His eyes stay on the screen.
‘What’s this report, Mike?’ he asks. ‘Where is this place?’
Mike glances over to the monitor. ‘A retirement village, Coopers Chase. That’s Ron Ritchie, the union guy from years back. You recognize him?’
Andrew Everton shakes his head. No, that’s not whom he recognizes.
‘Will you have a look at the Heather Garbutt thing for me?’ Mike asks. ‘Just as a favour?’
Andrew Everton nods; he certainly will. The friends disappear from the screen, and the VT ends, with beautiful shots of the English countryside. The floor manager counts down from five to cue the live interview. Andrew sits up, straightens his tie and prepares himself. But his mind is elsewhere.
‘What a wonderful place,’ says Mike to camera. ‘I have to admit I stayed behind for a drink or two afterwards! A timely reminder that age is nothing but a number. And, talking of numbers, the crime statistics for Kent have just been published and they show …’
Chief Constable Andrew Everton, waiting to answer, knows exactly what the statistics show. They show he is doing a very good job. No complacency of course – things can always go wrong, he knows that very well – but he’s proud of what he’s achieving. He turns on his smile, but really he is thinking of the face he has just recognized. He really, really must pay a visit to this ‘Coopers Chase’。 And quickly.
24
Jack Mason is strong and squat, but showing his age. Like a last defiant East End house standing alone in the rubble of a demolished street. Ron knows that feeling.
Grey hair shaved to the scalp, deep brown eyes never missing a moment of action – you’d never kill Jack with a bullet, you’d have to use a bulldozer.
Ron’s route to meet him has been fairly straightforward, all things considered.
Ron simply spoke to his son, Jason, who spoke to one of his old boxing pals, Danny Duff, who messaged a man named Pump-Action Dave, who happened to drink with a man who declined to be named, who happened to do some work from time to time with Jack Mason.
A message had come back along that same line – pausing briefly at Danny Duff, who had been arrested on suspicion of cocaine importation and wasn’t allowed his phone for a couple of hours – and Jack had suggested he and Ron meet for a game of snooker in Ramsgate.
Ibrahim offered to drive Ron, but at the last minute Pauline said she’d drive, as Ramsgate had a number of interesting antique shops, and a tattoo parlour, so she was keen to ‘make a morning of it’。 She suggested Ibrahim come along too, but Ibrahim had decided to stay at home. Is Ibrahim acting a bit strange around Pauline, Ron wonders?