‘So what do we do now?’
‘We’ll go along to St George’s to see what His Holiness is up to, then I think you can take a run down to Canterbury. I’m laying on a police car and driver for you, by the way. I think it will help for you to look as official as possible from now on.’
Morag sat in the corner of the bunk, her back against the wall. ‘Why did you come back at Penrith? You haven’t told me.’
Cussane shrugged. ‘I suppose I decided you weren’t fit to be out on your own or something like that.’
She shook her head. ‘Why are you so afraid to admit to kindness?’
‘Am I?’ He lit a cigarette and watched her as she took an old pack of cards from her pocket and shuffled them. They were Tarot. ‘Can you use those things?’
‘My grandma showed me how years ago when I was quite young. I’m not sure if I have the gift. It’s hard to tell.’
She shuffled the cards again. He said, ‘The police might be waiting at her place.’
She paused, surprise on her face. ‘Why should they? They don’t know she exists.’
‘They must have asked questions at the camp and someone must have told them something. If not your grandad, there’s always Murray.’
‘Never,’ she said. ‘Even Murray wouldn’t do a thing like that. You were different – an outsider – but me, that’s not the same at all.’
She turned the first card. It was the Tower, the building struck by lightning, two bodies falling. ‘The individual suffers through the forces of destiny being worked out in the world,’ Morag commented.
‘That’s me. Oh, that’s very definitely me,’ Harry Cussane told her and he started to laugh helplessly.
Susan Calder was twenty-three, a small girl, undeniably attractive in the neat navy-blue police uniform with the hat with the black and white checks round the brim. She had trained as a schoolteacher, but three terms of that had very definitely been enough. She had volunteered for the Metropolitan Police and had been accepted. She had served for just over one year. Waiting beside the police car outside the Cavendish Square flat, she presented a pleasing picture, and Devlin’s heart lifted. She was polishing the windscreen as he came down the steps.
‘Good day to you,a colleen, God save the good work.’
She took in the black Burberry, the felt hat slanted across the ears, was about to give him a dusty answer, then paused. ‘You wouldn’t be Professor Devlin, would you?’
‘As ever was. And you?’
‘WPC Susan Calder, sir.’
‘Have they told you you’re mine until tomorrow?’
‘Yes, sir. Hotel booked in Canterbury.’
Therewill be talk back at the station. Let’s get moving then,’ and he opened the rear door and got in. She slipped
behind the wheel and drove away and Devlin leaned back, watching her. ‘Have they told you what this is about?’
‘You’re with Group Four, sir, that’s all I know.’
‘And that is?’
‘Anti-terrorism; intelligence side of things as distinct from the Yard’s anti-terrorist squad.’
‘Yes, Group Four can employ people like me and get away with it.’ He frowned. ‘The next sixteen hours will see the making or breaking of this affair and you’ll be with me every step of the way.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
‘So I think you deserve to know what it’s about.’
‘Should you be telling me, sir?’ she asked calmly.
It was one way of getting it all straight in his head.
‘No, but I’m going to,’ he said and started to talk, telling her everything there was to know about the whole affair from the beginning and especially about Harry Cussane.
When he was finished, she said, ‘It’s quite a story.’
‘And that’s an understatement.’
‘There is just one thing, sir.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘My elder brother was killed in Belfast three years ago while serving there as a lieutenant in the Marines. A sniper hit him from a place called the Divis flats.’
‘Does that mean I pose a problem for you?’ Devlin asked her.
‘Not at all, sir. I just wanted you to know,’ she said crisply and turned into the main road and drove down towards the river.