Trust No One. Alex Walters

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      ‘True enough,’ he said. ‘Whoever got to Morton knew what they were up to right enough.’

      ‘You think Kerridge has someone on the inside?’

      Welsby shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Or some poor bugger fell asleep at the wheel. Bastards like Kerridge hoover up every bit of intelligence out there, wherever it comes from.’ He made a play of swallowing the last of the biscuit, then reached for another.

      Salter had risen from the table and was busy, in a halfhearted manner, exploring the interior of the room, pulling open drawers, flicking absently through the bowl of coffee and sugar sachets on the hospitality tray, peering into the built-in wardrobe. It wasn’t clear what, if anything, he was looking for. They all wanted to be out of this box-like room, Marie thought.

      ‘Poor bastard should have just told us everything,’ Salter muttered, his voice angry. ‘He’d have been safer that way.’

      ‘Not much,’ Marie pointed out. ‘But it would have made your life easier.’

      ‘Yeah. Inconsiderate bastard.’ He withdrew his head from the wardrobe. ‘So what did he do with it? The other stuff, I mean.’

      ‘You don’t think they got it?’ she said.

      ‘Depends,’ Salter said. ‘I mean, in his shoes, I’d have spilled everything I fucking knew. But I don’t know that Morton thought like that. What d’you reckon, sis?’

      There was an edge to his voice, but she couldn’t interpret it. She picked up the coffee pot and slowly poured herself a second cup, giving herself time to think. She made a point, this time, of not offering coffee to the others.

      ‘Difficult for me to say,’ she said finally. ‘But you’re probably right. Whatever else he was, he was a stubborn bugger.’

      That was true enough. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him. He said what he thought, stuck to his guns. Miles away from the usual sycophants around Kerridge. It was one of the reasons Kerridge rated Morton. Kerridge lapped up the attention from the yes-men, but was smart enough not to be taken in by it.

      ‘You knew him better than we did,’ Welsby said. ‘You knew what made him tick.’

      Welsby’s face was as uncommunicative as ever, his mouth contorted as he strove to extract some crumb of biscuit from his teeth.

      She had the sense that she was being probed, or perhaps tested. Was it because they had some suspicions about her relationship with Jake? Did they think that Jake had shared his evidence with her?

      ‘I only knew him in a work context, really,’ she said. ‘I saw him with Kerridge a few times. He didn’t back down easily, let’s put it that way.’

      ‘So if he had something, he’d have kept hold of it?’

      ‘Christ, how would I know?’ she said. ‘I never got the opportunity to see how he reacted to torture.’ She took a long sip of her tepid coffee, waiting to recover her composure. ‘Maybe. You’ve searched his place, presumably?’

      ‘Yeah,’ Salter said. ‘Pretty thoroughly. Best we could before the plods took over, anyway. If there’s anything there, it’s well hidden.’

      ‘Or it was found by whoever killed him.’

      ‘Or it was found by whoever killed him,’ Salter agreed. ‘Which brings us back to the same question.’

      ‘To which we don’t have an answer,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say.’ She could feel her emotions bubbling away and was having to concentrate on keeping control.

      ‘You knew him better than most, sis.’

      Salter’s tone was studiedly neutral. She found herself losing patience with the game-playing.

      ‘I’m not your fucking sister, Hugh,’ she said quietly. ‘Sometimes I’m not even sure we’re the same fucking species.’ She leaned back in her chair, regarding him coolly. ‘What about Morton’s handler? He’d be closer to Morton than anyone. He must have some insights. What does he say?’

      She realized almost immediately that she’d struck a chord. Salter exchanged a glance with Welsby, a shadow of shared unease in their eyes. She watched Salter.

      ‘Who was his handler?’

      Salter shrugged. ‘Me. I took it on.’

      That was interesting. Not exactly against the rules. Salter had operated as an intelligence handler before he’d moved into undercover work, so he had the skills and experience to do the job. But, given the risk of exposure, it was unusual for an intelligence source to be handled from within the under-cover team.

      ‘Why you, Hugh?’

      Salter glanced again at Welsby and shrugged. ‘Sensitive one this, sis. We thought it best to keep it in the family. Keith’s idea.’

      Welsby was rocking back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he had spotted something noteworthy up there.

      ‘You think there’s a mole, then, Keith? Is that it?’

      His eyes switched back to her, his expression suggesting that he had momentarily forgotten where he was. ‘Some kind of zit, anyway,’ he said.

      ‘You think so, too, Hugh?’

      ‘We’ve had stuff leak out. Morton was just the latest and the worst.’ He paused. ‘What we don’t know is what else might have leaked. What else might be out there.’

      ‘Jesus, Hugh. I’m out there.’ The thought was frightening. There were always risks. But you had to start from the assumption that the foundations were secure. Now, suddenly, she didn’t know who to trust.

      Salter shook his head. ‘You’re as safe as you can be, sis. It’s only a handful of people that know about your role. You know how it works.’

      ‘I know how it’s supposed to work. And I know how it was supposed to work with Morton. Doesn’t fill me with confidence.’

      ‘We can bring you back in,’ Welsby said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

      She looked at him. He was still swinging back on his chair, the metal legs looking as if they might buckle under his weight. She’d always liked Keith. She respected him. But she knew the way his mind worked.

      ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘If it looks as if I’ve been compromised – if you get a fucking inkling that I might be in trouble – then I want to know. But there’s no point jumping the gun.’

      ‘Good girl,’ Welsby said.

      He sounded sincere, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to hug him or punch him.

      ‘If there is a mole,’ she said, ‘any clues as to who it might СКАЧАТЬ