Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

planted on the pavement directly in Emily’s path before the young woman knew what was happening. She was saying, “You and I need to talk” and clamping onto her arm before Emily could either run off or dash back to the office. Barbara hustled her across the street and into the Albert pub—vaguely wondering why there appeared to be a pub called the Albert in every neighbourhood of the capital—where she strong-armed her to a table near a fruit machine with
Out of Order
hanging prominently upon it.
    “Here’s what you need to know,” she told her. “Michelangelo Di Massimo has given you lot up to the Italian police. Now, this might not be a major problem for you since, extradition being what it is, you could be a grandmother before you found yourself standing in front of an Italian magistrate.
But
—and I like to think of this as the nice bit, Emily—a senior officer from the Met is over there acting as liaison for the family. One more word from him—aside from the several words that sent me here to have this little natter with you—and you’re in trouble of the I-appear-to-need-a-solicitor variety. D’you receive my meaning here, or do I have to spell things out more clearly?”
    Emily Cass seemed to make an effort at swallowing. Barbara could hear the gulp from across the table. She idly thought about getting the woman a lager, but she reckoned she wouldn’t need to go to the expense if she gave her a little time to dwell upon the significance of what she intended to say to her next.
    “I expect you were more of an adjunct player in what went on. You did your bit of blagging on the phone to get information—it’s what you excel in, and who can blame you for using your talents, eh?—but you did it on someone else’s orders and we both know who that someone else is.”
    Emily had been gazing at her steadily, but she allowed her glance to go to the street and then back to Barbara. She wet her lips.
    “Now my guess is that if our Dwayne has you to operate the phones and impersonate everyone from doddering old ladies to the Duchess of Cambridge, you’re not the only talent he employs. He’s not a fool. The bloke sets me a challenge called examine-every-one-of-my-records-here-if-you-don’t-believe-me, and what that suggests to me is someone else’s involvement in the whole bloody scheme, someone competent at sweeping records clean, someone who looks at that as child’s play. I want that name, Emily. I suspect it’s a bloke called Bryan that Doughty mentioned early on. I want his phone number, his email address, his street address, whatever. You give me that, and you and I part friends. Everyone else and I? Not so much. But there comes a point when common sense suggests one remove one’s neck from the noose. We’ve reached that point. What’s it going to be?”
    That was it. Cards on the table. Barbara waited to see what would happen. The seconds ticked by. During them, a gust of wind blew a yellow carrier bag down the street and a Muslim cleric emerged from a narrow doorway with a crocodile of little boys in tow. Barbara watched them and thought how times had changed in London. No one looked innocent any longer. A simple outing took on multiple potential meanings. The world was becoming such a miserable place.
    “Bryan Smythe,” Emily said quietly.
    Barbara turned her head back to gaze at Emily. “And he does . . . ?”
    “Phone records, bank records, credit card records, emails, net searches, computer trails, all the rest. Anything having to do with computer technology.”
    Barbara dug out her notebook and flipped it open. She said, “Where c’n I find this stellar individual?”
    Emily had to get this information from her mobile phone. She read it out—the bloke’s address and phone numbers—and shoved the mobile back into her pocket. She added, “He didn’t know what it was all in service of. He just did what Dwayne told him to do.”
    “No worries there,” Barbara said. “I know Dwayne’s the big fish, Emily.” She pushed back from the table and dropped her notebook back into her shoulder bag. She got to her feet. “You might want to look for another line of employment. Between you and me, Doughty’s private investigation business is going to have a serious setback sooner rather than later.”
    She left the young woman sitting in the pub. She reckoned Doughty was in his office, so that was where she took herself next. With Bryan Smythe’s name in her possession, she