Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

more the fact that, along with her delicacies, Emily Cass also appeared to be someone who preferred that her line of employment not lead her in the direction of arrest. This of course begged the question: What was she doing working as a blagger for Dwayne Doughty in the first place? But economic times were tough. Perhaps it had been that or becoming a barista.
    She said, “Let’s decamp to your office, Dwayne. Without the filming this time, ’f you don’t mind. You come, too, Emily. It’s roomier, there’re chairs, and someone might go weak at the knees.” She made a sweeping gesture to the doorway. She was gratified to see Emily the first person through it. Doughty followed her, giving Barbara a withering glance and ignoring Azhar altogether.
    Inside his own office, Doughty removed the hidden camera, placed it in a drawer, and positioned himself behind his desk. Barbara wanted to guffaw at this final I’m-in-charge move. She sat, Emily went to the window and leaned against its sill, and Azhar took the other chair. Doughty said, “It wouldn’t take all those memory sticks, in case you’re actually thinking Bryan isn’t having you for a fool.”
    “When I said everything, I meant everything,” Barbara replied. “I’ve got his entire system here, Dwayne. Not just you but everyone else. My fail-safe position, if you’d like to call it that. Sometimes people need a little urging when it comes to cooperating, I find. Now what I wonder is how much urging you’re going to need.”
    “To do what, exactly?”
    “To hand over
your
fail-safe position—”
    “In your bloody dreams.”
    “—and to assure us you’ve seen the light of salvation and it’s called Di Massimo.”
    “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
    Emily Cass stirred. “I expect it’s a good idea to hear her out.”
    “Oh, you
expect
that, do you? Did you
expect
that when you gave her Smythe? Which, by the way, is the only way she could have dug him out of whatever molehill he happens to operate from and don’t think I haven’t worked that one out.”
    “Let’s not start pointing fingers,” Barbara said. “It wastes my time and I’ve wasted enough of it already dealing with you lot. Now we can get down to business or, like I said, I can—”
    “Sod you,” Dwayne told her. “Sod the professor.”
    Barbara looked at Emily. “He always this stupid?”
    “He’s a man,” Emily said in reply. “Go on. Pretend he’s not here.”
    “I want him on board.”
    “He is. He won’t tell you that, but he is.”
    Barbara turned to Azhar. “How did Di Massimo come into this mess?”
    “Mr. Doughty found him,” he said, telling her what she already knew and what had been established between them on their long night of planning. “He said that we needed a detective in Italy who spoke English, and Mr. Di Massimo was that detective.”
    “How often did you speak to him?”
    “To Mr. Di Massimo? Never.”
    “How often did you contact him by email?”
    “Never.”
    “How did he get paid?”
    “Through Mr. Doughty. I paid him and he transferred the money to Italy.”
    “Keeping some for himself, you reckon?”
    “Are you bloody accusing—”
    “Relax, mate,” Barbara told Doughty. “You employed a subcontractor. You took your cut. It’s the way of the world.” She held up the memory sticks another time and she said to Azhar, “What d’you reckon these’re going to show, then?”
    “The movement of money, among other things. From my bank account to Mr. Doughty’s to Mr. Di Massimo’s. Internet activities: emails and searches. Telephone records. Mobile records. Credit card records.”
    “So what you’re saying,” she said to Azhar, “is that over there in Italy, at this very moment while Michelangelo Di Massimo is being the canary on matters having to do with the snatching of Hadiyyah, what I’ve got here in my grubby hands is proof that the bloke is telling the truth.”
    Azhar nodded. “It does appear that way, Barbara.”
    She turned to Doughty. “The point being that the interests of everyone—that would include you, Dwayne—would best be served if we took a solid look at where we ought to be applying our talents, such as they are.”
    He opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak.
    “And,” she said, “I’d suggest you think that one over before you reply. We’ve got Di Massimo, but we’ve also got a dead bloke called Squali and all the information he may have left