They were taken down the hall to Tom Riley’s office, and Holly introduced Stone to Ann Tinney, who took their coats and brought a pot of coffee. “The others are due shortly,” Ann said, then left them alone.
“Who’s coming?” Stone asked.
“A contingent from Special Branch,” Holly replied. “I don’t know whom they’re sending.”
Stone poured them some coffee, but before they could take a sip, Ann was back with two gentlemen, one tall, slender, with an impressive military mustache and beautifully cut clothes, the other shorter and heftier, wearing an off-the-peg suit and a crafty look.
Ann made the introductions: “Assistant Director Holly Barker, her deputy, Stone Barrington. May I present Chief Inspector Sir Evelyn Throckmorton and Inspector Harry Tate?”
Throckmorton managed a warm smile with his handshake. “Hello, Stone, it’s a very long time since we met.”
“Sir Evelyn,” Stone said. “Good to see you.”
“You know each other?” Holly asked incredulously.
“Sir Evelyn, or rather, just plain Inspector Throckmorton as he then was, once investigated me for something—I forget what.”
Sir Evelyn stroked his mustache with a knuckle. “Let’s see,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I believe it was murder.”
“Fortunately, I was innocent,” Stone said.
“I don’t believe we ever actually determined that as a fact,” Sir Evelyn said, and got a laugh from everyone.
“I’ll tell you later,” Stone said to Holly.
Holly waved them all to seats, and Ann poured coffee for them. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Naturally, we’re very anxious to hear what you’ve learned over the past forty-eight hours.”
“Harry,” Sir Evelyn said, “give our friends the short version.”
“I’ll skip the damage and the casualties,” Tate said, with a Cockney accent that had been mostly trained away by his advancing rank over the years, “since you’ve already heard about that. We’re very short of living witnesses, since almost everybody who was close enough to see the explosions was injured, or died either immediately or shortly thereafter. You’ve seen the surveillance footage?”
Holly nodded. “Yes, in great detail.”
“Then you know pretty much what we know. Our people are out there now, shaking down every Arab, Afghani, and Pakistani snitch we have, and combing the files on every nascent terrorist group. It always takes more time than we mean it to.”
“I’d hoped for more,” Holly said, half-absently.
“I’m so sorry we don’t have more,” Sir Evelyn said, with more than a trace of British irony.
“I didn’t mean to be critical, Sir Evelyn,” Holly said. “It’s just that we’re not equipped here—or for that matter, authorized—to conduct the kind of investigation that you’re conducting.”
“Quite,” Sir Evelyn replied, with an air that said anyone could place any meaning he or she liked on that word.
“Are there any living witnesses at all?” Stone asked.
“One,” Harry Tate replied. “She had a good view and as a result was badly injured, but I hope she can give us something. I’m seeing her in hospital when we finish here.”
“Has the name of Jasmine Shazaz come up?” Holly asked.
“I thought you’d ask that,” Sir Evelyn replied, “as did your counterparts at M
I-6. The short answer is: not yet, but nobody will be shocked if we hear that name spoken.”
“I would be shocked if it weren’t spoken,” Holly said. “She’s got to be at the root of this.”
Stone spoke up. “If you’ll forgive me, Sir Evelyn, I wonder why I didn’t see her name and photograph in this morning’s papers. Are you not conducting an all-out hunt for her?”
“We are,” Sir Evelyn replied, “but rather quietly. Every police officer, taxi driver, airport porter, ticket agent, security officer, and milk deliveryman has her photograph, but we’re not ready to have her splashed all over the tabloids just yet. We think, at this point, that a general alarm would produce more false sightings and phantom leads than we could deal with, and would waste a great deal of our time. We’re better off concentrating our search on the places I’ve mentioned.”