as always, as if the wanker in front of them was just another someone who might pat her damn head - approached the man.
"Oh, I expect you are," was Whiting's reply.
Chapter Thirty-Four
JUDI MACINTOSH TOLD LYNLEY TO GO STRAIGHT IN. THE assistant
commissioner was waiting for him, she said. Did he want a coffee? Tea? She sounded grave. As she would do, Lynley thought. Word, as always and especially when it had to do with death, had traveled quickly.
He demurred politely. He wouldn't actually have minded a cup of tea but he hoped he wouldn't be spending a long enough time in Hillier's office to drink it down.
The assistant commissioner rose to meet him. He joined Lynley at the conference table.
He dropped into a chair and said, "What a bloody cock-up. Do we at least know how the hell he got his hands on a gun?"
"Not yet," Lynley said. "Barbara's working on that."
"And the woman?"
"Meredith Powell? She's in hospital. The wound was very bad but not fatal. It came close to the spinal cord, so she could have been crippled. She was lucky."
"And the other?"
"Georgina Francis? In custody. All in all, it wasn't exactly textbook, sir, but it was a good result."
Hillier shot him a look. "A woman murdered in a public park, another woman seriously injured, two men dead, a paranoid schizophrenic in hospital, a lawsuit hanging over our heads ...What part of this is actually a good result, Inspector?"
"We've got the killer."
"Who is himself a corpse."
"We've got his accomplice."
"Who may not ever go to trial for anything. What do we know about this Georgina Francis that we can take into court? She once lived in the same house as the killer. She once was at a National Portrait Gallery show for some reason. She was the killer's lover. She was the killer's killer's lover. She may have done this, and she may have done that, and there's an end to it. Give that information to the CPS and watch them roar." Hillier raised his eyes heavenward in an uncharacteristic indication of seeking divine guidance. When he apparently had it, he said,
"She's finished. She had a decent opportunity to demonstrate her leadership abilities, and she failed to do so. She alienated members of the team she was working with, she assigned officers inappropriately and without regard for their expertise, she made judgement calls that put the Met into the worst possible position, she undermined confidence in here and out there ...Be so good as to tell me, Tommy: Where's the result?"
Lynley said, "I think we can agree that she was hobbled, sir."
"Oh, can we? Hobbled by what?"
"By what the Home Office knew and couldn't - or wouldn't - tell her." Lynley paused to let his point sink in. There was little enough to use in defence of both Isabelle Ardery and her performance as acting detective superintendent, but he believed he owed it to her to try. He said,
"Did you know who he was, sir?"
"Jossie?" Hillier shook his head.
"Did you know he was being protected, then?"
Hillier's eyes met his. He said nothing, and in that Lynley had his answer. At some point during the investigation, he reckoned, Hillier had been brought into the picture. He may not have been told that Gordon Jossie was one of the three boys responsible for little John Dresser's terrible murder all those years ago, but he'd known he was someone into whose life no one else was supposed to delve.
Lynley said, "I think she should have been told. Not necessarily who he was but that he was being protected by the Home Office."
"Do you." Hillier looked away. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "And why is that?"
"It could have led to Jemima Hastings' killer."
"Could it indeed."
"Sir. Yes."
Hillier observed him. "I take it you're arguing on her behalf, then. Is this noblesse oblige, Tommy, or have you, perhaps, another reason?"
Lynley didn't look away. He'd certainly considered this point before coming up to the AC's office, but he hadn't been able to get to what felt like the whole truth of the matter as far as his intentions were concerned. He was going on instinct alone, and he had to hope that the instinct he was operating under was the lofty instinct for justice. It was, after all, so easy to lie to oneself when it came to sex.
He said evenly, "It's neither, sir. She's had a rough transition with little time to adjust to the job before she was thrust into the middle of