in which your fellow vendors in the Stables Market are going to dig your grave for you when we talk to them."
"About what?" Minshall said, although he sounded less full of himself now and he glanced at the solicitor as if for some kind of support.
"About what's about to happen now, Mr. Minshall. I'm arresting you on a charge of murder. One charge and counting. This interview is concluded for the moment."
Lynley leaned forward, gave the date and the time, and switched off the recorder. He handed over his card to James Barty and said to the solicitor, "I'm available should your client wish to expatiate on any answers, Mr. Barty. In the meantime, we've got work to do. I'm sure the duty sergeant will make Mr. Minshall quite comfortable here before he's moved to a remand centre."
Outside, Lynley said to Havers, "We need to find the boys in those Polaroids. If there's a tale to be told about Barry Minshall, one of them is going to tell it. We need to compare them to the photos of the dead boys as well."
She looked back at the station. "He's dirty, sir. I can feel it. Can you?"
"He's what Robson told us to look for, isn't he. That air of confidence. He's up against it, and he's not even worried. Check into his background. Go back as far as you can manage. If he was warned off biking on the pavement when he was eight years old, I want to know about it." Lynley's mobile rang as he was speaking. He waited till Havers had her actions jotted down in her notebook before he answered.
The caller was Winston Nkata, and his voice had the sound of someone who was being careful to control his excitement. "We got the van, guv. Night of Kimmo Thorne's last break-in, a van was cruising down the street too slow, like it was doing a recce of the area. Cavendish Road station took the information, but nothing came of it. Couldn't relate it to the break-in, they said. They said the witness had to be mistaken on the number plates."
"Why?"
"'Cause the owner had an alibi. Confirmed by nuns from that Mother Teresa group."
"An unimpeachable source, I'd say."
"But listen to this. Van belongs to a bloke called Muwaffaq Masoud. His phone number matches the numbers we c'n see on the video of that van in St. George's Gardens too."
"Where can we find him?"
"Hayes. In Middlesex."
"Give me the address. I'll meet you there."
Nkata did so. Lynley motioned to Havers to hand over her notebook and biro, and he jotted the address down in it. He ended the call from Nkata and thought about what this new development implied. Tentacles, he concluded. They were reaching out in all directions.
He said to Havers, "Get on to Minshall and the rest at the Yard."
"Are we close to something?"
"Sometimes I think so," he answered honestly, "and other times I think we've barely begun."
CHAPTER TWENTY
LYNLEY USED THE A40 TO MAKE HIS WAY OUT TO THE address in Middlesex that Nkata supplied him. It wasn't easy to find, and the journey there encompassed wrong turns, route retracing, and the negotiation of a crossing place over the Grand Union Canal. Ultimately, the house in question turned out to be part of a small estate that was tucked within the embrace of two sports grounds, two playing fields, three lakes, and a marina. Part of Greater London, it still felt like the country, and the distant planes taking off from Heathrow couldn't dispel the sensation that somehow one had cleaner air and the possibility of freer and safer movement here.
Muwaffaq Masoud lived in Telford Way, a narrow street comprising terrace houses of amber brick. He lived at the end of one of the terraces, and he was at home to answer the door when Lynley and Nkata rang the bell.
He blinked at them from behind heavy-framed spectacles, a slice of toast in his hand. He was not yet dressed for the day, and he wore a dressing gown fashioned like the robe boxers might don before their bouts, complete with a hood and the sobriquet "Killer" embroidered on the breast and across the back.
Lynley offered his identification. "Mr. Masoud?" he said. And when the man bobbed his head in nervous affirmation, "May we have a word, please?" He introduced Nkata and said his own name. Masoud shot a look that went from one of them to the other before he stepped back from the door.