He phoned Chelsea. St. James would have had time to read and to assess the next group of reports he'd sent over to Cheyne Row. Perhaps, Lynley thought, there would be something uplifting he had to share. But instead of his old friend answering, it was Deborah's voice Lynley heard. No one at home. Leave a message at the tone, please.
Lynley rang off without doing so. He phoned his friend's mobile next and had luck there. St. James answered. He was just heading into a meeting with his banker, he said. Yes, he'd read the reports and there were two interesting details... Could Lynley meethim in...what, about half an hour? He was up in Sloane Square.
Arrangements made, Lynley set off. By car, he was five minutes from the square if traffic was moving. It was, and he wove down towards the river. He came at the King's Road from Sloane Avenue and chugged up to the square in the wake of a number 11 bus. The pavements were crowded with shoppers at this time of day, as was the Oriel Brasserie, where he took timely possession of a table the size of a fifty-pence coin just as three women with approximately twenty-five shopping bags were leaving it.
He ordered coffee and waited for St. James to conclude his business. His table was one in the Oriel's front window, so he would be able to see his friend as he crossed the square and came down the neat, tree-lined walk that stretched past the Venus fountain to the war memorial. Right now, the centre of the square was empty save for pigeons that were scouting round for crumbs beneath the benches.
Lynley took a call from Nkata while he waited. Jack Veness had provided a friend to corroborate whatever alibi he chose to come up with, and Neil Greenham had latched on to his solicitor. The DS had left word for both Kilfoyle and Strong to phone him, but they'd no doubt hear from their mates at Colossus that alibis were being asked for, which would give both of them plenty of time to cook some up before speaking again to the cops.
Lynley told Nkata to carry on as best he could, and he picked up his coffee and downed it in three gulps. Scalding hot, it attacked his throat like a surgeon. Which was fine, he thought.
At last he saw St. James coming across the square. Lynley turned and ordered a second coffee for himself and one for his friend. The drinks arrived as did St. James, who shed his overcoat by the door and worked his way over to Lynley.
"Lord Asherton at rest," St. James said with a smile as he pulled out a chair and carefully folded himself into it.
Lynley grimaced. "You've seen the paper."
"It was hard to avoid." St. James reached for the sugar and began his usual process of rendering his coffee undrinkable for any other human being. "Your photo is making quite a statement on the newsstands round the square."
"With follow-ups to come," Lynley said, "if Corsico and his editor have their way."
"What sort of follow-ups?" St. James went for the milk next, just a dollop, after which he began stirring his brew.
"They've apparently heard from Nies. Up in Yorkshire."
St. James looked up. He'd been smiling, but now his face was grave. "You can't want that."
"What I want is to keep them away from the rest of the squad. Particularly from Winston. They've set their sights on him next."
"With you willing to have your dirty linen aired for public consumption instead? Not a good idea, Tommy. Not fair on you and certainly not fair on Judith. Or Stephanie, if it comes to that."
His sister, his niece, Lynley thought. They shared in the story of the Yorkshire murder that had taken husband from one and father from the other. What rained on him as he tried to protect his team from exposure rained on his relations as well.
"I don't see any way round it. I'll have to warn them it's coming. I daresay they can cope. They've been through it before."
St. James was frowning down at his coffee. He shook his head. "Put them on to me, Tommy."
"You?"
"It'll work to keep them away from Yorkshire for a time and from Winston as well. I'm part of the team, if only tangentially. Play me up and set them on me."
"You can't want that."
"I'm not enthusiastic about it. But you can't want them delving into your sister's