‘Yeah?’
‘It’s the same outfit, same MO. A few sticks of dynamite and the crude timer.’
Brant, lit a cig, exhaled, asked:
‘Any luck on the usual suspects?’
‘No, seems to be a new operator.’
Roberts slammed his hand on the table, said:
‘I’ve to meet the Super in ten minutes… is that what I tell him…? That we figure it’s a new operator? He’s going to fucking lap that up, bound to be commendations all round.’
Porter Nash felt he should say something further, tried:
‘The victims are doing well, the injuries looked worse than they actually were.’
Roberts wasn’t placated
‘Take a look at the bloody tabloids, the damage is already done.’
A silence descended and the atmosphere was thick with recrimination.
The phone rang.
‘I ran a tape I’d rented on the way back, Jennifer
Jason Leigh in Rush. I felt like watching cops get fucked up.’
8
Roberts grabbed the phone, said:
‘Yes?’
A robotic tone, speaking through one of those voicechangers, asked:
‘You in charge of the bomber case?’
‘Yes, I’m Chief Inspector Roberts.’
‘Impressive title, you like to use that, I’d say. What you’d do, kiss some major ass to get there?’
‘Is that a question?’
Heard a snigger, someone in the background, then:
‘Naw, I like fucking with you. Lighten up, pal, these are the jokes. You’ll have had a second explosion?’
Roberts was furious, he felt chest pains, asked:
‘What happened to a warning? What happened to you calling about the money?’
More sniggers, then:
‘Tell you the truth, Rob, it got away from us. That ever happen to you? The truth is, we changed the rules. You want to know why?’