’
‘Flesh is plastic enough in any case,’ Juliet said, and I almost had it.
But then Nicky spoke again and I lost whatever connection my subconscious was trying to make. ‘I haven’t managed to find any Myriam Kale memorabilia,’ he said. ‘Turns out East End gangsters are easy compared to sexy American assassins-for-hire. A few things came up, but they all smelled like scams. I’m still looking. But since you’re going to where she lived, maybe you’ll pick something up along the way. In which case, throw it to me when you’re through with it and I’ll find it a new home.
So Chesney’s Kale piece had come from some other source. I decided not to mention that: Nicky was touchy enough already without being told that someone else had outscored him. ‘I’ll do that, Nicky,’ I said blandly. ‘In the meantime, could you check something else out for me?’
‘Well, I’m always at your disposal since, obviously, I don’t have a fucking life,’ Nicky observed dryly, flicking a cold glance at Juliet.
‘Can you find out where all these guys are buried?’
‘Yeah, sure.
‘I want to find out if there’s any connection here to John Gittings’s list of London cemeteries. If there’s a pattern – if they all ended up in the same place—’
‘Yeah, I get it, Castor. The thing about the flowers? Joke. Is your mobile tri-band?’
‘I don’t have the faintest idea. But the battery’s flat in any case.’
‘Fine.’ Nicky gave it up, getting to his feet and shoving the untouched wine away with a disgruntled air.
I gave it back to him. ‘Thanks for everything, Nicky.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’ There was something in his tone, in his face, that I couldn’t read. ‘You want to pay me back, then keep me in the loop. I want to see how this comes out. By the way, someone else knows you’re coming.’
He threw it out with carefully measured casualness, playing for the double take.