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“So, tell me, Boss?” Degsy asked, placing his pint back down. “What the hell was all that about?”
They were alone in the snug.
“It’s a long and complicated story, Derek, but I’ll do my best to give you the short version,” Thurstan replied, wiping the beer froth from his mouth. “When they killed the Councillor they opened up Pandora’s box. I think they were aware of that. “The Councillor had been privy to the dirty secrets of some very highly placed, influential people, including Peterson, who’d been spying for the Soviets for a long time, also for the East Germans.
“When the Warsaw Pact collapsed he continued with the Russians but, it seems, he was also spying for some other former Pact country, now an EU member. All highly embarrassing stuff.
“MI5 and MI6 knew about Peterson. SIS in particular used him to feed false information to his masters. The Security Service were aware of his ‘predilections’ and his connections with the Councillor and others.
“Subsequently, they felt they had to protect not only this knowledge but also the individuals themselves, believing having their co-operation and compliance in certain matters would conserve the status quo. What were a few kids from broken families or care homes compared with the overall state and ‘health’ of the nation? Not my or your response but in the ‘murky’ world of politics and intelligence gathering such an outrageous thing seemed viable.”
“But where does Weedsley come in? Was he part of all this?”
“No, Derek, I don’t think so. He was in the sense he was a paedophile, but it seems he’d no connection to the higher echelons. He was just the ‘Patsy’. Found by MI5 and nurtured specifically so he could be fed ‘to the wolves’, should their operation be compromised by journalists or events. That’s what ‘Triskelion’ was all about. The Councillor, Peterson and Weedsley. Of course, I’m not sure they knew about the body in his cellar. If they did, they may have been instrumental in steering him away from further acts of that kind. We’ll probably never know.
He sipped his drink. “I think they knew about his fragile mental state though and I think they would have contributed towards it, probably with the idea that should they launch him into the media spotlight he’d kill himself rather than face the ignominy.”
He took a mouthful of beer. “Want any peanuts?”
“Not for me, Boss.”
Thurstan got up and walked to the bar, returning with a packet of dry roasted.
“Well, what about Hersh, then?”
Thurstan smiled. “I think Mr Hersh was targeted by the wealthy industrialist whose reputation he was about to ‘sully’. Maybe it was a member of his family but it was probably more about money than reputation.” He munched a few nuts. “You can’t win them all, Derek. Peterson’s out of our hands now, national security and all that. Hersh? Well, we’ve got a suspect we can’t find, a body we can’t find and a witness who doesn’t want to go on record. Looks like a non-event. Perhaps that’s how it should stay.
“The cleaning lady in the park? If the opportunity arises, maybe we should overlook the little mark on her chest? I suspect, apart from that, we probably won’t find significant traces of whatever her killer, our missing body, injected her with. I think the ‘heart attack’ in her car scenario would be the line the family would prefer, rather than the ‘lesbian affair and murdered by her lover’ we’d have to present. Who wins with that?”
He took a mouthful of beer and they sat silently eyeing their pints as Thurstan munched another handful of peanuts.
“So, where do you think he went?”
“Who, Derek?”
“Nickson. Soapy said he never came back out of the woods, so where did he go?”
“Fuck knows.” He gave him a tired smile. “Wherever he is, I hope it’s a long, long way from here.” He drained his glass. “Another? I’m getting the train tonight.”
Degsy finished his drink. “Yeah, go ‘head, Boss. I think I’ll do the same.”