Spook Street (Slough House, #4)

by Mick Herron

JK Coe is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, the whole package then refashioned in the shape of a surly, uncommunicative twat.

“Says he’s a one-woman man now.” “He probably meant cumulatively.”

There were omens, and then there were your basic illustrations.

Roderick Ho was sandwiched between monitors, a pair angled inwards so his face was washed in their glow. Some people—cowards—thought it was dangerous, getting too close to your screens. But they were the kind getting left behind by history, unless they were being abandoned by the future: Ho didn’t care which, those fools were fucked either way.

Nothing more dangerous than a believer.” Because believers were always on a quest, for one Holy Grail or another. And quests were fuelled by the blood of anyone who happened to get in the way.

“See, the thing is, shut the fuck up. Let me explain why. Moira Tregorian—remember her? She’s the superannuated dinnerlady you sent over here, day one of your reign—she spent a lot of time with old man Cartwright yesterday, and gave me what I assure you was a very thorough debriefing. I’ve got pissed in less time than it takes her to finish a sentence. Anyway, one of the details she shared was his recitation of the names of the knights of the round table, which he launched himself upon on account of having lost his marbles, and this got her worrying about where she’d heard the name Galahad lately.” Lamb leaned back. “Ever heard Moira Tregorian trying to remember where she first heard something? It’s like, you can fuck off and read Lord of the Rings, and when you come back she’s still talking. Anyway. Long and short of it is, she still can’t remember. But I’ve got a fair idea. Want me to go on?”

“And what about Coe?” Lamb said, “Yeah, Coe, you know, I think he might work out.” “He shot an unarmed man, Jackson! Who was tied to a radiator!” “Okay, so whoever coloured him in went over the lines. But he was doing a job. You think I was going to watch that French punk taken away in a Black Maria? When I’ve got a joe plastered over a wall downstairs?” “So you were letting him do your dirty work? That doesn’t sound like you.” “A good boss provides opportunities for personal growth and development. I think we were all winners, on the day.” “Lamb, this isn’t a laughing matter. Coe needs arresting or he needs help. One or the other.” “I don’t care. I’m losing staff at a rate of knots here.” She said, “You once told me it didn’t matter about staff leaving. That there’d always be other fuck-ups to take their place.” “I like it when you talk dirty. Are you going to drink that?” “Isn’t that why you gave it to me?” “Force of habit.” Catherine said, “Yes, I’m aware of how habits work, thank you.”