Free Framed by Lynda La Plante Page B

"Somebody called McKinnes. Said for you to get over to the station."
Larry shot to his feet.
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"No." Susan picked up the credit-card bill and glared at
it. "He just said for you to take an overnight bag."

f

After ten minutes waiting at St. John's Row station to see DCI McKinnes, Larry was suddenly being beckoned to follow him along a corridor. McKinnes issued a fragmented, unclear explanation as they walked.
"It all depends, you see, if the magistrate reckons we've got enough to warrant making a deal." He paused to
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throw open a door and address the officers on the other side. "I'll be at Bow Street. Tell Frank to meet me at the car, out back."
Larry, baffled but entirely eager, caught up as McKinnes moved off again. They went down a narrow stone staircase, meeting DI Falcon and DC Summers coming up. They pressed themselves against the wall to let McKinnes and Larry pass. Larry did a swift up-and-down with his eyebrows, indicating he had no idea what was going on.
"Lucky sod's on it," Falcon muttered to Summers. "What did I say, eh?"
"I'll tell you, Larry," McKinnes said as they reached the foot of the stairs. "Okay if I call you Larry?"
Larry nodded, feeling a fluttery sensation in his stomach. The abrupt reversal of rejection had done something to his digestive system.
"Well, what we've got to date, Larry, is making our hair stand on end. You with me?"
Larry nodded again, adjusting his grip on the overnight bag. He thought quickly about his views on the case, feeling some input was expected.
"You come up with anything on the body that was buried as Myers?" he said.
"Hang on, son. One thing at a time, eh? We're still negotiating for him to turn Royal. That doesn't mean we got the go-ahead, not like in the old days. It'll be up to the magistrate."
They reached the exit to the parking lot. McKinnes pushed open the door and strode across the yard to a black security wagon. Larry could see Von Joel's face at one of the ventilated windows. McKinnes checked that the driver was all set, then marched to a Granada parked in front of the wagon. He waved for Larry to follow him. He opened the back door, looked around him and decided to light a cigarette.
"A lot of blokes in the frame," he said reflectively, "would like to cut Eddie Myers's balls off, never mind slitting his throat." He nodded at the back seat. "Get in. We've got a sealed court." DI Shrapnel appeared. "You met Frank," McKinnes said offhandedly to Larry. He turned to Shrapnel. "Let's go."
Shrapnel had ignored Larry. He walked around to the driver's seat and got in, starting the engine as McKinnes eased into the front seat. Larry noticed a second patrol car lined up at the rear. Without any apparent signal the convoy suddenly moved off, fast, the unmarked Granada in front, patrol car at the rear, and the holding wagon sandwiched between them, all sirens blasting.
As they rounded the corner onto the main road McKinnes turned to Larry.
"Sergeant, about the floater in Italy ... we only got the frigging ashes, his wife had him—or whoever the poor bastard was—cremated, so it'll be circumstantial evidence. We need more."
"If he didn't bump the guy off," Larry offered, "he'll sure as hell know who did."
"That doesn't concern us right now, son. Believe me, I want Eddie Myers stitched up."
Larry thought this might be a good time to ask the question uppermost in his mind.
"Why have you brought me in?"
Shrapnel shot McKinnes a bored look.
"I want him kept sweet," McKinnes said. "And I want him to keep spewing up what he's got. He asked for you personally, Larry boy."
"What does that mean?" Larry asked, baffled.
"He wants you to sit and hold his hand," Shrapnel grunted, exchanging looks with McKinnes again.
The profound truth dawned sharply on Larry. He was on the case. Jesus. He was really on it! He sat back in his seat, feeling a smile spread.
In the front Shrapnel began to laugh. McKinnes controlled himself briefly, then he grinned, and after a