Trust No One. Alex Walters

Salter said. ‘Pretty thoroughly. Best we could before the plods took over, anyway. If there’s anything there, it’s well hidden.’

      ‘Or it was found by whoever killed him.’

      ‘Or it was found by whoever killed him,’ Salter agreed. ‘Which brings us back to the same question.’

      ‘To which we don’t have an answer,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say.’ She could feel her emotions bubbling away and was having to concentrate on keeping control.

      ‘You knew him better than most, sis.’

      Salter’s tone was studiedly neutral. She found herself losing patience with the game-playing.

      ‘I’m not your fucking sister, Hugh,’ she said quietly. ‘Sometimes I’m not even sure we’re the same fucking species.’ She leaned back in her chair, regarding him coolly. ‘What about Morton’s handler? He’d be closer to Morton than anyone. He must have some insights. What does he say?’

      She realized almost immediately that she’d struck a chord. Salter exchanged a glance with Welsby, a shadow of shared unease in their eyes. She watched Salter.

      ‘Who was his handler?’

      Salter shrugged. ‘Me. I took it on.’

      That was interesting. Not exactly against the rules. Salter had operated as an intelligence handler before he’d moved into undercover work, so he had the skills and experience to do the job. But, given the risk of exposure, it was unusual for an intelligence source to be handled from within the under-cover team.

      ‘Why you, Hugh?’

      Salter glanced again at Welsby and shrugged. ‘Sensitive one this, sis. We thought it best to keep it in the family. Keith’s idea.’

      Welsby was rocking back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he had spotted something noteworthy up there.

      ‘You think there’s a mole, then, Keith? Is that it?’

      His eyes switched back to her, his expression suggesting that he had momentarily forgotten where he was. ‘Some kind of zit, anyway,’ he said.

      ‘You think so, too, Hugh?’

      ‘We’ve had stuff leak out. Morton was just the latest and the worst.’ He paused. ‘What we don’t know is what else might have leaked. What else might be out there.’

      ‘Jesus, Hugh. I’m out there.’ The thought was frightening. There were always risks. But you had to start from the assumption that the foundations were secure. Now, suddenly, she didn’t know who to trust.

      Salter shook his head. ‘You’re as safe as you can be, sis. It’s only a handful of people that know about your role. You know how it works.’

      ‘I know how it’s supposed to work. And I know how it was supposed to work with Morton. Doesn’t fill me with confidence.’

      ‘We can bring you back in,’ Welsby said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

      She looked at him. He was still swinging back on his chair, the metal legs looking as if they might buckle under his weight. She’d always liked Keith. She respected him. But she knew the way his mind worked.

      ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘If it looks as if I’ve been compromised – if you get a fucking inkling that I might be in trouble – then I want to know. But there’s no point jumping the gun.’

      ‘Good girl,’ Welsby said.

      He sounded sincere, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to hug him or punch him.

      ‘If there is a mole,’ she said, ‘any clues as to who it might be?’

      Salter shook his head. ‘Not enough to go on. Morton’s the only biggie. The rest could be accidental.’

      ‘We shouldn’t have accidents,’ she said. ‘Not in this game.’

      Salter smiled wearily, as if he too had once shared this utopian view of life. ‘Yes, well, sis. We’re all human, aren’t we?’ He paused, his smile broadening as if they were sharing some private joke. ‘Even you.’