The minister emerged a minute after they got back to the door. Walking fast, his gaze fixed on the floor. White-faced, either from shock or anger. Steadfastly refusing eye contact. He climbed into the car and pulled the door shut, not waiting for Mickey to close it. Cavendish shot Mickey a look as he walked around the vehicle’s rear. Back at the Hall the minister was out of the car the moment it was stationary. Not waiting for Mickey to get out, much less open his door for him. He vanished into the house, leaving Cavendish and the Prot officers staring after him.

‘You know I can’t say a word about what I heard. And I’d suggest that you forget you saw his reaction to it.’

Mickey nodded at Cavendish, a faint smile on his face.

‘Prot officers aren’t big on that sort of detail in any case. The way I see it, the less I know, the better. That way I can’t ever find myself in a closed misconduct hearing for letting something slip. Although I’ll take one bet with you.’

The major raised an eyebrow, reluctantly drawn in by Mickey’s grin.

‘Go on then. I can’t wait to see what you think might be funny about this.’

‘You mentioned a meeting without biscuits.’ He paused for a moment. Every copper knowing the secret of comedy to be timing. ‘The speed you were in and out, I’d give decent odds there wasn’t any coffee either.’

14

Joe hadn’t ever been in the press before. Not properly, anyway. Sure, there was the occasional rumble about London crime families. Mainly focusing on his grandfather’s wilder exploits in the Fifties and Sixties. The stuff of legend, alongside the Krays and Mad Frankie. But Joe had a considerable legitimate business. Built by his old man, the second Giuseppe. His name usually abbreviated to Big G by his men, on account of him having been taller than his old man. Castagna Property having become a serious player in the Seventies and Eighties. In the days before the authorities got properly wise to money laundering. Property, building, development. Originally built on dirty money, but now as clean as driven snow. Managed by professionals, employing thousands of people. All of which made Joe a legitimate businessman.

The dirty money his clandestine empire spewed out didn’t come back onshore, once it was clean. It went to buy more product. More women. More drugs. With no traceability back to Joe. That, and property in far-off places. Lots of it. One of these days Joe was going to abandon the UK, Eddie reckoned. Go and live in the sun like the properly rich man he was. While he was young enough to enjoy it. A day, Eddie reckoned, which would be a profound relief for more than a few people. Including, it had to be said, Eddie himself.