Hardin nodded, his brow furrowed. ‘I know that. I’ve done my homework.’ He appreciated her concern and smiled, briefly.
‘Could be a baptism of fire, Don!’
‘I can handle baptisms, BB.’
‘Dog collar?’
‘Yes, obviously.’
‘Robes?’
‘I should think so. Some of them.’
‘It would certainly get you noticed.’
‘That’s the point, BB. I need to stand for something. And be seen to be standing for something.’
Bambawani raised her eyebrows, curious. ‘What else is going on here, Don?’ She smiled.
‘How do you mean?’ he said.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I think your new daughter has, in her very few weeks on this earth, turned your head.’ Bambawani’s smile got bigger. ‘I’m not surprised of course. It’s amazing what we women can do.’
Hardin laughed ruefully. ‘Amen to all of that,’ he said.
‘The bishop will find out of course,’ she said.
Hardin nodded. ‘Almost certainly. Well, so be it.’
She ate a mouthful of the cake and smiled again as she swallowed. ‘Respect to you then, Don. Respect. And I thought you had a gig with the bishop on Thursday. That’s why you’d said you’d be elsewhere.’
‘I do,’ said Hardin. ‘Though assisting at a mass for peace is hardly a “gig”.’
Bambawani gave a ‘whatever’ shrug. ‘You’re all dressed up,’ she said. ‘Waving your arms. Performing the magic. Sounds like a gig to me.’
She offered him her last piece of cake. He took it. She raised her cup to him.
‘Well, here’s to you, Reverend,’ she said. ‘And when you’re done radicalizing the students, I have to call my missing student’s family. Then the police. If we haven’t heard anything by then.’
‘All the chaplains are praying for him now. I know you think that’s of no consequence but there you are. It’s what we do.’ He folded his arms, stared at the table.
‘You seem troubled,’ said Bambawani.
Hardin raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe. You know me too well.’
‘You’re not exactly hiding it,’ she said.
Hardin managed half a smile. ‘Maybe,’ he said again. He sighed. ‘Do you know what the number one reason for dropping into the Chaplaincy is?’
‘You’ve told me before, Don. Free food, isn’t it?’
He smiled fully now. Nodded once more. ‘We do interfaith work, we do pastoral work. We try to be relevant. But it’s actually only pizza that works every time.’
‘Why is that troubling you? I’d be the same.’ Bambawani offered reassuringly. ‘Free pizza delivers a crowd. A life lesson, right there.’
Hardin shook his head slowly. ‘Because I think we’ve failed, BB. The kid with the Indian communist poster is clearly in trouble but he still didn’t come to us. We have all faiths looked after, but it wasn’t enough. He went elsewhere. I’m proud of the work we do. We’ve built up good faith communities, we cooperate on mental health initiatives, food banks. The counselling is first rate. But if we don’t add pepperoni, no one cares.’
‘Well we both failed then,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come to me either.’ She chased some crumbs around the plastic plate. ‘Plan of action?’
‘I’ll carry on praying for him,’ said Hardin. ‘You want me to help in any way?’
‘No,’ said Bambawani. ‘You pray. Then, if the Almighty stays quiet, we call the family after the protest.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Hardin.
41
8.20 p.m.
FAMIE, SOPHIE AND Sam were holed up in Famie’s flat. Tommi had joined them, bringing pizzas, the boxes strewn across the floor. The lounge and kitchen windows were all open, each trying to catch a non-existent breeze. Phones and laptops were plugged in and charging. Famie’s was displaying a map with Boxer Street, Coventry at its centre and playing a Mozart piano concerto through its speakers. Sophie was on the sofa, Tommi and Sam were sitting on the floor. Famie was in the kitchen filling a jug with ice. A sheet of reusable whiteboard had been stuck to the wall, the names of the seven dead and their partners’ contact numbers written on it in black marker. Another sheet had the Facebook photo of Hari Roy stuck to it. The rest of it was blank.
‘We must be the only people in the whole of London working inside,’ said Tommi, hanging up on a call.
‘You wanna do this in the park?’ said Sam.
‘Not really,’ Tommi conceded. ‘That was Anita’s husband. Didn’t really welcome the call, to be honest.’
‘I can imagine. What did you tell him?’
‘That it was likely that the police would be contacting him. That Seth’s personal life had become an issue in their investigation. That he had had relationships with a number of staff at IPS and that they would be asking if Anita was one of them.’
‘And?’
‘He thanked me for the warning and that was that. Can’t blame him.’
Famie walked in with the ice. ‘I got that from Sarah’s husband,’ she said. ‘Didn’t push it. And anyway, if there weren’t photos of them on his laptop, they’re probably in the clear. Unless there’s another laptop somewhere.’
‘Wouldn’t put it past him,’ said Sophie. ‘BPW.’
‘BPW indeed,’ said Famie. Then to Sam, ‘Don’t ask.’
He shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
Tommi was standing now, staring at the photo of Hari. ‘And he fits this how?’
Famie stood alongside him. ‘Whatever the investigating team were looking at, EIJ, ISIS, whatever, he’s trapped in it somehow and he’s trying to get out. And if his instinct is to tell a journalist at IPS, he must have had some contact with us in the past. Some family connections maybe.’
‘And does he?’
Sophie put her hand up. ‘Can’t find any yet, still looking.’
‘So, best guess,’ said Famie. ‘He’s a guy on the inside, recruited for a cause he thought he believed in. Now he’s changed his mind. Maybe when the seven were killed. He needs an out.’
Sam clambered to his feet, iPad in hand. ‘Found his family. Mother, grandmother and sisters live in Leamington.’ He wrote the address on the whiteboard. ‘If Hari’s in danger, so are they.’
‘Do we let the police go there first?’ said Sam. ‘It’s the same as the hospital. Can we make enquiries without putting them at risk?’
‘We might have to,’ said Famie.
‘Discreetly and unofficially,’ said Sam.
‘It’s all I have,’ she said.
Tommi was updating the whiteboard, writing ‘husband spoken to’ alongside Anita’s name. ‘We’re stuck, aren’t we?’ he said. ‘Seven dead, a number of killers, one dissident. Or whatever we’re calling Hari. We need to loosen this up a bit.’
‘What aren’t we asking?’ called Sophie. ‘Be wild.’