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This time there was no beep: Pat had slammed her hand onto a button on the phone, silencing voicemail. Littlejohn’s silhouette had appeared outside the frosted glass in the door onto the stairwell. The door opened.
‘Morning,’ said Strike.
‘Morning,’ said Littlejohn, looking down at Strike through his heavy-lidded eyes. ‘Need to file my report on Toy Boy.’
Strike watched in silence as Littlejohn retrieved the file from the drawer and added a couple of sheets of notes. Pat had begun typing again, e-cigarette waggling between her teeth, ignoring both men. When Littlejohn had replaced the file in the drawer, he turned to Strike and for the first time in their acquaintance, initiated conversation.
‘Think you should know, I might be being followed.’
‘Followed?’ repeated Strike, eyebrows raised.
‘Yeah. Pretty sure I’ve seen the same guy watching me, three days apart.’
‘Any reason someone would be watching you?’
‘No,’ said Littlejohn, with a trace of defiance.
‘Nothing you’re not telling me?’
‘Like what?’ said Littlejohn.
‘Wife not planning a divorce? Creditors trying to track you down?’
‘’Course not,’ said Littlejohn. ‘I thought it might be something to do with this place.’
‘What, the agency?’ said Strike.
‘Yeah… made a few enemies along the way, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, after a sip of tea, ‘but they’re nearly all in jail.’
‘You tangled with terrorists last year,’ said Littlejohn.
‘What did the person watching you look like?’ asked Strike.
‘Skinny black guy.’
‘Probably not a neo-Nazi, then,’ said Strike, making a mental note to tell Shanker the skinny black guy would need replacing.
‘Could be press,’ said Littlejohn. ‘That Private Eye story about you.’
‘Think they’ve mistaken you for me, do you?’
‘No,’ said Littlejohn.
‘Well, if you want to hand in your notice because you’re scared of—’
‘I’m not scared,’ said Littlejohn curtly. ‘Just thought you ought to know.’
When Strike didn’t respond, Littlejohn said,
‘Maybe I made a mistake.’
‘No, it’s good you’re keeping your eyes open,’ said Strike insincerely. ‘Let me know if you see the guy again.’
‘Will do.’
Littlejohn left the office without another word, casting a sideways look at Pat as he passed her. The office manager continued to stare determinedly at her monitor. Once Littlejohn’s footsteps had died away, Strike pointed at the phone.
