But no Land Rover, and no Mercedes.
I walked back to the car, slid in, sat with my legs out in the drizzle and dug out my mobile phone.
‘Not there?’
‘No. All clear. Which means Calum made it and is on his way to Liverpool with Charlie and Adele.’
‘And is almost certainly being followed.’
I nodded, clicked the speed dial, listening to Calum’s phone ringing far away in the snug interior of the Mercedes.
‘Yes, Charlie?’
‘Ha,’ I said, ‘very funny, but that subterfuge worked well and is now over. However, if there’s a green Land Rover behind you, with a damaged front bumper, you could be in trouble.’
‘It’s been there for a while. Two men. One blonde, suntanned; one black and hairless.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Through Queensferry, approaching the M56, which is bathed in brilliant sunshine.’
‘Clontarf and his pal know you’re heading for Liverpool.’
‘Of course. But not the exact location, and I will endeavour to make sure it stays that way.’
‘Well, you’re in a Merc, they’re in a 4 x 4, so on the motorway you should lose them.’
‘Aye, in normal circumstances, but traffic’s heavy and slow. Looks like roadworks ahead, or an accident, so there’s very little chance of zipping down the fast lane.’
‘So how will you work it?’
‘If they’re still with me when I hit the metropolis I’ll simply cruise around to the Admiral Street cop shop and introduce them to Mike Haggard and Willie Vine.’
I chuckled. ‘Tell Charlie his hired car is looking the worse for wear. We’ll bring it in tonight, and see you all at Eleanor’s.’
I clicked off, told Sian the situation.
She grinned. ‘Trust Calum to think of that way out. Knowing him, he’ll get Haggard to take the Wises round to Eleanor’s in a police car.’ She clicked open her door and got out. ‘Anyway, I’m going in, I’ll change out of these ridiculous clothes and make a hot drink.’
‘Be with you in a minute, I’ve one more call to make.’
‘Yes,’ Sian said, poking her head back in and giving me a knowing look, ‘and when you do come in I’ll tell you who you phoned, and what you said – word for word.’
The door clunked shut. She walked away, blonde hair shining, looked back and pulled a face. I waved, dialled, again listened to a distant phone ringing.
‘Eleanor,’ I said, ‘how’s the leg?’
‘All white and crinkly.’
‘And that’s the plaster?’
She chuckled. ‘Yeah, but inside it the leg’ll be headin’ that way.’
‘And heading that way is what Charlie and Adele Wise are now doing. Gibraltar’s probably all abuzz about the mystery of their whereabouts, so you’ll be pleased to know they’ll very soon be in your Liverpool flat.’
‘Bloody hell. Are you off your rocker?’
‘Not at all. And talking of rockers, where are you now?’
‘At home. Reg was getting on my nerves. For some reason he’s all uptight. And, as it happens, I haven’t got a rocker.’
‘And even if you had you couldn’t use it, because you’re moving out.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, you’re going back to Reg.’
‘Oh, and why am I doing that?’
‘Because we need somewhere to stay.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Well, there’s me, my bride-to-be—’
‘Bloody hell, you always were a polished bugger. Go on then, you’ve finally asked her to marry you, and you’re saying she’s said yes?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘And what exactly does that mean?’
‘We were in a speeding car, rain sweeping across the Welsh hills, and Sian had just woken up. We both wanted clear heads in a romantic setting, a crackling log fire in the inglenook, warm lights, soft music—’
‘And a couple of stiff drinks for courage – but you said clear heads, so that wouldn’t do, would it?’
‘No, but preferable to what we did get.’
‘And what was that.’
‘To put it bluntly, what we got was a stiff.’
‘Oh, God, Jack, that’s bloody awful. Are you talking about that young girl you met in the Eliott? It was in the papers, but I was too sickened to look at the details.’
‘Yes, and there’s really no other way I can put this. She’d been stuffed into the boot of a car, she was dead and cold and … well, you can see why talk of wedding bells was put on hold.’
‘Sadly, yes, I can, but I still think you could’ve phrased that more delicately for your fragile mother.’ Eleanor sighed. ‘But if you’re coming back to Gib, why my house? If you’re after a really romantic location, what’s wrong with the boat?’
‘It’s up for sale – ownership passed to me when everybody else faded away, and I placed it with an agent before we left Gib. Didn’t I tell you? A big chunk of the proceeds will go to needy causes. I know of an ex-pat Liverpool pensioner with silver hair who’s living in penury in a run-down shack in one of Britain’s overseas territories—’
‘God, you do go on.’
‘Mm. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it, all that lolly? Anyway, another reason for us staying in your bungalow is that a certain Bernie Rickman’s gin palace is moored close to Tim’s canoe, and he’s almost certainly involved in another murder we’re … well, investigating.’
‘No need to be shy; Reg has been telling me all about Rickman and this feller Creeny. So the other murder you’re … well, investigatin’, wouldn’t by any chance be linked to a recent jewel robbery?’
‘Mm, well, yes it could be.’
‘God, listen to Mr Uncertainty. Okay and as there’s likely to be blokes comin’ after you with guns and those brass things they put on their fists I suppose that bearded, brainless Scotsman will be coming with you to hold your hand?’
‘He thinks the world of you, too, Eleanor,’ I said, with a smile in my voice. ‘And I’m so glad I phoned. I didn’t really have a plan – still haven’t – but bringing Calum into the mix is a terrific idea. What the three of us did to Ronnie Skaill and family is still in the news, and our being back on the Rock will send shivers down several crooked spines that are already tinged with yellow.’
Part Two
Fourteen
‘I have been talking frequently on the telephone to DI Haggard in Liverpool,’ Luis Romero said. ‘He in turn talks to Alun Morgan in North Wales, and from those conversations I have learned a great deal. For example, I was under the impression that you are still a suspect.’
‘Not really,’ Sian said. ‘That was a crook concocting a crafty plot aimed at achieving something or other we haven’t yet worked out. I told DI Morgan where I’d be for the next week or so, and he was happy to let me go.’
‘That’s good,’ Romero said, ‘but I thought also that both of you would be needed as witnesses at the inquest into the death of Prudence Wise?’
‘Her parents are there,’ I said, ‘and as Sian just pointed out, if they need us they know where we are.’
Romero smiled. ‘A rather cavalier attitude, Jack, wouldn’t you say?’
I grinned. ‘That’s what I am, a cavalier.’
‘Buccaneer,’ Sian said.
‘Buccaneer my arse. He’s nothing but a damn mountebank, and a Sassenach to boot,’ Romero said, then opened wide, innocent eyes as I looked at him in amazement. ‘I have not slipped a cog,’ he said, ‘I am merely paraphrasing your wonderful friend Calum Wick. Incidentally, I thought he was coming with you?’
‘That was the plan suggested by Eleanor,’ I said, ‘but the canny Scot decided it was unsafe to leave Charlie and Adele Wise alone in the big city.’
‘Their city, surely?’
‘Yes, but with non-indigenous villains lurking. It’s easy to predict what home-grown crooks will get up to; not so easy when said crooks come from cultures on opposite
sides of the globe.’
‘Can a globe have sides?’ Romero said.
‘Well, there’s the inside, and—’
‘The outside, yes, of course.’ Romero nodded, but his mind had moved on. ‘You do realize that those of my investigations which might concern you here in Gibraltar are at an end. Charlie Wise and his wife are no longer missing. The boat they abandoned in the straits caused no damage to any third party, and has been recovered by its owner. Charlie and his wife could be accused of … I don’t know, reckless driving?’ – he looked amused – ‘or of actions likely to endanger international shipping, but I’m quite sure that won’t happen.’
‘There’s still the body at the airport,’ I said. ‘And surely you’re working closely with the Merseyside Police in their efforts to locate those stolen jewels?’
‘And Karl Creeny.’ Romero nodded. His eyes had turned cold, and the atmosphere of relaxed good humour that had prevailed since the three of us got together faded away like early morning mist under a searing sun.
An apt simile, I thought. Through the wide windows of Eleanor’s double-fronted bungalow high up the Rock’s slopes I could see dazzling sunlight sparkling on the waters of Gibraltar Bay, the white houses and sand-coloured business premises in distant Algeciras softened by the heat haze. It was 10.30 in the morning and too soon for the sun to reach the Rock’s west-facing slopes, but the temperature in the room was still comfortably warm compared to what might be expected at this time of year in my farmhouse in North Wales.
Until Romero’s last words. Mention of Creeny’s name had reminded me of why we had returned to Gibraltar, and suddenly there was an unwelcome chill in the air.
‘I don’t know about Creeny,’ I said, ‘but when we left Gibraltar your words were ringing in my ears. You told me in North Wales I’d be well out of it, but it didn’t turn out that way. Prudence Wise’s body was dumped in my front yard. Because a couple of blokes called Clontarf and Ebenholz, and quite possibly Rickman’s wife, Françoise, were involved, we know Bernie Rickman must have ordered that girl’s death. Charlie and Adele want us to bring the killer to justice. We’d do it anyway – that’s really why we’re here.’
Romero frowned. ‘Do it anyway? But why? Because you have got into the habit? Because you cannot leave well alone?’
‘Is that what you call it, leaving well alone? Far from it, I’d say, because not a damn thing’s been settled to anyone’s satisfaction. Besides, we liked that young woman, and we don’t like being used.’
Astute as ever, Romero smiled crookedly.
‘But there is more, of course.’
‘Oh yes. The Wises also want us to clear their names: in your office we all reached the conclusion that they had stolen those jewels, but we were wrong.’
‘You cannot be sure of that.’
‘No.’ I nodded acceptance. ‘I understand that, and so we’re back to keeping on keeping on: we all know that the only way of getting to the truth is by finding the real thief.’
‘Who, I am quite sure, is enmeshed in a tangled web of intrigue and murder, which will be difficult and dangerous for you to unravel,’ Romero said.
‘There you are then,’ Sian said, ‘a perfect case for the deadly duo.’
She was curled up in a chair, looking tired. Three-hour jet lag? I was standing near one of the windows watching Romero. He wore his usual dark suit, but the jacket was open, his shirt startlingly white in the reflected sunlight. He was sitting opposite Sian, legs crossed, one glossy black shoe jiggling up and down.
‘I have heard your story of what happened in North Wales,’ the DI said, ‘and of course your friends in the Merseyside Police are anxious to interview those two men, Ebenholz, and Clontarf. But – forgive me – up to now it is just an unsubstantiated story. The murder is fact, of course, but if my information is correct you actually came face to face only with Clontarf. He threatened you and Sian, you survived and saw no more of him. As for Ebenholz and Françoise Rickman, you believe they were in North Wales, but really that is pure speculation.’
‘Surely provable,’ I said, ‘by a quick glance at lists of passengers flying out of Gibraltar?’
Romero shrugged. ‘In the woman’s case, possibly, though not absolutely certain. Her husband dislikes working within the law, so perhaps she slipped under the radar.’ He shrugged, smiled a little at the term he had used. ‘As for the other two, do you really think that those ridiculous names are genuine?’
‘Clontarf is a Sydney suburb, so I’d guess he adopted that. Ebenholz? No, I think both are names are assumed. To know the real ones we’d need to look at their passports.’
‘Which is impossible. Those men have vanished. Also, you will forget about chasing jewel thieves and attempting to solve murders. I do not want you under my feet, or treading on my toes.’
‘We will act circumspectly,’ I said. ‘Do nothing drastic, leave justice unperverted, your toes unbruised—’
‘Meaning he’ll go charging in at the deep end, as per usual,’ Sian said happily. ‘And if I’m right, that means strolling down to the marina for a quiet chat with Bernie Rickman.’
I shot her a look. ‘Is that a plan?’
She smiled. ‘I thought we might ask him bluntly if, actually, it was he who stole those diamonds.’
‘Damn, now there’s an original idea,’ I said. ‘Have you been working on that theory?’
‘Behind these limpid blue eyes,’ Sian said, ‘a razor-sharp mind never rests.’
Romero eased out of his chair and stood buttoning his jacket.
‘You are both crazy, intent on acting with great foolishness,’ he said, ‘but alas, despite my strong words I can do little to stop you. In your absence Rickman was questioned about Creeny’s presence on his boat. He was apologetic, expressed ignorance, and as the bird has flown we had no option but to walk away, leave him alone. As for the other, the young woman’s murder and what followed, well, we have only your word for the presence in North Wales of those three people. There is no way we can connect Rickman to that killing unless further proof comes from your Alun Morgan, or from the Merseyside Police.’
‘Or unless we get that proof for them,’ Sian said.
On his way to the door Romero cast her a dark look that was filled with warning, and not a little foreboding.
‘As I recall, dear lady, in your last encounter with the underworld you were badly bruised and that canny Scot finished up hanging from a fragile tree, by his fingertips, over a yawning drop. Luck held out then – for all three of you. If I were in your shoes, I would not risk pushing it too far.’
Fifteen
The flat overlooked the River Mersey and from close range, if you squinted, gave a view of smudged Welsh hills. Penthouse, actually, Françoise Rickman thought, and she surveyed the interior with the critical eye of a woman accustomed to living a life of leisure on a luxury yacht, which for most of every year was bathed in hot sunshine beating down out of the clear blue skies over Gibraltar. And when life afloat with Bernie became … tiresome … then their nearby apartment was a welcome change, and was just as luxurious as Sea Wind. Top floor – so, penthouse – of a tall block that was dazzling white in the sun, and overlooked the flat blue waters of Marina Quay, the sports boats with their deep sea rods swaying and the huge, floating gin palaces. Which, when she was gazing out of those panoramic top-floor windows, Françoise decided, made her the highest of the low – and her chuckle was a deep gurgle of merriment.
As far as location and climate went, this Liverpool penthouse fell short of the required standard, but it was certainly a classy joint. And at that her chuckle became rich and smoky. She remembered asking Jack Scott if he thought she looked like a femme fatale, a gun moll, and here she was thinking like one. A classy joint indeed – but why not? If the Yanks coined a fittingly descriptive phrase, then use it, and this place with its flat smoked-glass occasional tables, white Astrakhan rugs, original watercolours and a cocktail cabinet to die for – again the dirty chu
ckle – was certainly of a class. And hers for a couple of weeks if she wanted it – free, gratis, courtesy of a mysterious friend of a photographer called Penny Lane. Ryan Sharkey. Gambler, dilettante, whatever – but a man who certainly knew how to choose property.
And could afford the very best. In fact, the only jarring note with the place, Françoise decided, was the company she was keeping.
Clontarf, the Australian, had his dirty boots – caked in Welsh mud – up on one of the smoked-glass tables. Blonde hair as unruly as a wet haystack, he was drinking from a stubby bottle of French lager and watching Françoise with amused blue eyes. Across from him, Ebenholz was a muscular shape, his glistening head wreathed in the blue smoke from a thin cigar. A glass of whisky rested on the arm of his chair. He was as motionless as a stone carving.
‘So what was the point of that car business?’ Clontarf drawled. ‘Registering that blue Vauxhall in the Sheila’s name, what was all that about? Anything? Nothing?’
‘Nuisance value,’ Françoise said. ‘Wouldn’t stick, obviously, but putting a body in the boot of what appeared to be her car showed what we were capable of. It was turning the screw, because at the time we were pressuring Scott and Laidlaw. They were useful then, now they’re not.’ She shrugged.
‘Because of one phone call?’
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