Death Warmed Up

by John Paxton Sheriff

Françoise jumped, startled as always on those rare occasions when Ebenholz opened his mouth to speak. His voice was deep – Arthur Prysock always sprang to mind, a jazz singer whose voice seemed to come from the soles of his boots.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, licking spilled gin from the back of her hand with the tip of her tongue.

  ‘Which you’re still keeping close to your … chest?’ Ebenholz said, watching her.

  Clontarf chuckled.

  ‘Fuck off, both of you,’ Françoise said, and smiled sweetly.

  ‘I wasn’t being suggestive,’ Ebenholz said.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you were, merely that you’re both working for me, not the other way around.’

  ‘Can’t work at all, darl, if you insist on keeping secrets,’ Clontarf said.

  ‘Private Eye calls Rupert Murdoch The Dirty Digger,’ Françoise said reflectively. ‘A countryman of yours, isn’t he?’

  ‘What, and you’re saying that’s a fitting name for me, that we’re all the same?’

  ‘Under the skin, yes. And that was from Kipling, in case you’re wondering. The Colonel’s Lady and Judy O’Grady, sisters—’

  ‘The skin’ll be from a sheep if you tuck into some of Banjo Paterson’s outpourings,’ Clontarf said, grinning. ‘But before this discussion gets entirely out of hand, how about giving us the good news?’

  ‘Thanks to the phone call, I have an address where you will find an unsuspecting Charlie and Adele Wise,’ Françoise said.

  ‘Good on you.’

  ‘Even better news is I’m getting out of here. Bernie misses me, so I’m going back to Gib. A woman with a passport identifying her as Fanny Roberts will leave Manchester for Malaga. She will hire a taxi to the Spanish border and will cross into Gibraltar as Françoise Rickman, returning refreshed from a few days’ holiday at a friend’s villa in Andalucia.’

  ‘The scarlet fuckin’ pimple,’ Clontarf said, amazed. ‘They seek her here, they seek her there, they seek that Sheila—’

  ‘With you gone,’ Ebenholz said, ‘we do what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, as I found Charlie for you—’

  ‘An anonymous someone in Gib found Charlie,’ Clontarf said. ‘He told Bernie, Bernie phoned you—’

  ‘I found Charlie and his wife,’ Françoise said, glaring, ‘now you take the two of them somewhere where their screams are unlikely to be heard, and you find out where they have hidden those diamonds.’

  ‘Christ, you’re a beauty,’ Clontarf said softly, but the look on his lean, sun-lined face didn’t quite match the words.

  Sixteen

  From time to time – well, actually most of the time – Sian, Calum and I talk a load of nonsense, which keeps us entertained but also serves to hide various weaknesses. Incompetence. Uncertainty. A realization that we’re usually way out of our depth. Or perhaps most of the time the daft chatter is used to disguise a permanent blue funk. It always happens when we’re deeply involved in the investigation of a puzzling murder case, of course, and what it boils down to is that although we may act tough on the occasions when we’re hunting villains, we all understand there’s always someone a lot tougher. That fact has been driven home to people as genuinely hard as Henry Cooper – though Rocky Marciano was forever the exception to the rule.

  I told Sian that I would motor down to the marina on my own. I knew Clontarf and Ebenholz were still miles away, but for safety’s sake (she asked whose? I said hers) I said she should either stay in the bungalow and keep the door locked, or drift on down to Reg’s house on Europa Road and spend a pleasant morning chatting to the elegant lady with the wrinkled leg.

  She refused.

  I insisted.

  The upshot being that we compromised.

  She came with me, but promised she wouldn’t kick anyone in the face. Which, I noted, was specific enough to leave other sensitive targets in bounds.

  I parked the car we’d hired on Marina Quay where parking cars is impossible, and after a swift walk between gleaming white vessels, whose reflections shimmered in glassy blue waters rainbow-streaked with fuel oil, we clip-clopped up the gangway onto Sea Wind.

  I’d phoned ahead. Rickman was expecting us, but not pleased. The sun had reached the marina and he invited us onto a deck over which an awning of light cotton duck billowed gently in a warm breeze. I was at once reminded of Prudence Wise and the photo session that had eventually led to her death, and it was with a feeling of unreality that I followed Sian’s example and sank into pink and lemon dimpled cushions soft and deep enough to fold about my ears.

  Rickman was in shorts and T-shirt and pink flip flops; amber liquid in an expensive glass loose in one hand and gold bracelets clinking on both wrists. He lifted his drink, waggled it with a question in his bloodshot eyes. We both shook our heads.

  ‘You’ll notice I’m on my own today,’ he said, leering at Sian, ‘for the safety of my staff.’

  ‘Those would be you’re hired killers,’ Sian said, and Rickman raised his eyes in mock horror.

  ‘Do me a bloody favour, darling—’

  ‘Prudence Wise died horribly. We know Clontarf and Ebenholz were involved. They’re still in the UK. And your wife was there, too.’

  ‘So they’re all under arrest, is that it? Bin clapped in irons, loaded on the tumbril, on their way to the guillotine?’

  ‘The police are looking for them.’

  ‘Not them, actually. They’re looking for several unidentified somebodies. So if you’ve come all the way down here to waste my time talking a load of rubbish—’

  ‘Actually, we’re here for you to confirm something that has suddenly become blindingly obvious,’ Sian said.

  ‘We worked it out, you see,’ I said. ‘Everything was getting so damn complicated it was clear someone was deliberately creating confusion to hide one very simple fact. Karl Creeny was using you as a middle man, letting you into all sorts of secrets, and you couldn’t believe your luck. You stole those diamonds, didn’t you, Rickman?’

  ‘Oh yeah? Then what am I doin’ having Wise chased halfway across Europe?’

  ‘Covering yourself. Wise knows he didn’t steal them, so he knows somebody else must be guilty. That somebody is you, so you need to silence Charlie and his wife. When that’s done you’ll let Creeny know that, yes, Charlie did have the diamonds, but they slipped through his fingers and have gone missing.’ I stirred in my cushion. ‘Only they’re not, of course. You’ve got them.’

  ‘I wish. Oh, and by the way, I’m waiting on a telephone call from Liverpool. When it comes, you’ll be the first to hear the good news.’

  I felt a sudden chill. ‘Why Liverpool?’

  ‘’Cos you’re talking through your hat. Charlie Wise has the diamonds. Charlie Wise is in Liverpool.’ He sipped his drink, studied me as one would study a spider about to be crushed underfoot. ‘Booker Avenue location. To be exact, a nice flat in an exclusive block up there on the corner of Booker Avenue and Allerton Road. What’s your ma’s name again? Eleanor?’

  ‘How did you get that address?’

  Rickman tapped the side of his nose. ‘Tip-off. Anonymous. Someone heard I was looking for Charlie and was happy to oblige.’

  ‘And this phone call from Liverpool?’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll be Clontarf, one of my “hired killers”, letting me know everything’s under control.’ He glared at Sian, and the shake of his head expressed disbelief. ‘Ruffians I’ll grant you, darling, a couple of rough diamonds would be an appropriate term in the circumstances, but calling them killers is a load of bollocks.’

  ‘As is Charlie Wise having those diamonds,’ Sian said.

  ‘And round and round we go; you say yes, I say no. Which gets us nowhere, and if you remember, it was you two supposed to be finding Charlie and his woman for me.’

  ‘Yes, well as it turned out, they found us. And it was refreshing to meet somebody who was telling the truth.’

  It was a pointless conversation that looked likely to go on indefinitely, but
I was concerned about the situation in Liverpool. I flashed Sian a quick glance. She wriggled her way out of the enveloping cushions, and was taking her mobile phone out of the cloth bag she carried slung from her shoulder as she stood up and walked out into the blazing sun.

  ‘What’s Reg Fitz-Norton done to upset you?’

  Rickman frowned. I’d caught him off balance. He dragged his eyes away from Sian, who by now was talking on her phone, and shook his head absently.

  ‘This and that. Wormed his way in on a deal, worked some financial black magic, walked away leaving others with burnt fingers.’

  ‘So your lovely wife broke Eleanor’s leg?’

  ‘Your ma looked the wrong way, tripped, and fell down some hard steps. Maybe Reg sees it as something more than an accident.’ He shrugged. ‘Can please himself, can’t he, but either way the uncertainty’ll make him think twice.’

  ‘You don’t know Reg. One way or another, he’ll make you pay dear for hurting the woman he loves.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? What’ll he do, hit me with his diplomatic bag?’

  I fought my way out of my seat and looked for Sian. She was outside, hair glinting golden in the brilliant light, her back to the rail as she spoke into the phone.

  Rickman tossed back the remains of his drink with a sharp twist of the wrist. He seemed to have forgotten all about us, and I heard him calling to someone as he walked away from me. There was a reply, muffled, a male voice, but by then I’d lost interest.

  I walked out into the sunshine. I could feel the heat of the decking burning through the soles of my sandals. Overhead the sky was almost white. The Rock’s green slopes and cliff faces towered above the buildings away to my right, its summit an uneven line against the bluer skies to the east. I leaned on the rail and looked west across the water to the Spanish coast, thought of Charlie and Adele and what might have happened to them if Clontarf and Ebenholz had caught them aboard the Sunseeker.

  And now? They’d given their hunters the slip not once, but twice. Was it third time lucky for two men I knew were cold-blooded killers? And if so, who was to blame?

  An anonymous tip-off, Rickman had said. Now, who the hell could that be? Who knew where Calum had been taking Charlie and his wife? As far as I could recall, only Eleanor. But that was here, in Gibraltar, and the phone call to Rickman could have come from anywhere. Perhaps someone in Liverpool had seen Calum’s black Mercedes draw into the car park, had recognized his passengers as they stepped out into the rain and hurried indoors, and reached for his phone. Or her phone, because Françoise Rickman, I reminded myself, was almost certainly still on the loose in England.

  Then I shook my head, because I knew the chances of that happening, of anyone with any connection to Rickman or the murder of Prudence Wise being at that particular address at that precise time were too remote to be considered. No, someone who had it in for Charlie and Adele had learned of our plans, and had informed Rickman. And for the life of me I couldn’t think how anyone could have that knowledge unless they had got it from Eleanor, either through her accidentally letting it slip or—

  Sian nudged my shoulder. She’d moved along the rail and was standing cosily next to me. She leaned her head on my shoulder. I kissed her hair.

  ‘What’s all this?’ I said. ‘You’re acting as if you haven’t a care in the world.’

  ‘I haven’t, but Rickman will go ballistic when he gets the phone call from Clontarf.’

  ‘Let me guess. When Clontarf and his pal arrived at the flat they were quickly surrounded by armed police making a lot of noise?’

  ‘When those two arrived at the flat, if they ever did,’ Sian said, ‘it would have been very quiet. Calum and his charges left Eleanor’s flat this morning, and a change of circumstances means they cannot go back.’

  ‘Which means Calum fears for their safety.’

  ‘Feared, I think, but not any more,’ Sian said. She slipped the phone into her bag, and the warm breeze lifted her golden hair as I followed her towards the steep gangway. ‘It sounded as if they were in a bar, enjoying a liquid lunch. I could hear music, glasses clinking, the buzz of conversation. But the person I was talking to was cool, calm and collected – the old, confident Calum Wick. “Tell Jack to have no fear,” he said. “Everything’s under control and the next move’s already worked out.”’

  ‘Which is?’

  Sian looked back and grinned. ‘He’s allowing you three guesses. There’s twenty quid on it. And that’s where the confidence comes in, because he said that as you haven’t a hope in hell of getting it right, you can pay him when you see him.’

  Seventeen

  ‘It hadn’t occurred to me,’ Calum said, ‘that you had sharp underworld ears doing some listening on your behalf.’

  ‘Some working-class people end up sailing expensive yachts on the Med by honest means,’ Charlie said with a sly grin, ‘others need to cut corners, bend a few rules.’

  ‘And suddenly,’ Calum said, ‘you are sounding remarkably chipper. I wonder why?’

  ‘Life goes on,’ Charlie said, and he leaned across to grasp Adele’s hand and give it a squeeze. ‘What we both want more than anything in this world is to make that bastard Rickman pay for what he’s done. We can’t do that if we’re crying in our beer while he’s a thousand miles away working on his tan.’

  ‘Which suggests you have a plan,’ Wick said. ‘However, leaving that for the moment, let me get this straight. Certain disreputable but trustworthy contacts in Toxteth warned you that a couple of oddballs were doing the rounds of pubs and clubs, asking questions?’

  ‘Right. As in where we could be found, and it was worth a few bob to whoever came up with an address.’

  Wick nodded. ‘But so what? Nobody could answer those questions, because nobody knew where you were.’

  ‘Ah, well… .’

  ‘Charlie, Charlie, what have you done?’ Calum said. With a despairing glance towards the stained ceiling, he caught the attention of the girl in a skimpy clown’s costume who was loitering nearby and signalled for another round of drinks.

  It was a little after midday. They were in Jokers Wild, a club in Catherine Street just about as close as you can get to Paul McCartney’s old school without actually sitting at his desk. The main room was small and low-ceilinged, boasting a semi-circular mahogany bar against a lurid matt-crimson wall. Glittering optics were backed by a huge rectangular mirror in gilt frame. Each of half a dozen wall lights comprised three opaque glass panels bearing the same red-eyed clown, transformed into a dull gnome by the weak glow from dusty forty-watt bulbs. Tall bar stools were of red faux leather. Tables and chairs were positioned in a concentric semi-circle while, along the right hand wall, U-shaped banquettes embraced individual tables and were given some privacy by low partitions of padded red velvet – which was why Wick had ushered the Wises into one of them and sat them in the darkest corner.

  Although it was the middle of an autumn day the room was a hot cocoon, trapping heat and the rattle of glasses, bursts of shrill laughter, conversation almost loud enough to drown the unmistakable cadence of the Beatles swinging into the opening bars of Penny Lane. Stan, the barman with a shiny black combover and the moustache of a South American gigolo, was keeping the elderly local clients happy by playing music that would bring most of the old softies to the brink of tears. But in amongst those softies, Wick knew well, there were those who would weep crocodile tears from eyes that had long ago lost all traces of humanity and were constantly looking for the main chance.

  ‘The bloke I told,’ Charlie said, ‘is Adele’s brother, Ron, and he’s usually … trustworthy.’

  Calum waited as the dark-haired girl arrived with their drinks, tall glasses awash on a battered tin tray. She placed it on the table with a coy curtsey, slopping more drink in the process, then minced away on her high heels – though not too far, perhaps hoping for a tip.

  ‘I sensed a “however” in that last remark,’ Calum said.

  ‘Yeah, well, Ron
might let something slip, accidentally like. To be honest,’ Charlie said, ‘Ron never could keep a secret, which is why I told him where we were staying.’

  ‘You wanted him to spread the word?’

  ‘In a nutshell – yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s clear enough. We can’t stay in Eleanor’s flat because “trustworthy” Ron will by now have sold the required information,’ Wick said. ‘My flat is clearly out of bounds, because that address must have been known to Rickman’s associates for some time. But apparently none of this matters, because if I’m right you have a plan.’

  ‘Absolutely. We’ve been forced to make a move. And the idea that’s been floating around in my mind has now become the only way forward.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘We drive to Gibraltar. In your Merc. Or at least as far as La Línea.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Wick said.

  Charlie grinned. ‘Right. Well, if a businessman in Liverpool at times needs shady contacts he can call on, the same naturally applies when he moves to sunnier climes.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Wick said. ‘You know people there – in La Línea, that is – who are in the know, as it were?’

  Charlie grinned, and nodded. ‘The thing is, me and Adele, we didn’t take those diamonds. But if, in our pursuit of Bernie Rickman, we were to stumble across them, well, that’d be a bonus – wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Ignoring the illegality of what you’re hinting at, are you saying Rickman himself has those stolen baubles?’

  ‘Why illegal? I’m talking about recovering those diamonds for the reward offered by the Liverpool jewellers: fifty thousand lovely smackers.’

  ‘I do apologize,’ Calum said, ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘No, and I’ve no idea if it’s Rickman who’s got those diamonds, but if they’re sitting in a chamois leather bag in someone’s bottom drawer they’re as worthless as so many pebbles. To be turned into cash they’ve got to be off-loaded.’

  ‘And trying that in Gibraltar would be too risky. Small town, police on the alert, most of the local villains well known and being watched.’