Death Warmed Up

by John Paxton Sheriff

  ‘If it occurred to him, I’m sure he’d do it,’ Sian said, curling up and tucking her bare feet under her robe. ‘Look at it this way: what does Reg owe Charlie Wise? I mean, Reg sees Charlie as at least half-crooked anyway, doesn’t he? So why not throw him to the wolves he’s been running with? Or what was it you called them? The sharks he’s been swimming with.’

  ‘I tend to agree,’ Calum said. ‘Reg being a good guy would salve his conscience by convincing himself that handing the name over wouldn’t automatically seal Charlie’s fate.’

  ‘Mm, probably rolled some mental dice,’ Sian said, ‘which came up in Charlie’s favour, because he got away. From what was going to be a Liverpool trap, anyway, although after that he didn’t, did he, not in the end?’

  ‘About which, incidentally, we must do something – and bloody soon,’ Calum said.

  I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly but thinking along different lines.

  ‘What I can’t get my head around,’ I said, ‘is why Reg came steaming in here telling us to forget all about the diamonds. Rickman, he suggested, was still angry with him. But if we’ve got this right, then selling Charlie down the river should have put him in the clear, all debts paid.’

  ‘Then forget it, because we’ve got it wrong,’ Calum said flatly. ‘Reg was on board Sea Wind grovelling but getting nowhere.’

  ‘Right, and brain working overtime he thought another way round Rickman was to get us to drop the search for the diamonds, and he could take the credit?’

  ‘Yes, only that wasn’t going to work for him either,’ Sian said, ‘because then you told him he was too late ’cos Rickman had found the diamonds. Thanks to that anonymous tip-off.’

  ‘Which takes us back to square one. The anonymous tip-off’s impossible.’

  ‘Ah, but now I’ve thought of something else. Remember you phoned Calum when he was en-route to Liverpool? Okay, so the mobile phones must have been hacked. That Aussie bum was listening and taking notes.’

  ‘Him or his pal Ebenholz.’ I thought about it and nodded. ‘I don’t see how they managed it, but rule out Eleanor and Reg and there’s no other way.’

  ‘You’re talking piffle,’ Calum said, and he rolled his lanky frame from the horizontal to the vertical and made for the drinks cabinet. ‘In that mobile phone conversation, Booker Avenue was never mentioned.’

  He splashed whisky into a glass, cast a questioning glance in our direction. We both shook our heads. He shook his, with obvious impatience.

  ‘For God’s sake, I can’t believe three people with our experience are spending so much time going round in bloody circles,’ he said. ‘Look, it no longer matters who leaked the Booker Avenue address, because that was five days ago and we’ve moved on – and not very successfully, I might add. Also, while my heart bleeds for poor, confused old Reg, his troubles with Rickman have got nothing at all to do with stolen diamonds.’

  ‘And us wasting time with them isn’t helping Charlie and Adele,’ Sian pointed out.

  ‘Exactly,’ Calum said. ‘Charlie and Adele are getting no help whatsoever, and how long is it now since I watched them driven away by two grinning hyenas in suits?’

  ‘Too long.’ I nodded. ‘Logic tells me to go to Luis Romero. He can call on more men, and more facilities.’

  ‘And almost certainly waste yet more time cutting through red tape. No, we’ve been through that, Jack. No offence has been committed, remember? And in any case it’s all happening in Spain.’

  ‘Last suggestion: Romero has contacts over the border.’

  Calum’s grin was savage, dismissive. ‘Aye, and so did Charlie, and look what happened there.’

  I took a deep breath, reached across for Calum’s drink, finished it off for him and slammed down the empty glass.

  ‘Okay, we let diplomatic Reg sort out his own troubles. Starting now, we put our heads together, work out an acceptable plan. Then we cross the border into La Línea de la Concepción and we go hunting for a couple of old-age pensioners. I’ve grown to know them, and like them, and up against hoodlums like Clontarf and Ebenholz they haven’t a hope in hell of helping themselves.’

  Twenty-one

  There was a soft, warm breeze wafting in from the bay. It carried with it the clean salt taste of the sea. Somehow it found its way across the promenade and the wide highways where night traffic flowed, curling its way into the narrower side streets and then to others even more constricting that were still named Calle this and Calle that yet were little more than gloomy alleyways cutting between the crumbling walls of tall buildings. The breeze whispered across squalid dwellings where lights gleamed a dull yellow, televisions cast a blue sheen, music blared and people conversed, argued, screamed and wept in half a dozen different languages. Litter rustled at its passing. And when the breeze grew capricious, plucked a torn, stained copy of The Olive Press from a cracked pavement and carried it high to wrap itself pennant-like around a lamp post, the woman flattened against the filthiest of walls in the deepest shadows was shocked by the sudden overhead flapping, and gasped in terror.

  ‘It’s all right, Addy,’ Charlie said. ‘Just the wind, just an old newspaper.’

  ‘Yeah, this time,’ Adele said. ‘Next time it could be them pouncing, grabbin’ me by the throat, and I’m shaking at the thought.’

  ‘No need. They’re fools. They locked the door, forgot about the window and the fire escape, and didn’t factor in Mario’s duplicity. He gave us away and pocketed the money being offered, then hung around and let us out when their backs were turned.’ He chuckled. ‘Men that stupid need a map to find their flies, a video explaining how to lift the tab, lower the zip. And so on.’

  ‘But when they get back from wherever it was they went and find us gone they’ll go berserk, leave no stone unturned.’

  ‘For worms and woodlice, ‘Charlie said, grinning at her in the gloom, ‘under stones is a good place to look.’

  ‘I feel like a bloody woodlouse, standing here,’ Adele said, shivering. ‘Somebody’s been peeing against this wall, you know that?’

  ‘Come on.’

  Charlie took her hand, pulled her out of the shadows.

  They’d clattered down the iron fire escape after Mario, exchanged high-fives and watched him race away into the darkness, then legged it up the street in the opposite direction until their chests were raw and they were sagging at the knees. The stinking wall had kept them upright. They had waited for their breathing to calm, listened fearfully for the sound of a Mercedes returning; forced themselves to take the time Charlie needed to marshal his thoughts, get his bearings.

  ‘We head into the breeze, keep it on our faces. It’s coming off the sea and Tony’s got an apartment overlooking the bay.’

  ‘In streets like these, wind swirls all over the place.’

  ‘Then we make for the light, but stay in the dark.’

  Adele started to laugh, but Charlie was tugging her along and she picked up her long skirts and concentrated on staying upright on high heels, on getting enough air into her lungs to stay alive. At that thought she did laugh, and then Charlie was laughing with her and they were wobbling dangerously when the walls ahead of them were suddenly painted with bright light and a black car heeled over as it swung into the street behind them.

  ‘Shit,’ Charlie said.

  He flung himself sideways, used his shoulder to drive Adele off her feet. She crashed awkwardly down on a pile of wet, foetid rubbish behind a cluster of foul plastic bins. A bony cat hissed from under her, spat, its green eyes luminous. Charlie swung a kick at it, then overbalanced and fell on top of Adele. She squealed. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She bit it, then gagged, and his nose was assailed with the smell of rotten wet bread, fish, bad eggs and whatever the cat had been depositing.

  The car was moving slowly down the centre of the narrow street.

  ‘They’re lookin’ for us, must have been to the flat, know we’ve scarpered,’ Charlie whispered.

  Adele mumbl
ed a muffled reply. She was lying on her side in filth, holding a handkerchief to her face.

  ‘But they’re flash bastards, full of themselves,’ he muttered, ‘they’ll not get out of the car unless there’s a good reason.’

  He wriggled further into the space between bins and flaking wall, realized he could go no further and would be forced to back out. They couldn’t do that in a hurry so they’d painted themselves into a corner, into a fucking no-way-out trap… .

  The powerful engine was a gentle purr. Stones popped from beneath the wide tyres. A wheel dropped into a pothole, sprayed filthy water. It splashed against the bins; would, Charlie feared, draw the eyes of the watcher on that side.

  He screwed up his face, shut his eyes.

  From the open window of the car an American voice like gravel falling on a coffin said, ‘Something moved over there.’

  ‘It wasn’t me, sir,’ Charlie whispered, and had to bite back a giggle. Adele elbowed him in the ribs. She had her mouth covered and was trying to breathe through her ears. Charlie heard the slow-moving car draw to a halt. The door clicked open. Footsteps crunched, stopped.

  ‘Forget it,’ another voice drawled from the car. ‘There’s a skinny cat slinking away, that’s what you saw. Get back in, mate, we’ll never find’em. There’s more people here than we’ve got rabbits in Oz.’

  The door slammed. The engine roared. Wheels spun, spraying gravel, and the Mercedes sped away. From behind the reeking bins Charlie sneaked a look and saw the gleaming black shape, its tail lights glowing red as it slowed for the next junction, turned, and was gone.

  He climbed to his feet, using one hand on an overloaded teetering plastic bin to drag himself upright. He reached back and extended his hand. Adele took it with a wet slap. She almost pulled him off his feet as she struggled up out of the refuse. One foot slipped. A high-heeled shoe made a soggy, sucking sound. She left it, hopped after him as he moved out of the stinking shadows.

  ‘I thought you were going to leave me there,’ she said. ‘Rush off and give chase, all macho, shout expletives, throw stones.’

  ‘As if. It was just, that new perfume you’re wearing had me confused, it really is a knockout.’

  ‘It had me close to spewing me ring up,’ Adele said. ‘So, what now, Chas?’

  ‘They went that way, and probably stopped just round the corner, so—’

  ‘Not being born yesterday, we tiptoe in the opposite direction, then leg it.’

  ‘Absolutely. And when we get to Tony Ramirez’s’ — he pulled her to him and planted a wet kiss on her forehead — ‘you spend some time under a hot shower with lots of smelly gel, dump your clothes in the bin and borrow some from his girlfriend.’

  ‘Second time in a week. It’s getting to be a habit.’

  ‘Could be called cross-dressing, couldn’t it? Or not. Anyway, when that’s done we settle down for a long talk with Tony. A good friend, and one hell of a fixer. Got us off that boat and safe into Spain without asking awkward questions.’

  ‘But in addition to that—’

  ‘Yes, he rubs shoulders with shady characters on both sides of the border. Arranges dodgy deals, but he won’t have a clue where those diamonds are’ – he grinned, and winked at Adele – ‘and he’ll never in a month of Sundays know exactly what’s going on.’

  ‘Or who he’s working for.’

  ‘You’ve got it. Tony doesn’t know the guy’s name – nobody’ll ever know that – and he doesn’t know where he is, but he’ll have been approached by phone and now Tony’ll be getting in touch with wealthy Arabs or Russians with loads of dosh, and dreaming of his cut. He’ll know when an offer has been made, and accepted. And, when the time’s right, he’ll know the location where the diamonds are going to change hands.’

  Charlie was still watching the end of the road, eyes alert for movement, for the return of the men in suits, the glitter of steel in the crap street lighting.

  ‘And he’ll tell us because?’

  ‘Even the best of fixers has to have something to fix,’ Charlie said, ‘and without me, Tony Ramirez had zilch.’

  Still holding his wife’s hand, Charlie moved out from the shelter of the bins and walked quickly away from the corner around which, he believed, the two men in the Mercedes were patiently waiting with their cocked pistols.

  Adele, grimacing, minus one shoe, hopped valiantly as she was tugged along in his wake.

  Twenty-two

  Talking and drinking into the early hours – and getting nowhere – makes the next morning something to be missed, even cancelled. I crawled out of bed just after nine and left Sian face down in the rumpled bed with her blonde hair decorating the pillow with filigrees of gold. When I’d thrown on jeans and T-shirt, downed a couple of glasses of cold water and made it out on deck, Calum was already there. He was leaning on the rail smoking a Schimmelpenninck and gazing out across a bay bathed in misty sunlight where cargo vessels of all shapes and sizes floated like abandoned iron hulks on glass-like seawater.

  ‘To the bungalow,’ I said. ‘We’ll grab some breakfast while working out what to do about Charlie and Adele.’

  ‘Time’s running out.’

  ‘Hence the rush.’

  ‘And Sian?’

  ‘Still asleep.’ I held up my car keys, jingled them. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  The Rock’s steep upper slopes were like a warm middle ground between the thin mist veiling the town and harbour and the familiar levanter cloud that streamed away to the west from the Rock’s summit. That put Eleanor’s bungalow in shade. I parked, climbed the steps and opened up, and while Calum boiled the kettle for coffee I split and buttered rolls, put them on plates and took them through to the living room.

  We were still eating them, in a thoughtful but mostly unproductive silence broken only by the slurping of hot coffee, when the door banged open and Bernie Rickman walked in followed by the American, Ebenholz.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘The stolen diamonds? Or should that be twice-stolen diamonds?’ I managed to look confused. ‘Well, as already pointed out, you snaffled them for yourself and sent Mutt and Jeff chasing across Europe to disguise the fact.’

  ‘I’m talking about Charlie and Adele Wise.’

  ‘Last seen entering a car with two men in suits,’ Calum said. He put down his empty mug, sat back and tossed a chilling smile at Ebenholz that left the muscular heavy unmoved.

  ‘They made a pig’s ear of it. Wise and his wife slipped away while their backs were turned and crossed the border into Gibraltar some time last night,’ Rickman said. ‘You lot befriended them in Wales, arranged a safe house in Liverpool—’

  ‘Flat, actually, and safe is hardly—’

  ‘—then planned their escape in the Flying Scotsman’s car. That suggests that when they crossed over last night they’d have come straight to you.’

  ‘Ah, well, that cross-Europe jaunt was Charlie’s idea,’ Calum said, ‘and as I was unable to save them yesterday I imagine my manly charm has lost its attraction.’

  Ebenholz took one stride forward and hit him across the face, a backhand blow with a full arm swing and lots of knuckle. Calum rocked sideways. Blood trickled, seeped into his beard. He straightened, licked his split lip experimentally, looked thoughtfully at Ebenholz.

  ‘I know Ebenholz is German, and a nickname,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure you put a great deal of thought into the choice, but I’m afraid you got it wrong. Means ebony, doesn’t it, so let’s say a charitable five out of ten. Now, if you’d chosen Kartoffel I’d have taken one look at your head and nose and given you eight out of ten, while the choice of Scheisse – which, as you probably know, means … er … excrement, would have guaranteed full—’

  The second blow from Ebenholz came from the other side, a closed fist this time, the vicious crack as knuckles hit cheekbone rocking Calum the other way. This time his eyes darkened. He shook his head, partly to clear it, partly out of disbelief.

  ‘You really
have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for, pal,’ he said softly, and came out of the chair in one smooth reptilian movement.

  Ebenholz was faster. He stepped back. The Heckler and Koch P7 came out of his under-arm holster in a blur. The slide had been pulled back. He held the pistol in two hands, picked a spot between Calum’s eyes, curled a finger around the trigger – and grinned. The tall Scot stopped. There was a long moment while they stood eyeball to eyeball – or as near as dammit, given the intrusion of the pistol. Then Calum brushed contemptuously past the stocky man as if he didn’t exist and stood with his back to us, gazing out at the sunlit vista falling steeply away on the other side of the wide windows.

  I sighed. ‘You’ve probably noticed we do a lot of talking,’ I said. ‘It’s always proved useful; tends to confuse those not capable of putting more than two or three words together in a way that makes sense. And you’re not making any sense at all. We don’t know where Charlie and his wife are, and they did not steal those diamonds.’

  ‘When Charlie told you that,’ Rickman said, ‘he was lying through his teeth. Maybe you should cut back on the talking and do some listening.’

  ‘He wanted out. He’d had enough.’

  ‘Bollocks. Thanks to me he had a fucking big yacht, and that and the money I was paying him for services rendered gave him entry to those exclusive ports all along the French Riviera. He rubbed shoulders and clinked glasses of champers with heads of state, Hollywood producers, Russian oligarchs; rubbed up against young women sexy enough to give old men strokes.’ Rickman grinned. ‘The kind I mean used to be called apoplexy. And the point I’m making is Charlie was living life to the full. Then he got wind of a diamond robbery and, being a simple lad, he got greedy.’