by James Green
‘Do you want to see a menu?’
‘Are you eating?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’
‘Fine.’
Liu rattled off something to the waitress who made some marks on her pad and went away.
‘They know you here?’
‘They know me. So, Mr Costello, down to business.’
Jimmy looked around; there was no way some of what they would say wouldn’t be overheard.
‘I thought we were going somewhere we could talk.’
‘We’re there. No one will listen-in, I assure you.’
‘Oh well, as long as you assure me.’
‘My great-uncle owns this place. The waitress is a sort of cousin. I know most of these people and they know me. I’ve used it plenty of times and believe me, there’s never been a problem. What is it you want to tell me?’
‘Are we off the record?’
‘Not yet. I’ll decide that when I’ve heard what you’ve got to say. But I’m on my own, there’s nobody else official to hear what you’ve got to tell me. Settle for that for the time being.’
Jimmy decided he would, what choice did he have?
‘A couple of things have happened that are connected with Sr Gray’s death. First, I went to the chaplaincy office to a meeting Sr Gray had set up with three people who knew Marvin Brinkmeyer. Naturally I couldn’t get in, so I was giving up and leaving when a young woman introduced herself, Laura Lawrence. She was one of those I was supposed to meet.’
‘So?’
‘The same Laura Lawrence was in London recently and stayed for a few days at the refuge run by Sr Philomena McCarthy. Have you checked my story with Sr McCarthy yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then don’t bother. She was the victim of a hit-and-run three days ago and last night I got told that she had died in hospital. You can check with the Met, but my guess is they have no line on who was driving the car.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because I think the young woman who met me at the chaplaincy and was staying at the refuge three days ago killed Philomena and she’s back here, large as life and free as a bird.’
‘I see.’
‘I hope you do. This Lawrence woman knew them both and was in the right place for when Gray got strangled and Philomena got hit.’
‘How did you know about London?’
‘Philomena wrote me a letter. In it she said a young woman had turned up at the refuge, Laura Lawrence. Lawrence said she knew Sr Gray so Philomena let her stay at the refuge for a time and help out. While Lawrence was there she tried to find out what Sr Gray had told Philomena about Marvin Brinkmeyer’s suicide. Philomena felt there was something not right about Lawrence, she didn’t know what it was but it worried her. Lawrence was due to come back to Vancouver and Philomena told me to be careful. She was obviously worried about this Lawrence woman and as it turned out she was right, only she was the one who needed to be careful.’
‘When did you get this letter?’
Jimmy hadn’t had time to work out a watertight explanation so he did the best he could.
‘I didn’t. A friend of mine in Rome picked it up from my apartment, opened it and got in touch - and before you ask, it was Professor McBride, the one who was at the Dublin conference with Philomena and Gray. She picks things up for me when I’m away.’
‘And opens your mail?’
‘Yes. I never get anything personal, not until this letter from Philomena.’
‘This doesn’t help your story about how you got involved. Two of the people who can confirm what you have told us have died. One has been murdered and another, if your hit-and-run is true, has been killed under suspicious circumstances.’
‘Sod confirming my story. What I’m saying is -’
The waitress came, put cutlery and napkins on the table and waited.
‘Anything to drink, Mr Costello?’
‘Is it going to be hot, spicy hot?’
‘Not particularly, it’s steak and French fries.’
Jimmy felt relieved. He had been getting too worked up, trying to get Liu on his side too soon. The waitress had come at the right time, and the news that the lunch was steak rather than something that would scorch his throat was a bonus.
‘Yes, a beer would be nice.’
‘Any special kind?’
‘Just what comes to hand.’
Liu said something to the waitress who left.
‘Doesn’t she speak English?’
‘She’s learning. She only came over from Hong Kong six months ago.’ Liu busied himself unfolding his napkin so Jimmy followed suit. The waitress returned with their steak and chips, smiled again at both of them, then said something in Chinese and left. Liu picked up his knife and fork and started cutting into his steak. ‘Keep going. Your beer’s on its way.’
Jimmy started on his meal. It was a good steak.
‘Before I go on I should tell you what I want.’
‘OK, tell me. I don’t mind you telling me so long as you understand you probably won’t get it.’
The waitress arrived again with two bottles of beer and two glasses. Once she was gone Jimmy began.
‘Philomena was a friend, a very good friend. She wanted me to come and look into Brinkmeyer’s suicide as a favour to her. Now it turns out that Brinkmeyer’s death has given me the only lead I have to whoever killed Philomena, this Laura Lawrence. I want to find her.’
‘And do what?’
‘Put her in court on a charge of murder and be sure there’s a cast iron case to get a conviction. What did you think I’d want to do?’
Liu didn’t look up from his steak which was disappearing fast.
‘I don’t know, that’s why I asked.’
Jimmy felt a twinge of annoyance.
‘Look, from what I’ve told you, you have a suspect, a woman who was in the right place for both killings, Laura Lawrence. She was connected to both victims and had opportunity both times.’
Liu cleared up his last few French fries, put down his knife and fork, pushed his plate away and poured himself some beer.
‘And the motive would be?’
Jimmy was rapidly losing interest in his meal. Getting Liu on board was taking all his attention and effort. He took one last mouthful of steak and then pushed his plate away.
‘The motive has to be something to do with Marvin Brinkmeyer’s death.’
‘Are you going to leave that?’
‘Yes, somehow talking to you has taken away my appetite.’
Liu pushed his plate to one side, reached over and pulled Jimmy’s plate in front of him. He picked up his knife and fork and cut a piece of the steak.
‘It would be an insult to the cook to send any steak back.’
‘And we don’t want to do that, do we? We have two murders to talk about but we don’t want to insult the cook.’
‘That’s right, he’s a sort of cousin.’
Jimmy gave up. He poured himself some beer, took a drink and waited until Liu had cleared the plate and pushed it away. From nowhere the waitress was at the table again, smiling and clearing away the two empty plates. Liu rattled off something in Chinese. The waitress looked at Jimmy, giggled then left.
Liu poured some more beer.
‘Will this Professor of yours back up everything you’ve told me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And can anyone vouch for her?’
‘The Pope and a dozen Cardinals.’ That got home, thought Jimmy, as a flicker of surprise passed across Liu’s face. ‘She’s well known in Vatican circles and among the academic community of Rome. If anyone has to do any vouching it will be you.’
‘OK, it seems you can back up your story as to why you’re here, so what do you want from me?’
‘I told you, I want this Laura Lawrence character, I want to nail her. I can’t do it alone, I need help.’
‘What sort of help?’
‘With what I’ve
given you there should be enough for you to look at the Brinkmeyer suicide again, and when you do you can ask questions. I need to be told what the answers are.’
Liu took a drink of beer. So did Jimmy. It wasn’t very good.
‘Even if I pass on what you’ve given me, I won’t be the one who gets to look at the suicide again. That will be someone else. I’m on the Gray case.’
‘Maybe, but the way I look at it Laura Lawrence connects Philomena, Sr Gray and Marvin Brinkmeyer, so Philomena’s death and Brinkmeyer’s suicide become legitimate avenues of enquiry in the Gray case. I don’t see any problem with you asking the questions I need.’ Liu didn’t respond. ‘At the very least you’ll need to find Lawrence and talk to her.’
Liu finished his beer.
‘I’ll think about it.’
Jimmy knew that was the best he was going to get. He picked up his glass, looked at it and put it down. It was fairly tasteless and gassy. He wouldn’t finish it.
‘Do you want to finish my beer? If the barman is a sort of cousin of yours I wouldn’t want him offended.’
Liu stood up. Their talk was over.
‘Come on, I’ll take you back to your hotel.’
They drove back to the hotel in silence, both had plenty to think about.
At the hotel Jimmy got out and as he was about to close the car door Liu finally spoke.
‘If I get anything I’ll be in touch.’
‘Fair enough. Thanks for the meal.’
‘That’s OK, it’s on expenses. It was business. This is still official, I log everything and it stays that way until I say otherwise. If I ever do.’
Jimmy closed the door. Liu pulled away and Jimmy went into the hotel. Suddenly he felt very tired, even though it was only early afternoon. He went up to his suite and as he opened the door the phone began ringing. He ignored it, he was too tired. Too much had happened and it had all happened too quickly. What he needed now was rest. The phone stopped ringing.
Maybe it was the bloke from the Diocese, the one who was expecting his call. Or McBride. Or one of Liu’s sort of cousins. Or God almighty. He didn’t care. He went into the bedroom and kicked off his shoes then fell onto the bed. The phone began ringing again. He let it ring. He would see to it later. Right now all he wanted to do was sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inspector Brownlow had phoned at ten and they arrived at eleven fifteen but, as the interview was taking place in his suite, not at the police station, Jimmy still felt ahead of the game. It was the senior officer, Brownlow, who was doing the talking again. Liu was busy practising his Madame Tussaud’s impression, still and silent.
‘Detective Liu has told me about your information. Tell me, Mr Costello, was there any reason why you made your message personal for Detective Liu? Why not me?’
‘I could remember his name. I’d forgotten yours.’
‘Can I see this letter? The one from your friend who died.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘It’s in Rome. A friend has a key to my apartment, Professor McBride. She collects my mail. I told her to call me if any of it was important. She phoned me and told me about the letter from England.’
‘You didn’t mind her reading your mail?’
‘No, I get very little mail and most of what I get is bills or junk. I can’t remember the last time I got anything personal. If you want to see the letter I can get Professor McBride to fax it to you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Costello, that would be most helpful.’
‘Shall I get it faxed here to the hotel and bring it to you or do you want it sent to the station?’
‘Here will do. You say this Laura Lawrence was waiting for you when you went to the chaplaincy?’
‘Yes. She was one of the three Sr Gray had arranged for me to meet. I told you about the meeting when you came the first time, remember?’
‘Yes, I remember. Why do you suppose she waited for you?’
‘At the time I thought she just wanted to know what was going on. Now I think she wanted to see what I knew and what, if anything, I was going to do. I’m afraid I was sloppy and she did better at asking the questions than I did. Still, that may have been a break for me.’
‘A break?’
‘If she was the one who killed Sr Gray and Sr Philomena and thought I knew anything or was going to poke around too much I might be in the morgue now, not here chatting with you two.’
‘Really, Mr Costello, do you want us to think that this Laura Lawrence is some sort of homicidal maniac? I assure you, pre-meditated, multiple murders are very rare, and one where the victims are separated by six thousand miles would probably be unique. As an ex-detective I would have thought you’d know that.’
‘Yes, they are rare. But I still think you may have just found one in your back yard. I think Lawrence has killed twice, and if Brinkmeyer’s death was somehow down to her and not suicide, it would be three times. I don’t get the feeling that one more dead body would have worried her. As it is, she thinks I’m harmless.’
‘Harmless?’
‘When I spoke to her I was ready to pack it in and go home. She could see I wasn’t interested in doing anything.’
‘But now you want to stay on and find out what really happened?’
‘Now I have information which I didn’t have then. So do you. Things have changed.’
The inspector stood up. Liu followed suit.
‘Let us know when you have that fax and we’ll collect it. And the name’s Brownlow, Inspector Brownlow. Try to remember it this time, Mr Costello. If you have any further information please make sure you contact me. Good day.’
They left. Nobody shook hands and nobody said goodbye. The inspector had been polite but Jimmy could see it had been a strain. Liu must have taken a shed-load of flak when he told Brownlow about the meeting.
It was now twenty to twelve and Jimmy wanted to be on time at the church, so he left his suite a few minutes after the detectives. He’d phoned the priest, who had agreed to say the midday Mass for Philomena. Outside it was raining again and he hadn’t got round to buying a raincoat, but neither had he picked up the hotel umbrella from the waterfront bar so he didn’t like to go back in and ask for another. The rain wasn’t heavy so he kept on going.
It took just over ten minutes to get to the church and once inside he walked over to where candles burnt in front of a statue of Our Lady. He put some coins into the box and picked out three candles. He lit them one at a time, one for Bernie, one for Michael, and one for Philomena. He looked up at the blind eyes of the statue.
‘I’m sorry if I was short the other day. I have a lot on my mind and Philomena’s death sort of got in amongst me. Look after them all… please.’ Then he let the old formula form into words. ‘May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.’
He went and sat down in a nearby pew. There were about thirty people scattered about the big church. He thought of Philomena. ‘Rest in peace…’ - she had never been a great one for resting. She hated any kind of idleness and now here he was asking Our Lady to pray that she should spend her eternity in permanent rest. He tried again for another prayer.
‘Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.’
Another formula learned from his mother as a child and uttered automatically how many thousands of times? It was no better. An eternity of rest, the peace of inaction. Was that really what he wanted God to give to his wife, his son, and to Philomena? Some sort of never-ending, supernatural sun-bathing in the brightness of God’s presence? He had been a Catholic all his life, he still was in a way, but he had never heard that there was anything else on offer after death, just eternal rest and the eternal presence of God which somehow got translated into peace. It didn’t sound so very different from the only other alternative he could imagine, oblivion. In fact it sounded almost exactly the bloody same, except that oblivion seeme
d the better choice. At least that way it was all over, finished.
A bell rang. Jimmy left his thoughts and stood up with the others as the priest came out to the altar and the Mass began.
As another old formula, known since childhood, began to unfold, he decided it didn’t matter what he believed or didn’t believe. He wasn’t doing this for himself, he was doing it for people who had believed, had died believing. It wasn’t faith, it was duty, or perhaps not even duty but a debt, a debt that had to be paid even if he half-believed that the currency of payment was worthless.
After the Mass he went into the sacristy, thanked the priest and gave him an envelope with the Mass offering in it. The priest took it and that was that. Jimmy left the church and headed down to the bay. Time for a pint and lunch, then he would go and see the bloke from the Diocese. Mr Crosby had phoned him at nine and said Professor McBride had been in touch and asked him to set up a meeting. He could see Jimmy at three if that was convenient. It was. If McBride was right then this was the bloke who would tell him how the whole thing had got started.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Felton Crosby was a dapper little man in his mid-fifties with an office in a building near the Cathedral.
‘Professor McBride made it sound urgent that I talk to you so I rearranged today’s schedule, but I’m afraid I have a meeting which I must attend in half an hour. What can I do for you, Mr Costello?’
‘Did you know a young art history student called Marvin Brinkmeyer?’
‘No, I didn’t know him. I met him, once, in this office.’
‘What was the meeting about?’
‘Some paintings he said he was interested in.’
‘What paintings and what was his interest?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘He wanted to talk about some paintings but he wouldn’t say which ones?’
‘Yes, I didn’t understand it either. He seemed a genuine young man, not any type of crank. He was polite but quite insistent. He said the Diocese was in possession of stolen art, paintings which were of great value. He wanted to talk to someone in authority.’
‘Did he explain what it was he wanted done about this stolen art?’
‘No. As I said, he was polite and seemed, well, normal, but he was very insistent.’