Last Rights

by James Green

  Now to other things.

  Get in touch with a man called Ian Cross in London, maybe he’s retired but you should still be able to reach him through Barnaby, Cresswell and Partners. They’re accountants in the City. Tell him to liquidate everything and put it in the Swiss account. Can you arrange to sell up everything in Rome and put the money in my Rome account? The pass book’s in my apartment. Also in my apartment is a will in which I have made you my executor. I had it drawn up after I got back from Santander. I knew then I was finished, I just didn’t know how or when I would go so I wanted to be ready. When it’s all done, send all the money to my daughter in Australia. Tell her it’s for her and the kids, that Bernie would have wanted them to have it.

  As for me, have a Mass said, light a few candles and get me into the ground somewhere.

  James Cornelius Costello.

  She put the letter on her lap. So that was the end of Jimmy Costello.

  She looked at the letter again. It was clever, keep the killer punch until it couldn’t be avoided or deflected. Hide it from the police and you could hide it from the defence until it was too late. It would be admitted as evidence only when, as Jimmy put it, Sikora had buried himself with his own story. Damn, he was going to be hard to replace. The world didn’t stop just because one man decided it was time for him to get off.

  She phoned reception and asked to speak to the manager.

  ‘I will settle Mr Costello’s bill and I will sign the police release and take charge and remove all of his belongings. If you would have them packed up and store them here at the hotel until I can arrange what is to be done with them?’ The manager was happy to do anything she asked. It was bad enough having someone murdered in your hotel, but it was worse if they were murdered with their bill unpaid and the room stayed out of action. If Professor McBride was going to settle up he was going to agree to anything she asked. ‘I’d like to look at Mr Costello’s suite, please, and I would like you to accompany me.’

  The manager said he’d be right up.

  The manager looked out of the window. He didn’t want to see what she was doing, he didn’t want to know. He wanted it finished. Professor McBride looked at the bloodstains on the carpet. The manager watched her in the reflection of the glass but said nothing. She went into the bedroom and checked the wardrobes. There wasn’t much in the way of clothes to pack, enough for one suitcase probably. The black holdall was in the bottom of the wardrobe. She nudged it open with her foot. It was empty except for the envelope. She went back into the living room.

  ‘Clear it out, pack it up and give it all to any charity that will take it. Get someone to check if there are any more papers. There should be a report somewhere. If there are any papers at all, put them with his passport and wallet and keep them in the hotel safe until I can get round to picking them up.’

  ‘It would be better if you took charge of all the…’

  ‘Do you want his bill settled and the room vacated? I should think you’d be quite keen to have it empty so you could at least change the carpet.’

  The manager capitulated. He was indeed desperate to change the carpet.

  ‘I’ll arrange it.’

  ‘Good, that’s all then.’

  They left the suite. In the lift going down, Professor McBride ordered one more favour from him.

  ‘I need an undertaker. Get one to call me tomorrow morning before ten and tell him I’ll need a Catholic priest for a funeral at some point. I’ll probably be leaving the day after tomorrow and I have a busy schedule so please make sure it’s all done as I ask.’

  The manager agreed. He didn’t like her. Maybe it was the fact that she was black or maybe it was because she only had one arm, but whatever it was he felt a little frightened of her. He wanted her gone and out of his hotel as much as he wanted the blood-stained carpet gone, so things could get back to normal.

  The next morning the phone rang in her suite at ten past nine.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. The police are holding a body, that of James Cornelius Costello. When it is ready to be released I want you to collect it and arrange for its burial. Did you contact a Catholic priest? Good. When you have the body, arrange for a Catholic burial, a Mass and light three candles. It doesn’t matter what religion you are, put a few coins in the box and light three candles. Add it to the bill. There will be no-one at the funeral so it can take place at any time the priest wishes. I am leaving for Rome tomorrow morning so by four this afternoon have the bill ready and I will pay it in advance. Thank you.’

  She then phoned the police station and asked for Detective Liu.

  ‘I am coming to the police station to sign the necessary papers. Have them ready for me in half an hour.’

  She put the phone down, left her suite and headed for the police station.

  When she got there Liu came out to her. She signed the papers and told him the name of the undertaker who would come for the body when it was released.

  ‘Tell me, Detective, has Mr Sikora made a full statement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And his lawyer will proceed with the defence along the lines you told me about yesterday, grief and stress caused by his mother’s death?’

  ‘Yes, it looks that way.’

  ‘And no knowledge whatsoever of any stolen art works?’

  ‘No, he still denies any knowledge.’

  ‘Could he change his story now if new evidence came to light?’

  ‘It would depend on the evidence but he’s got his story pretty well fixed.’

  ‘There were some papers in Mr Costello’s suite. I asked the manager to put them in the hotel safe. I don’t know what they are but you should read them just in case they have any bearing on the case.’

  ‘What sort of papers?’

  ‘You’re the detective, not me. You work out what they are and then do with them what you wish.’

  And she left.

  In the taxi back to the hotel she went over things.

  The Diocese of Vancouver did not own nor had it ever owned any war-time loot. The last person to have had possession of the pictures was dead, murdered by her adopted son. The paintings, what was left of them, were totally unconnected with the Church and were someone else’s problem. Her problem was how to replace Costello. He was a difficult man alive and it seemed he was almost as difficult dead. Still, it shouldn’t be any more of a problem to clean up the Rome end than it had been here. Once she had settled with the hotel and the undertaker, she was finished, she could go back to Rome. The only question was, did she get a good night’s sleep and fly out tomorrow morning or go this evening and try to sleep on the plane.

  The question wasn’t an easy one, it lasted all the way to her hotel.

  Postscript

  ‘Mr. Cross, Mr Ian Cross?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr James Costello asked me to contact you.’

  There was a silence for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know any James Costello.’

  ‘I see. But I’ll pass on the message anyway.’

  McBride waited but the phone at the other end didn’t go dead.

  ‘If you want to, but I still don’t know any James Costello.’

  ‘You are to liquidate everything and put the money into the Swiss account.’

  ‘That means nothing to me.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t, and you don’t know Mr Costello. I must have the wrong man. However, just as an academic point, I’m afraid I know nothing about Swiss banks, nor how long it would take to liquidate assets, get them into a Swiss bank and available as cleared funds. Think of it as an academic enquiry.’

  ‘Two to three weeks to make cleared funds available if they are held in a form that is easily liquidated, bonds, shares, things like that. If it’s something else you’re thinking of doing I can’t help, I’m semi-retired and won’t be taking on any new clients.’

  ‘No, I don’t need financial help or advice and I’m sure all your present clients value your work for
them. I’m sure if Mr Costello had been your client he would have been totally confident you would handle his affairs exactly as he would have wished. Well, thank you for your time and the information you have given me. I suppose the Swiss account will be checked in three weeks by whoever does look after Mr Costello’s financial affairs to see that what he wants has been done. If no money has been deposited I dare say the matter will be followed up in some way. But that, of course, would be nothing to do with you. Goodbye.’

  In the City of London a senior semi-retired partner at a well-respected and old-established firm of accountants surprised his long-serving secretary by declaring, at ten thirty in the morning, that some urgent business had come up and he had to go out and attend to it at once. He said he would not be returning to the office as he felt a little unwell and once his business was finished he would go home. He wanted no calls or messages at all during the day, no matter what happened. She would have to deal with appointments as best she could. He then left the building. His secretary, after his sudden departure, was a little worried, he certainly didn’t look well. She wondered for a moment whether he might not have had some bad news, but then returned to her work and began to make a series of phone calls cancelling appointments and explaining that Mr Cross was, unfortunately, indisposed today and would not be in his office.

  In Rome Professor McBride thought about her phone conversation. Mr Cross had been properly careful and cautious but not able to keep out of his voice the fact that he was frightened. She suspected that if he had been told Jimmy was dead he would still have been careful and cautious and when she checked the Swiss account might very well discover that Mr Cross had suddenly become richer by however much he handled for Jimmy. Not that she cared one way or another. Jimmy had come by his wealth from a life of violence and corruption, if it was taken by someone else who could do it without violence or corruption, why not? Still, she had done what Jimmy wanted and would see to it that his money reached his daughter and her family. She owed him that much, to get his money to his grandchildren. He had worked very well for her. She looked at the papers on her desk. A will naming her executor, a passport which lay open with Jimmy staring blankly out at her and a pass-book for a bank account which held thirty-eight thousand Euros. His apartment was empty and up for sale and the contents had been removed, sorted and either sold off or given to charity. What lay on her desk and in a grave in some Vancouver cemetery was all that was left of James Cornelius Costello.

  She opened a drawer, swept the papers in, closed it and turned to look out of the window towards the distant hills of Frascati. They were invisible, hidden by clouds from which heavy rain had been falling all morning. She spoke to the invisible hills.

  ‘Well, Jimmy, you chose a bad time to get off the whirligig. Things don’t stop just because you decide that it’s time to find out what, if anything, comes next. Goodbye, Jimmy.’

  And she mouthed in silence the ancient Catholic formula they had both known all their lives.

  ‘May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.’

  The Road to Redemption Series

  Meet Jimmy Costello.

  Quiet, respectable, God-fearing family man? Or thuggish street-fighter with a past full of dark secrets? Perhaps the answer is somewhere in between…

  Proudly published by Accent Press

  www.accentpress.co.uk