by Mark Timlin
She looked from one of the men to the other. ‘Bugger,’ she said. ‘Just when I thought things were beginning to go right.’
‘Do take a seat, Miss Sharman,’ said the man with the Glock.
‘Detective-Inspector Sharman,’ she corrected him, icily.
‘Strictly speaking, not at the moment. But we’ll let that pass. Do sit though.’
She did as he said and joined me on the sofa. I gave her shoulders a quick squeeze.
‘I think we’d better have a look at what you found before we go,’ the posh guy said to his pal. ‘Besides this business with Assistant Commissioner Turner fascinates me.’
The muscles of the operation, the one who had my stuff sat at the desk, pulled the computer from its bag, plugged in the power line and fired it up. Then he loaded up the memory stick, entered the password and opened the files. He clicked through them quickly until he found what he was looking for. ‘Well, well, they were right.’
The man with the Glock walked over and looked over his shoulder. ‘Deary me,’ he said. ‘What would the Commissioner say?’
Then to us he said, ‘You did a good job. Thank you. Now we must go, and we’ll be taking this equipment – and of course the guns – with us.’
‘And what about my daughter?’ I said.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So that’s it. You leave her hanging in the wind?’
‘Unfortunately yes. Casualties of war, I’m afraid.’ he smarmed.
‘No,’ I said. ‘We do all the work and you just walk away. I don’t think so.’ I felt myself getting riled, regardless of the gun he held in his fist.
‘You have no choice.’
‘I’ll go to the newspapers.’
‘Without proof? They’d laugh you out of there. And there’s the question of you ending up in prison. Or of course you could just disappear.’
‘You keep saying that. But unless you’re prepared to shoot us both here and now, then I’m on the phone the minute you leave.’
‘Once again, Mr Sharman, you have no proof once we leave here.’
‘Someone will listen. Someone always does. We know some of the people in those photographs,’ said Judith, speaking for the first time, ‘and there’s always the internet. Don’t you read the papers? The Guardian would have a field day with this.’
‘Not to mention the Telegraph,’ I added.
The man with the gun looked at the other one, then at me. ‘You would read the bloody Telegraph,’ he said. ‘All right. What exactly do you want?’
‘Simple,’ I replied. ‘Just what we asked of Turner. A full exoneration for my daughter, and no comeback.’
‘It’s a possibility,’ he said.
‘And a proper investigation into Campbell’s murder with no stitch ups.’
‘That would be down to the Met.’
‘And I just vanish with no comeback to me either,’ I said.
‘We have no interest in you Mr Sharman. You’ve served your time.’
‘Just one more thing,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘Yes?’
‘Who exactly is behind the blackmail?’
He smiled. ‘Some Russians,’ he said. ‘A family. Not nice people. It’s best that you don’t know any more. We are looking into apprehending them.’
‘So was it them who murdered Campbell?’ I asked.
‘Forget about the Russians and Campbell and Turner. Get back on a plane and all will be well. You have my word.’
His word and half a quid would get you a bar of chocolate, but it was all we had.
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
And with that they both left, taking my computer, the memory stick and the guns with them.
When they’d gone, I looked at Judith who still looked furious, too angry to speak, the colour high in her cheeks. ‘How about that drink then?’ I said.
41
‘So what do you think?’ asked Judith when we each had a full glass.
‘I think we’re fucked,’ I said.
‘You don’t trust him?’
‘Do you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Nor me. But trust him or not, he’s gone, with all the evidence.’
‘So what will you do?’
‘Find out who killed Campbell. That’s all we can do. If we find that, we can get to the bottom of all this.’
‘Jesus Dad. It’s a bloody long shot.’
‘Well I’m not leaving you in the shit.’
‘It might be for the best.’
‘And have you end up in jail? You know what they do to coppers in there.’
‘I know,’ Judith said, her eyes fixed on the carpet.
‘You could come with me,’ I said softly.
‘No passport, remember.’
‘There’s ways and means to get out of the country. All this EU business. No frontiers anymore, isn’t that the deal?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Then what about all these illegal immigrants I’m always reading about in the Telegraph. If they can get in, surely we can get out. Money’s no object.’
‘They know where you are don’t they?’
‘There’s nothing much of mine there. Nothing I can’t just walk away from. I live the simple life remember?’
‘And be on the run for the rest of our lives?’ she looked sceptical.
‘Beats Holloway. Don’t think for too long. They found us easily enough. It’s not exactly low profile here you know.’
‘I know.’
We ate dinner in the room that night. Neither of us fancied the restaurant. In fact neither of us fancied eating much, but you do what you have to do.
42
‘These Russians,’ I said, when we were on coffee and brandy. ‘Any chance of finding them? You must have some mates left who’ll help you.’
‘Getting fewer by the hour I reckon,’ she said, gloomily. ‘And maybe we should wait. I may be exonerated like that bloke said.’
‘The man with no name,’ I said. ‘And Father Christmas might come early this year.’
‘I know it’s stupid.’ she said. ‘I’m just getting so tired of all this.’
‘Sorry love,’ I said. ‘I know what you mean. I feel powerless too – but we’ve got to do everything we can. Tomorrow, first thing, get on the blower and make enquiries. Use up any favours owed, OK?’
‘OK Dad. But I’m going to turn in. I’m shattered.’
‘Yeah, you do that love. I’m going to sit up for a bit, watch TV.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning then.’
‘Sure. I bet things look different tomorrow.’
‘And Father Christmas might come early this year.’ She gave me a wan smile, kissed me on the cheek and headed off.
I poured another large one, switched on the TV, quickly turned it off again, and went to bed.
The next morning, after breakfast, Judith told me she wanted to go back to her flat to collect some things. ‘Want me to come?’ I asked.
‘No, don’t bother,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll get a cab there and back.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Couldn’t be surer.’
‘Well, be careful love. This isn’t over yet.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
I sat and tried to do the crossword, but couldn’t concentrate. I tried the TV again, but it was filled with mental cases, alcoholics and junkies screaming at each other in barely discernible English, so I kicked that into touch. The radio was no better. Phone-ins by more lunatics, or else music that meant less than nothing to me. So in the end I just sat on the sofa trying to figure out what to do next. I’d been a lousy father. A lousy husband. A lousy copper too. But funnily enough I’d been quite a good private detective. Working on my
own suited me. Perhaps I should just grab my daughter and get lost. It was a big world, and we could afford it.
43
Around lunchtime, my mobile rang. Naturally I expected it to be Judith, her being the only one with the number, but instead the voice in my ear belonged to a man with a guttural accent. ‘You had something of mine I think, but carelessly lost it. Now I have something of yours. Your daughter.’
I’m not often stuck for words, but I couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment. My worst fears had come true. The one person in the world I would die for was in deep trouble, and I was left standing like a fool.
‘You don’t answer me,’ said the voice. ‘Perhaps you don’t believe me.’
‘I believe you,’ I said. The spook with the Glock had told us about Russian involvement and if this geezer wasn’t Russian, I was a monkey’s uncle.
‘That is good. Now we talk business.’
‘Let me speak to her,’ I said. ‘And if you’ve hurt one hair on her head...’
‘Shut up. You don’t make the terms.’
‘Let me speak to her,’ I said again.
There was a pause, then Judith came on and said. ‘Sorry Dad. I should’ve listened to you.’
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘I’ve had better days, but I’ll survive.’
‘Has he hurt you?’
‘They. A pair of right goons. Tell them to fuck off. I have.’
There was a racket at the end of the phone, and the bloke came back on. ‘Please tell us to fuck off,’ he said. ‘And you never find out where your daughter is buried.’
That was the wrong thing to say to me, but I bit my tongue. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
‘We want what belongs to us. It is worth a lot of money.’
‘It’s gone,’ I said. ‘If I had it you could have it back, but it was taken from us. That’s the truth, I swear.’
‘So your daughter said. But do I believe you?’
‘Do you think I care about some photos?’ I said. ‘Listen. She means more to me than anything.’
‘I believe you. She is a beauty. It would be a shame to ruin that.’ I felt the familiar red mist, but struggled to keep my anger in check.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Then I need money.’
‘How much?’
He named a figure.
‘I can do that,’ I said.
‘Then you can do twice as much.’
‘And you keep doubling the figure.’
‘Until the pips squeak, as I believe is one of your English sayings.’
‘The pips are squeaking, believe me.’
‘Then get the money. Tomorrow.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I can’t just go to a hole in the wall. That’s a lot of cash. It’s not even in this country. It will need organising.’
‘How soon then?’
‘Two days at least. Maybe three.’
‘You have until the day before Christmas Eve.’
Three days.
‘I’ll get it.’
‘You’d better. Our hospitality to your daughter runs out then. We’ll be in touch.’ He gave me a mobile phone number, then hung up.
You’ve just signed your own death warrant, I thought. You don’t know it yet, but you’re a dead man walking. You, your family, and anyone else involved.
44
I looked at my watch. Too early to do anything about the money yet, but I couldn’t sit still, keyed-up with tension and fear about Judith’s whereabouts. I reckoned a trip to Judith’s place would keep me occupied, and stop me from going out of my mind. I might discover something that would lead me to the Russians, her kidnappers.
I dressed casually, tooled up with all that I had left – my nail gun and jemmy – left the hotel, grabbed a lobster on Park Lane and headed for Camden. The cabbie wanted to chat, but one look at my boat in the mirror shut him up.
When he dropped me off I went down the steps to the flat door that was almost invisible from the street. It was ajar. I’d been right about the arrangement not being a good one. As I didn’t have a key that was the reason for the jemmy, but I didn’t need it.
I hate open doors. I’ve found some dreadful things on the other side of them in my life. But at least I knew Judith was alive. Not like the last time I’d gone through one, and found my lover dead on the other side.
The door wasn’t damaged as far as I could see, and I pushed it open slowly, the nail gun in one fist, the jemmy in the other. Neither would be much good against armed men, but they made me feel better. The inside of the flat had that dead feeling that empty dwellings do.
There was a short hall with a bathroom on one side and a bedroom the other. At the end was a large living room with an open-plan kitchen on one side where I’d prepared our drink what seemed like just hours earlier, but now felt like a lifetime ago. The far wall was all glass, with patio doors overlooking a scrubby garden. But then it was December, and in the summer it might’ve been a glorious palette of colour. The place had been turned over, not neatly. But there were no obvious signs of a struggle, and no blood. I was grateful for that. Knowing they’d hurt my girl would have torn me to pieces. Suddenly, I heard a phone ring. The land line telephone was on the floor, the wire pulled out of the wall socket, so I did a three sixty and found Judith’s mobile on the kitchen floor; the small screen showed DCI QUINN was calling. I didn’t know any DCI Quinn, and I didn’t want him knowing me, so I rejected the call. The battery indicator was low, but luckily there was a charger plugged into one of the wall sockets. I grabbed it, stuck it and the phone into my pocket and left, closing the door.
45
I cabbed it back to the West End and called into a boozer at the back of the hotel for a pint. I checked Judith’s phone, and the missed calls were starting to pile up from all sorts. No one I knew obviously. I switched the phone off to save the battery.
I called my banker that afternoon, when it would be morning over there. I phoned from a call box off Oxford Street. It was freezing cold inside, stunk of piss, the handset felt like it had been dipped in chip fat and it was decorated with cards for prostitutes of every size, shape, colour and creed – and every variation of gender that even a gynaecologist might have trouble recognising. I wondered how many of the photographs were genuine.
‘I’m in London and I need cash,’ I said when he answered promptly. That’s the advantage of having a lot of money deposited. ‘A lot of cash. Quickly.’
‘How much?’ he asked.
‘Half a million. Sterling.’
‘Ah, that is a lot,’ he said.
‘I’ve got it.’
‘And a whole lot more Mr Stark. That’s not the problem.’
‘Then what is?’
‘The government of your country has many rules about the transfer of cash. Something to do with money laundering I believe.’
He said it as if he could hardly believe such a thing existed. But we both knew better. ‘And as you know, we do not have business premises in the UK.’
‘I know.’ That was one of the reasons I chose that bank.
‘But we do have reciprocal arrangements with one or two establishments in cases of emergency. And I imagine this is an emergency.’
‘You could say that.’
‘Would you like me to make enquiries then?’
‘Yes,’ I said, shivering in my shoes.
‘Could I call you back?’
‘I’d rather call you.’
‘Very well. Shall we say in an hour?’
‘We shall.’
‘Then I’d better get busy. We’ll speak then.’
‘Yes,’ I said, and hung up after a brief goodbye.
I nipped back to the hotel and had two bubbling hot Irish coffees to take away the chill. B
ut the cold lump in my stomach about what had happened to Judith just wouldn’t go away. I was back at the phone box within the hour. It was empty, which didn’t surprise me, the state it was in.
I got through straight away.
‘Good news,’ said my banker. ‘But I’m afraid it’s at a price.’
‘Tell me,’ I said.
‘There’s a bank in Old Street in London. You know Old Street?’
‘Yes.’
He gave me an address. ‘You are to see a Mr Mahood. He will have a half a million pounds for you the day after tomorrow at start of business.’
‘No sooner?’
‘I’m afraid not. The money has to be liquidated from various sources so as not to raise any suspicion of foul play. Ten o’clock that morning at his office. He is a reliable man. I vouch for him, even though it is not the most prepossessing building.’
‘Good.’
‘There is a fee of course.’
‘I would never have guessed. How much?’
‘Ten per cent.’
‘Fifty grand?’
‘That’s the regular amount for a transaction such as this. Do you find it acceptable?’
‘I have no choice. You’ll sort that out.’
‘Of course.’
I wondered how much of that would end up in his back pocket, but right then I didn’t care.
‘Then I’ll transfer the money straight away,’ he said. ‘And he will do the rest.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.
‘Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Stark.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘And thanks again.’
‘I hope the money solves any problems you may have in London.’
‘So do I,’ I said.
One day down, two to go.
46
Then I called the only other person in the country whose number I still had, or had mine on the island. Ex-Detective Inspector Jack Robber, now living by the seaside with his sister. Or at least he was when I left.
The phone rang for so long I thought I might have a wrong number, but eventually he picked up. ‘Robber,’ he said in a weak voice.