The verge practice bak-7

by Barry Maitland

  ‘No, really.’

  Mozas looked put out. ‘But you cannot even speak Spanish! You don’t have Linda with you. What did you expect to achieve?’

  ‘I just wanted a change of scenery for the weekend.’

  Alvarez got to his feet and reached towards her, brandishing the book. For a moment Kathy thought he was going to hit her with it. Instead, he slammed it down on the table, open at the page illustrating the house of the superintendent of Sant Pau, and glared at her.

  Mozas said, ‘Dr Lizancos has reported an intruder in the grounds of his house in the Eixample district last night. This house, that you have the plans for in your bag. Fortunately he had a guest staying with him, the manager of his Sitges building, who had come to report on the break-in there. This man scared off the intruder, but he did take note of a car parked outside in the street. A red Cordo, with the same number as yours.’

  Kathy felt thoroughly outclassed by the lizard doctor. She wondered what he had done with her tools. Was he holding them back, like a careful boxer reserving the big punch, or had he already planted them somewhere?

  ‘Look, Jeez, I can’t help you with this. There’s obviously been an unfortunate series of coincidences, but I’m sure you don’t have time to waste where no real harm has been done, and I don’t think either of us would want an embarrassing international incident.’

  ‘I’m not sure that can be avoided, Kathy. You see, from where we are sitting, it looks as if a member of the British police has been caught carrying out illegal acts against a Spanish citizen on Spanish soil. Dr Lizancos is a very distinguished man, highly regarded. He holds the police medal as well as many other honours. He is a personal friend of Captain Alvarez, who, incidentally, is very pissed off that you and Linda passed yourselves off as acting on his orders when you went to visit the doctor the first time.’ Mozas paused, his stern expression softening a little. ‘Is there someone you would like to contact for help, Kathy? Your superior? It doesn’t seem fair that you should have to deal with this all alone.’

  Kathy imagined Brock at the end of a pleasant Sunday lunch with Suzanne, and felt a sharp pang of longing for home. But ringing him would only seem to implicate him.

  As if reading her thoughts, Mozas said, ‘Mr Brock is your immediate boss, isn’t he? But he’s only a chief inspector. I think Captain Alvarez will want to go higher than that. Much higher. Do you really want to be crucified alone?’

  Kathy felt sick.

  They took her back to the cell and left her there for several more hours. Finally, Lieutenant Mozas came for her with a uniformed cop. The two of them chatted amiably in Catalan while Kathy was led out to the front counter of the police station. One by one her possessions were produced and signed for. Mozas looked at his watch and said something to the desk officer, who muttered and sped up the process, then they were leading her to a patrol car in the street outside. It was a balmy evening, with the glow of sunset on the tiled roofs.

  ‘What’s going on, Jeez?’

  ‘You’ve got a plane to catch,’ he said. ‘You know, I never saw big guns move so fast, Kathy.’ He laughed and consulted his notebook. ‘Commander… Deputy Assistant Commissioner… Assistant Commissioner… Deputy Commissioner… back to Commander. Is that right? Such odd names. I thought commissioners were the people who check your ticket at the movies. Here’s your orders, by the way.’

  He handed her a copy of a fax with the Metropolitan Police letterhead. It read, ‘DS K. Kolla is ordered to report for interview at the office of Commander D. Sharpe, Room 632, New Scotland Yard, at 0900 hrs on Monday 1 October.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ Kathy murmured.

  ‘Yeah. Tough.’

  ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘You’ve been working too hard, and you’ve had some personal problems, yes? To do with a boyfriend? You’ve had a breakdown, something like that. Anything to keep that headline out of the paper.’

  ‘What headline?’

  ‘Drunk lady cop arrested in Spain.’ Mozas laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘Your drink-driving charge will stay on the record, in case you ever try to come back. You’ll have to sort out the damage to the car with the hire company.’

  Well, Kathy thought, at least I won’t be giving the speech to the police conference on Wednesday.

  ‘Boy, your clothes really stink of booze and stuff,’ Mozas said. ‘How’s your hangover, by the way?’

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘Get yourself a drink in the airport. It’ll make you feel better. If there’s time, that is.’ He leaned forward and spoke to the driver, who flicked on the siren and pressed his foot to the floor. Mozas leaned closer to Kathy and lowered his voice. ‘I got rid of your burglar’s tools. I thought you’d want that.’

  Kathy looked at him with surprise. ‘Why did you do that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought you were in enough trouble without the physical evidence. Alvarez wouldn’t have agreed to let you go if he’d seen those.’

  ‘Thank you, Jeez. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Lizancos and his gorilla set you up, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know, you should have come to me in the first place, Kathy. I could have helped you.’

  ‘I’d have got you into trouble, too.’

  He shrugged. ‘And now you’ve got yourself into a hole. I guess they’ll kick you out.’

  ‘Yes…’ She saw the terminal building ahead, and suddenly felt quite calm and settled, for the first time that day. ‘Unless I can come up with something really smart.’

  ‘Like a miracle?’ Mozas laughed. ‘Good luck!’

  29

  Kathy stared out the window at the baggage-handling trucks circling the parked aircraft. Rain was streaming across the glass, making the picture blur and streak as if she were weeping. She sighed and got to her feet, joining the queue of passengers shuffling towards the exit.

  There was a crowd waiting on the other side of the barrier. A group of children were waving frantically at a Spanish girl in front of Kathy, limousine drivers held up placards with names. In the confusion Kathy didn’t immediately notice the dark figure standing off to the left, but when she was through the crush and into the open space of the arrivals hall, something made her turn to see Luz Diaz closing in on her.

  ‘Hello, Sergeant Kolla,’ the woman said. ‘Welcome home.’

  ‘Hello. You look as if you were expecting me.’

  ‘Dr Lizancos phoned to tell me about your adventures in Barcelona.’ ‘You know him, of course.’ The woman gave a little nod. ‘How did he know what plane I was on?’ Luz smiled. ‘Captain Alvarez felt obliged to brief the doctor when they decided to let you go. I decided to come and meet you. There are some things we should discuss. My car is outside.’

  Kathy hesitated. She met the woman’s eyes and felt a return of the nausea that had disappeared during the flight. ‘I don’t think so. It’s been a long day.’

  She noticed Luz’s eyes shift to a spot beyond her right shoulder, and turned to find George Todd standing there. He had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and he was regarding Kathy with the closest attention.

  ‘Even so, it’s important that we talk before you meet with your superiors tomorrow morning, Kathy,’ Luz said. ‘It concerns Charles Verge. I take it you believe he’s still alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dr Lizancos said you were very persistent. He said you wouldn’t give up.’

  ‘Clever old Dr Lizancos.’

  ‘I can take you to Charles.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘You do want to find him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ She linked her arm through Kathy’s and led her towards the doors.

  Later, as they headed north up the M25, Luz turned to Kathy in the passenger seat beside her and said, ‘You are a very determined young woman, aren’t you? Did you really do all that breaking and entering in Spain of
f your own bat, or did someone put you up to it? Chief Inspector Brock, perhaps? I always thought he might be hard to convince.’

  Kathy didn’t reply. She watched Luz’s hand go to the indicator and saw the sign up ahead for the exit road into the dark countryside beyond the highway.

  After a while, she recognised the village they passed through. She caught a brief glimpse of light glowing from the windows of the pub, and then they were plunged back into the darkness of winding lanes between tall hedges.

  Finally, the car slowed and turned in to a gravel drive. Kathy made out the razor-sharp line of a dark wall against the night clouds. They were at Briar Hill, she realised, Luz Diaz’s home and Charles Verge’s first building.

  Luz led the way through the opening in the wall into the glass pavilion, so like the one in Barcelona, and down the spiral staircase into the studio lounge, George Todd following close on Kathy’s heels all the while. So far he had said not a word. Luz indicated a seat for Kathy, then threw the short jacket she was wearing over the back of another chair and sat down.

  ‘I’m dying for a drink. Scotch for me please, George. What about you, Kathy?’

  ‘Water, please.’ Kathy sat. Beyond their reflections in the glass wall she could make out the shapes of dark tree masses across the fields. They waited while George poured the drinks and then sat down, placing himself, Kathy saw, in the background, between her and the stairs, but also where he could watch her face.

  ‘Kathy…’ Luz Diaz leaned forward, cupping her glass in her two hands as if offering something precious to her guest. She fixed Kathy with dark eyes that dilated slightly with concentration, a calculated, rather theatrical effect, Kathy thought. ‘What I am going to tell you I will never repeat outside of this room, and will vehemently deny if you repeat it to anyone else. As far as the world is concerned, Charles Verge was murdered on the twelfth of May by his partner Sandy Clarke. As all the world now knows, with the exception of you it seems, he was an innocent victim, an architect of world standing, a tragic loss.’

  She sat back, placed her drink on the glass table at her elbow and lit a cigarette. ‘Okay. Now the truth. Charles Verge may have been a genius, I wouldn’t know, but he was a deeply flawed character. He bullied his colleagues relentlessly, treated his male employees like slaves and female staff with contempt. He was manically jealous of his peers, was obsessed with his public image, and paranoid in his suspicions of disloyalty in those around him. After Gail left him, these tendencies, which she’d more or less reined in, blossomed unchecked. His second wife actually encouraged them, because she thought that, seeing everyone else as potential traitors and enemies, he would rely totally on her.’

  Luz took a sip of her drink, drew on her cigarette and studied her listener for a response. Kathy thought the picture made sense, and gave a nod.

  ‘Okay. About two years ago I met up with him-in Barcelona, I think it was, or maybe New York. Anyway, I hadn’t seen him for a while and I was struck by how he’d changed for the worse. I guess he was under stress with his work, but he struck me as close to a breakdown. We had a meal together, and the whole time he ranted and raved about how everyone was trying to ruin him. His mother and daughter were driving him mad. Sandy Clarke, who from what I’d heard must have had the patience of a saint, had always just exploited his reputation and was now so jealous of his fame that he was trying to undermine his business, Charles claimed. Worst of all was his wife, Miki, who was hell-bent on destroying his reputation with her hopeless ambition to be recognised as a design star.

  ‘I tried to reassure him, make him see sense, but that just made him angrier, and in the end all I could do was be a good listener, and a good friend when he needed a shoulder to cry on. But I think now, looking back, that it must have been around then that he decided, like Samson, to bring the whole temple crashing down, and destroy them all.

  ‘There was another side to him. Outside his own world he could be an extraordinarily generous person, as both George and I know. I caught up with him again early this year, and he seemed calmer, as if he now was in control of the situation. I, on the other hand, was a mess. I’d recently broken up with a partner who had cheated me badly, taking just about everything I owned. Charles insisted on putting me back on my feet. He offered me this house, the chance to move to England and start again. He made it look as if I’d bought the place, but really it was a gift, an astonishingly generous gift. George has a similar story. Charles befriended him in prison, and set him up when he came out with a home and money. He, too, has been able to start over again, with a new life. So in the end, when Charles needed us, even though we knew that what he’d done was terribly wrong, we had to help him.

  ‘He came here on the Saturday, right after he’d killed Miki. He was very calm. He explained what he’d done and said it had been unavoidable, that Miki had become unreliable and unfaithful, and dangerous to him. He knew exactly what he was going to do, and needed our help. George spent the rest of the day with him, taking his car to the coast, and that night took him over to France in a boat he’d arranged to use. Charles said that he would get Dr Lizancos to change his appearance in Barcelona, then go on from there to South America.

  ‘It was a couple of months before we heard from him again, by phone. He was still in Barcelona, he said, and things had gone terribly wrong. Lizancos had botched the operations on his face, there had been infections and he was ill. The Spanish police were closing in, he couldn’t get to South America and Lizancos was panicking. He needed somewhere to hide out, to recuperate. Of course, we agreed. George drove down to Spain and brought him back here. There is a small self-contained flat on the ground floor. He has been there ever since.’

  Kathy sat very still, as if expecting Verge’s figure to emerge from the shadows.

  Luz crushed out her cigarette. ‘He was in a terrible state, poor man, when George brought him back. His face was a mess-my God, that Lizancos is a butcher! Charles said he is too old to cut people up, his hands shake. It was a terrible mistake going to him, but he was a very loyal friend of Charles’s father and Charles knew he could rely on him to keep silent. And there was something else that upset Charles even more. He said that he had arranged things so that Sandy Clarke should have been suspected of both his and Miki’s murders. He had left clues and evidence of financial dealings which incriminated Clarke, the idea being to clear Charles’s name and allow him to escape in safety. But somehow the police had been so incompetent that they had apparently overlooked these things. Now everyone believed that Charles was alive, a killer on the run. This preyed on his mind a great deal. As he recovered physically-though disfigured-he became very depressed by the thought that posterity would remember him as a monster.

  ‘Then you came to speak to Charlotte that day, after you had interviewed Sandy Clarke. George saw the files you were carrying, and how upset they made Charlotte, even though afterwards she refused to say what it was about. So he followed you to the supermarket, stole the papers and brought them to Charles, who discovered that Clarke was the father of his expected grandchild. He was very angry. That was when he decided to kill Clarke and make him claim responsibility for Miki’s death. He succeeded brilliantly, of course, with George’s help, and his reputation was restored just in time for the opening of his last masterpiece.’

  ‘So where is he now?’ Kathy asked. Throughout Luz’s account George hadn’t stirred a muscle, hadn’t blinked and hadn’t shifted his eyes from Kathy’s face.

  Luz reached for a magazine on the glass table. ‘This is the Architectural Review edition featuring Marchdale. It is a wonderful appreciation, the confirmation of Charles’s talent. It came out last Wednesday, the day before the opening. That evening he had supper with us. He was very content, and said that everything was now in order. The next day I phoned him from Marchdale to tell him how wonderfully the opening had gone. When I returned I found him downstairs in his room. He had taken an overdose.

  ‘I called George, and together we built
a great pyre with timber from the woods. We burned his body and all his possessions, then scattered the ashes.’ She turned to the window and gestured. ‘He’s out there, Kathy, in the air and the water and the soil. You will find no trace of him.’

  Kathy said nothing, lowering her eyes, aware of them watching her. Finally George spoke for the first time, softly. ‘She doesn’t believe you, Luz.’

  Kathy looked up, first at him, then at Luz. ‘Actually, I do believe most of what you said.’

  ‘Most?’

  ‘The trouble is, Charles has done this so many times before-died and left no body. First in the English Channel, then in some unmarked grave, and now scattered across Buckinghamshire.’

  Luz’s expression hardened. ‘It was necessary that there should be no trace left. You understand that. His reputation must be preserved.’

  ‘Hm.’ Kathy didn’t attempt to hide her disbelief. She felt grimy and exhausted.

  ‘But there is something,’ Luz said. She got to her feet and handed Kathy a small clear plastic pouch. Inside she saw a colour photo of a laughing girl. Turning it over she read the childish printed message, ‘To dearest Daddy, luv from Charlotte, XXX’.

  ‘It was in his wallet, and I didn’t have the heart to burn it. I suspect it was the most precious thing he had. I dare say it has his fingerprints on it. You can have it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You can use it, perhaps. Tell your bosses that you found it in Lizancos’s house, to prove Charles was there and justify your actions. Tell them about what I have said tonight, too, if you like. Maybe they will forgive you.’

  ‘Why would you want to help me? You said you’d deny everything.’

  ‘Of course I will. But I want you and your people to know the truth and then leave us alone. I am betting that your bosses will want to bury it. It is all too late now, and too embarrassing. I have the feeling that, after tomorrow, the police will be thankful to never hear the name Charles Verge again.’