by James Green
‘If anyone asks in Rome I was never there, not as a Duns student, not as anything. And again he would have to break cover to get anyone to check.’
‘And this placement? What is that?’
‘Is it as much a lie as my London record or the one that doesn’t exist in Rome? No. Being here isn’t me lying low while people look for me - not exactly. It really is me finding out about life as a parish priest. Look, Udo, I told you everything because I thought you deserved to know it all. As for Bronski, if he wants to check me out, the simplest way would be for him to come here and ask questions, that would be a safe first step. If the questions were careful enough he could find out what he wanted but still keep his cover intact.’
‘So if he comes asking questions, that would mean ...’
‘It would mean he came and asked questions. I don’t have to be right. I’m just thinking out loud. I’m probably a mile wide of what this is about, if it’s about anything at all.’ He hoped he was convincing Udo, because he was bloody well sure he wasn’t convincing himself. ‘And even if he is hiding out, it’s nothing to do with us. I don’t want to know anything or do anything about this bloke, whoever he is or whatever he did. I don’t deal with villains any more, not for justice, not for profit. And I don’t hurt people now, not if I can help it. I don’t help punish people for their crimes and I don’t bring retribution to the wicked. I just do what I can so Bernie won’t be ashamed of me.’
‘Ashamed of you?’
Jimmy nodded.
‘She must have been ashamed of what I was for most of our married life. She never said anything but she must have known, yet she stuck by me. God alone knows how many times she must have thought about walking out on me and going down to Australia and having a proper life with Eileen and the kids, but she stuck by me.’ Udo could see that the tears were back in his eyes. ‘I thought I was doing it all for her, that I was looking after her, when all the time she was doing it all for me, looking after me. So now I do what I can. I tried being someone she would be proud of but that didn’t work. It was the same me, being the good guy and making it so Bernie would have been proud of me and not caring a damn who got hurt in the process. It was – “Look at me, Bernie, be proud of me, Bernie, I’m doing it all for your sake. I know I’m not doing the right thing but I’m too busy making you proud of me to think about what the right thing is.”.’ He looked up and wiped the tears out of his eyes. The self-pity had gone. ‘So now I do what I can, I try not to make her ashamed of me. It’s not much but it’s all I can manage.’
Jimmy finished his beer. Udo reached across and picked up Jimmy’s empty bottle.
‘Another?’
‘No thanks. I think I’ll turn in.’ Jimmy got up and went to the door. ‘Thanks for listening.’
‘It’s OK, I get to do a lot of listening.’
‘I know you do.’
And Jimmy left Udo to his beer and his thoughts.
EIGHT
Charlie Bronski arrived at Nyborg Station, bought a return ticket to Copenhagen and boarded the seven fifteen train. The train was already well filled with passengers and by the time it reached Copenhagen Central it was packed. It was just before quarter to nine when Charlie joined the crowds of commuters on the platform and they climbed, shoulder to shoulder, up the stairs into the main concourse. There he left the hurrying crowds heading for the exits and went into the ticket office. It wasn’t busy and he was out in a few minutes with a return ticket to Østerport, a local station on the main lines to the north. He looked at the departures board. Almost all of the trains heading north stopped there and he had a choice of two leaving within five minutes. He walked down the stairs onto the platform where the Helsingør train was waiting. The platform was empty and when he got on the train there were only a few passengers scattered about the compartment. He sat down.
Half an hour later they arrived at Østerport station. Three other passengers got off and began to walk along the platform towards the exit sign. Charlie waited for a moment looking at a poster, then he turned and headed for the exit. He didn’t want anyone from the train behind him. A small and probably unnecessary precaution.
Once out of the station he walked past a few parked cars onto a footpath with a high wall on his left and a park on his right. The autumn sun was shining, giving the trees in the park long shadows across the well-tended grass and gravel footpaths. After a couple of minutes the footpath came out onto a wide street, Kastelvej.
From Kastelvej he could see the main buildings of the British Embassy in their own grounds behind the footpath wall. He passed the tall, elaborate iron gates which only opened for special visitors, past the security building at the side of the gates where routine traffic came and went, and turned into an imposing white building that fronted onto Kastelvej. It was squarely handsome in that formally attractive way that many official buildings had in Copenhagen. This was the front office of the Embassy complex where the small business was done. Here came the tourists who’d lost their passports, here all the other little jobs concerning the British traveller in trouble got sorted. This was where the press would get briefed if, as very rarely happened, a British subject in Denmark became newsworthy.
The lobby had a high ceiling and dark marble floor and a clean, austere Scandinavian style, but two substantial aspidistra plants, a large portrait of the Queen and a middle-aged, uniformed man who looked like a West End commissionaire claimed it for Britain. Apart from two leather chairs facing each other on either side of the lobby the only other furniture was a substantial desk.
Charlie walked up to the desk. A young woman smiled at him. Charlie smiled back.
‘I would like a message to be given to Henry Clarke-Phillips.’
The young woman checked her lists and informed him that no one of that name was on the Embassy staff.
No, he knew Henry Clarke-Phillips was not a member of the Embassy staff, Henry Clarke-Phillips was based in London. Could the Head of Embassy Security be given the name and arrange for the message to be sent to London? It was urgent and it was important.
No one was smiling any more.
The young woman looked across at the commissionaire, then the smile returned and she asked Charlie to wait. He smiled back at her then went to a chair and sat down while she made a phone call. The commissionaire never took his eyes off him.
After about five minutes a man who seemed too young to be out of sixth form came through a door and walked across to the desk. He bent down and spoke to the young woman, she answered, then they both looked across at Charlie. The young man walked across to him.
‘I understand you wish the Embassy to send a message to someone?’
Charlie stood up.
‘To Henry Clarke-Phillips.’
‘There is no one of –’
‘That name at this Embassy. I know. Henry Clarke-Phillips works out of London.’
‘In what capacity?’
Charlie looked at him. Was he being careful or snotty? He decided he didn’t care.
‘Are you the Head of Security? I asked for the Head of Security to be given the name.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss –’
‘Tell the Head of Security someone wants a message sent to Henry Clarke-Phillips in London, that it’s urgent and important. Tell whoever it is to look up the name. It will be in the Dormant Contacts Register. I’m not in too much of a hurry ...’ he looked at his watch, ‘but I do have to be somewhere shortly after ten o’clock, so if you could get on with it.’
The sixth former paused. He wasn’t sure. But a Dormant Contacts Register sounded as if it might be something that actually did exist. He was a very junior diplomat, so he made the decision all very junior diplomats make. He would pass the thing on to someone else higher up.
‘Wait here please.’
Charlie sat down again. He wasn’t in a hurry but he didn’t want to be too late. After another five minutes someone else came into the lobby. Mature, smartly severe, she didn’t
waste any time.
‘Good morning, I understand you wish us to send a message?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you are?’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. I want a message sent to Henry Clarke-Phillips in London.’
She didn’t even pause. ‘The message is?’
‘Hamburg, Louis C Jacob, tonight, nine thirty.’
‘Is there anything to go with it to say who it’s from?’
‘No. Thank you. Henry will know who it’s from.’
Charlie left with the Head of Security watching him. Outside he turned off Kastelvej back onto the footpath. He hoped they were at least halfway efficient, he didn’t want to make the trip to Hamburg for nothing. Well, it was done now and when he got to Hamburg he would find out if he still had an ace in the hole. He walked back along the footpath to the station, crossed over the bridge and stood on the platform.
This was a very exclusive suburb. The men and women who stood and waited with him on the platform were the ones who travelled to central Copenhagen after the nuisance of the rush hour had subsided. These were the ones whose offices were at the top of those formally attractive buildings. They arrived late, lunched well and left early. Why not? If success doesn’t mean rewards then what’s the point? He looked at his watch, the trains were frequent and the journey was short. He should be just about right for the ten thirty Mass.
There were about twenty people in the congregation scattered around the church. Jimmy was serving as he did on Sundays at Nyborg. He noticed Bronski slip in and kneel at the back just as Udo was about to give out communion. He wasn’t happy about the arrival; he hadn’t wanted to be right about Bronski but there he was. A few minutes later, at the end of Mass, Udo gave the final blessing, bent down and touched his lips to the altar, and Jimmy led him off the sanctuary back to the sacristy.
Charlie waited a few minutes until almost all the congregation had left the church. Then he went to the door of the sacristy, knocked and went in.
Fr Mundt turned to him. ‘Hello, Charlie, how’s Elspeth?’
‘She’ll be fine, Father, she just needs rest. Listen, I want to say thanks to you for coming yesterday, and I want to ask a favour. I’d also like a bit of advice.’
‘Certainly. Let me finish here then we can go and talk over coffee.’
‘Fine.’
Jimmy was unsuccessfully trying to be invisible, busying himself tidying away the chalice and other items used for Mass into the sacristy safe. He didn’t want to be around this man but he knew Charlie was watching him. He closed the safe door and turned the key. He handed the key to Udo.
‘I’ll go and do some shopping, Father.’
But Charlie wanted him where he could see him and talk to him. He was, after all, the reason for the visit.
‘No, Mr Costello, please don’t go yet. You may be able to help with the advice. Two heads are better than one. I’m sure the shopping can wait.’
Charlie and Jimmy looked at each other. So, thought Jimmy, the game’s on.
‘I’ll go through and get the coffee ready, Father.’
‘Thanks.’
Jimmy went through the door that led from the sacristy into the house and went to the kitchen. After a couple of minutes Udo led Charlie into the living room where Jimmy was putting milk and sugar on the table. Udo and Charlie sat down. Jimmy looked down at Charlie.
‘There’s only instant, Mr Bronski. I hope that’s OK?’
‘Instant’s fine.’
Jimmy left for the kitchen and heard Udo get down to the supposed business.
‘So, Charlie, what’s the favour?’
‘I didn’t tell Elspeth but I’ve got to go away for a day or two. I didn’t tell her because I thought we’d be going together, I was going to turn it into a surprise break. It’s to do with my writing, nothing very important in itself but there’s a deadline. There’s a publisher who thinks he can bring out a German edition of the series, God knows how ... oh ... sorry, Father.’
‘It’s all right, I’ve heard the expression before.’
‘Anyway, how “The World in an English Kitchen” series could sell in Germany is his business, but he needs to see me today to make a decision. It was all arranged weeks ago. Would you go to the hospital and tell Elspeth what’s happened and tell her I’ll be back without fail tomorrow? If I go to the hospital myself I’m not sure I’d get away. If she got upset, which she probably would, I’d have to cancel. I know it sounds like I’m being a wimp but I need to go and if Elspeth ...’
Jimmy came in with three mugs on a tray. He put it on the table.
‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’
Jimmy took his mug and went to sit by the dining table. Udo picked up his mug. He didn’t take sugar or milk. Charlie took both.
‘It would be a real help.’
‘Certainly I’ll do it. I’ll fit it in as soon as I can after lunch. The world has to go on. You go and see your publisher and get back to Elspeth as soon as you can. Now, what’s the advice?’
Charlie hesitated, took a drink of his coffee then sat back, ready to talk.
‘It’s about the police.’
‘The police?’
‘They interviewed me yesterday and made it clear they think I’m holding something back about what happened to the car.’
‘And are you holding anything back?’
‘No, nothing. But if someone puts a bomb in your car the police seem to think you must know who and why. I’m not sure what to do. I have no experience of the police, at least none of being questioned by them in a situation like this. I don’t know how I should handle it. I don’t know who to talk to about it. I wondered if you knew anybody who could advise me. I don’t want to go to a lawyer, I think that makes it look as if I’m guilty of something. I need someone who has experience of the way these things are done. I wondered if you knew anyone, Father?’
There it was, out in the open, the careful question Jimmy had been waiting for. This bloke was good, he really sounded genuine, slightly confused and slightly afraid. He even got it into his eyes. This bloke was very good indeed. Well, thought Jimmy, if he’s guessed it he’s guessed it, he just wants it confirmed, so why not?
‘I don’t know if I can be of any help, Mr Bronski, but I have some knowledge of police procedures.’
‘But I thought you said you were in the Civil Service?’
‘In the UK the Civil Service covers a lot of ground. What is it you want to know? If I can help, I will.’
‘Well, thank you, I appreciate it. And please, call me Charlie. Everyone calls me Charlie.’
Jimmy looked at him. Amazement and relief. Yes, he was very good. Maybe I should clap. Someone ought to clap.
‘What should I do, Mr Costello?’
‘Have you cooperated?’
‘In so far as I can.’
‘Then I would say keep on cooperating.’
‘So just answer their questions as best I can and if I know nothing, say so.’
‘If you know nothing where is there for them to go? If you have nothing to hide there’s nothing to find. Do you have anything to hide, Mr Bronski?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Then I’d say that for a beginner you’re doing OK. I’d say up to now you’re doing fine.’
Charlie stood up smiling. Jimmy watched him. Now it was relief and thankfulness. I wonder if he can dance as well and maybe sing a bit or play an instrument?
‘That’s two things off my mind. You really don’t think I should put off this trip, Father?’
‘No, Charlie, if it’s there and back by tomorrow then you go. I’ll let Elspeth know you’ve gone to your meeting. Something very terrible nearly happened but life has to go on. The sooner you both get things back to normal, the better you’ll feel.’
Udo stood up. Jimmy sat and watched. They shook hands then Charlie came and shook Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy didn’t get up.
‘Thank you, Mr Costello, you’ve really been a help. I thi
nk I know where I stand now.’
Jimmy knew it was meant to mean something, he didn’t know what, but Bronski was definitely telling him something and it was nothing to do with where he stood with the police.
Udo led his visitor from the room, leaving Jimmy to sit and think about the visit.
The curtain had come down and the show was over. He felt sure he would find out sometime soon what the price of admission would turn out to be. For such a good show it could be quite a high price.
When Udo came back, Jimmy was sitting drinking his coffee. Udo sat down.
‘Well, he came, like you said he would. Do you still think it means something?’
‘I said he might come. I hoped he wouldn’t but he did, and he didn’t waste any time. And, yes, I think it means something. He made one mistake though.’
‘A mistake?’
‘He didn’t thank us for the coffee. He did just about everything else, but he didn’t say thank you for the coffee. Maybe he didn’t like it.’
Udo looked at Jimmy.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s good, Udo, too good to just be a straight ex-villain. He’s trained, some kind of professional.’
‘You think so? Ex-police maybe?’
‘No, not police – not even the Special Branch sort – but I know the type he would fit. He’s like the ones who sometimes turned up to keep Special Branch company, the sort who never got introduced. There was always at least one around when there was IRA involvement or even the chance of their involvement.’
‘And that cryptic remark means what exactly?’
‘He’s some sort of Intelligence, or was. He’s not some ex-Mob guy that’s retired or is being looked after by some Witness Protection Programme.’
‘How do you know? How can you be sure?’
‘I can’t be sure, just like I couldn’t be sure he had me clocked as a policeman and would come to suss me out. But it turns out I was right then and I think I’m right now. What sort of successful villain retires to Denmark, for God’s sake?’
‘And writes cookery books? Yes, I see what you mean. But it’s like you said, a good place to disappear into. If you wanted to live a nice comfortable life well away from anyone who was looking for you, the sort who would want you dead if they found you, I’d say it’s a very good place.’