by Robert Daws
Reaching down to manoeuvre yet another tile into place, the stillness of the late afternoon was interrupted by the sound of a mobile ringing. Moments later Consuela appeared on the terrace below, holding Danaher’s phone.
‘Dad … it’s Gus Broderick calling.’
Now that’s interesting, Danaher thought as he gazed down at his beautiful daughter.
‘Answer it will you, love? I’m coming right down.’
71
As predicted, Massetti had reacted badly to the medical embargo on interviews with Jasinski. Broderick called her from the street as he and Sullivan walked towards Casemates Square. Sullivan could tell that he was relieved not to be talking to her face to face. Both detectives had decided not to inform Massetti of their suspicions about Isolde. Better to build a stronger case for the producer’s guilt than risk the chief super chucking it out ‘early doors’ for lack of detail. Sullivan had called Calbot and told him to concentrate his enquiries on Isolde for the rest of the day, but to keep it under his hat. Broderick, meanwhile, had made a call to Spain.
‘We need more background on the Martínez family,’ he told Sullivan. ‘I’ve asked a friend of mine to have a sniff around, see what he can find out.’
‘And I’ve told Calbot we’ll be back in an hour,’ Sullivan replied.
‘Good. Fish and chips it is then,’ Broderick proclaimed.
72
Cath and the two girls were already sitting at an outside table at Roy’s Fish Restaurant on Grand Casemates Square. The area was busy with holiday-makers and locals passing to and from Main Street or stopping at one of the many cafes for an early evening drink or meal.
As Broderick and Sullivan arrived at the family table, Cath rose to greet them.
‘Hello, Tamara,’ she said, kissing Sullivan on both cheeks. ‘I’m so glad you could make it. You know Daisy, of course, but I not sure if you and Penny have met.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ Sullivan confirmed. ‘Good to meet you, Penny.’
‘And you,’ Penny replied with a smile. ‘It looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, though.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Broderick questioned. ‘How do you figure that one?’
‘I got that job in your police canteen. Start next Monday.’
‘My sister’s very clever,’ Daisy announced triumphantly.
‘Sounds like it to me,’ Sullivan replied. ‘Well done, Penny. Looking forward to your finest skinny latte.’
‘You got it!’ Penny smiled, taking to Sullivan straight away.
‘You proud of her, Gus?’ Cath asked her silent brother.
‘Of course, I am. Nice little gap-filler till she decides which universities she’s going to apply for, eh?’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Penny responded, pulling a face. ‘Cold teas and soggy sandwiches for you next week.’
‘Story of my life,’ Broderick replied, winking at his eldest daughter.
‘Fish and riding whips!’ Daisy demanded. ‘Roy’s are the best in town.’
‘They certainly are, sweet pea,’ Broderick agreed. ‘Cod, chips, mushy peas all round and a pickled gherkin for the guv’nor!’
Within ten minutes, five heaped platefuls of cod and chips had been brought to the table. Daisy cheered at the sight of the feast and everyone set about covering the delicious food with salt, vinegar and large dollops of ketchup. It was, Sullivan happily informed everyone, the best meal she had eaten in years.
As the plates emptied and the girls chatted away to their father, Sullivan enjoyed seeing Broderick as a family man. The change in him was pronounced. The gruff and irritable professional persona had given way to a softer, smiling and more relaxed personality. She had been increasingly aware that his girls were the centre of his life, and now it was easy to understand why.
In a slight lull in the conversation, Sullivan asked about the flooding in the charity shop she had witnessed earlier in the day.
‘The man stopped the water,’ Daisy announced. ‘But everything is wet and smells big time.’
‘Bit of a disaster, really,’ Cath confirmed. ‘But it didn’t affect the front of the shop, so we’ll carry on from there until it’s all sorted. Luckily the main work of the charity is done in the offices just around the corner. The shops here and over in the UK are really about keeping a raised public profile more than fundraising. Though every little bit helps, of course.’
‘Quite a big operation,’ Sullivan replied.
‘Big enough for me and Sister Clara,’ Cath continued. ‘The Rock of Ages Foundation is a nipper compared to the big boys – Oxfam, Save the Children and the like – but we still raise nearly £6 million a year. Our new orphanage in Kampala alone looks after nearly three hundred children. Our other projects in Bangladesh, Costa Rica, Haiti and Brazil care for thousands more.’
‘And it’s just you and Sister Clara running it all?’ Sullivan asked in surprise.
‘Oh, no,’ Cath replied, laughing at the suggestion. ‘We have a board of directors and an admin team here on the Rock. Plus teams at our centres abroad. Sister Clara is the boss, but I have quite a lot of responsibility for the day-to-day running of things.’
‘Increasingly so,’ Broderick chipped in.
‘I’ve been trying to persuade Gus to retire and come work for us instead,’ Cath added. ‘He’d be good at it, I think. It would be a little less demanding than policing the Rock.’
‘I’ve got a good few years in me yet, thank you very much,’ Broderick countered.
‘What are you wearing to the ball tomorrow night, Tamara?’ Penny asked changing the subject completely. ‘I’m going as Katniss Everdeen.’
The question took Sullivan by surprise. ‘Ball? What ball?’
‘Aunty Cath and Sister Clara’s ball,’ Daisy explained. ‘Fancy dress. Me and Sister Clara are going as The Sound of Music.’
‘The Sound of Music?’
‘Yes, Daddy. I’m going as Maria and Sister Clara is going as the Mummy Abbess.’
Sullivan was now thoroughly confused.
‘It’s one of our fundraisers,’ Cath explained. ‘At the Rock Hotel tomorrow night. The theme is Hollywood films. It would be lovely if you could come along, Tamara.’
‘Well, I’d love to … if work allows,’ Sullivan replied, looking to Broderick.
‘Hard to say at the moment,’ Broderick told them. ‘Poncing about in fancy dress isn’t really my cup of tea, but then again I don’t really have a say in the matter.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Penny told her father firmly. ‘And please dress up as something that isn’t embarrassing.’
‘Last fancy dress we had, my brother came as a plain-clothes detective,’ Cath added, giving Broderick a stern look. ‘A little unimaginative.’
‘Worked for me,’ Broderick said.
‘Daddy was rubbish with that one,’ Daisy admonished.
‘Looks like you’re going to have to pull something special out of the bag, guv,’ Sullivan said, enjoying seeing her boss squirm.
‘And now so will you,’ Broderick replied tartly.
Cath reached over and patted Sullivan’s hand. ‘Don’t you worry about that. You’re busy. I’ll sort you out something wonderful to wear.’
Broderick’s mobile buzzed. One look at it was enough to make Gus Broderick grimace.
‘Massetti,’ he announced. ‘I’m afraid our little party’s over.’
73
Back at New Mole House, Harriet Massetti had been feeling the pressure. She and the Spanish police had issued a joint statement during afternoon confirming that there was a suspected link between the murders of Cornwallis in Gibraltar and the two men in San Roque. Certain members of the press had already drawn this conclusion after the manhunt for Jasinski was launched in Spain the previous evening. Massetti had also spent the best part of the afternoon in exhaustive talks with politicians. The chief minister and the governor of Gibraltar had shared an hour-long conference call, and the minister of justice had visited police HQ
for a personal briefing. There were also her hourly updates to the commissioner, who was still desperately trying to get back from New York. Political sensitivities were running high as the story continued to be reported internationally. Sitting in her office with her throbbing ankle propped up on a chair, Massetti felt as though the eyes of the world were on Gibraltar. The demands on the chief super and her team to deliver results were intensifying by the hour.
With this burden in mind, she had decided once again to kick arse. The bollocking she had given Broderick on the phone a few minutes earlier had off-loaded a little stress. That Jasinski had harmed himself while in custody was unacceptable, she had told her chief inspector. Accusations of police brutality were already being made in radio and television news reports. It was an unfortunate and very inconvenient added pressure on a force already under the magnifying glass.
Massetti had always found comfort in the principle of ‘Occam’s razor’ – that the simplest explanation is most likely to be the correct one. Lech Jasinski – a sufferer of severe schizophrenia – shared his father’s obsession with the Queen of Diamonds. On his father’s recent death, that obsession had become overpowering. Jasinski saw the movie as an obscene rewriting of history, and he would stop at nothing to prevent it happening. The resulting assaults and murders were collectively a campaign of indignation and revenge executed by a powerful man in an unbalanced state of mind. All Broderick and Sullivan had had to do was keep on at Jasinski until he was forced to admit the truth. Instead, of course, their suspect would now be in hospital for days, maybe weeks, and a confession would be unobtainable during that time. It meant that even more attention would now be paid on getting positive crime scene DNA results, which were not due from the lab till the following day.
Massetti closed her eyes. The strong painkillers she had been prescribed were making her feel faint. The mix of this and several sleepless nights finally took their toll. As her head lolled forward, Harriet Massetti drifted into light, anxious slumber. Minutes later, an embarrassed chief superintendent was awoken by a gentle tap on her shoulder from Sergeant Aldarino.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but we’ve just got news from the hospital.’
74
Sullivan and Broderick had already rushed back to St Bernard’s and were being briefed by the consultant neurosurgeon, Mr Alex Mbadinuju.
‘Mr Jasinski has seriously injured himself, Chief Inspector,’ the Nigerian surgeon informed Broderick calmly. ‘We have discovered two blood clots on his brain and considerable tissue swelling. Both conditions are the result of the patient fracturing his own skull. Usually such a presentation is the result of an accident. That Mr Jasinski inflicted this injury on himself is most alarming, and suggests considerable mental instability. I have decided that placing him in an induced coma offers the best possible chance of recovery. I am sure you appreciate just how serious this is.’
Both detectives did fully appreciate the situation and its subsequent implications for their investigation. Thanking the consultant, they left the building and headed back to New Mole House.
The first thing they learned on their arrival at HQ was how Jasinski had avoided taking his medications. Several pills had been discovered in his pockets, while others were found floating in a urinal. He had most probably secreted the tablets under his tongue and then attempted to hide them – a wilful attempt to send himself into a psychotic meltdown with inevitable violent and self-harming results.
Back in the incident room, Broderick called the team together and attempted to take stock of the new developments.
‘Obviously further questioning of Jasinski is on hold until further notice. It’s a mess, but one we’ve got to put to one side. As it happens, I was about to direct enquiries into a new area of investigation. More on that later after I’ve spoken with the chief super. But while we await the DNA reports, I suggest we go over the ground covered so far. Cast a forensic eye on everything we have on Jasinski, but also check for anything we may have missed. Anything that strikes you as strange. So far we’ve fitted the story around Jasinski’s probable guilt. Don’t be chained to that scenario. Think outside the box. Even if it means leaving Jasinski out of the picture. Agreed, Sullivan?’
‘Absolutely, guv.’
‘Start at the beginning and work through everything. Let’s see what a different perspective throws up,’ Broderick ordered. ‘Surprise me.’
The briefing at an end, the team returned to their desks and phones. Sullivan turned to her boss. ‘Well, that’s set the cat among the pigeons.’
‘Good,’ Broderick replied, looking over the room. ‘Now we’ll test your new theory to the full.’
‘And let Massetti in on it?’
‘That as well,’ Broderick replied ruefully, ‘that as well.’
Calbot approached them from across the room. ‘Excuse me, guv. Someone at the front desk asking to see you.’
‘Oh aye? Who?’
‘Woman called Aina Lascano, guv. Eduardo Martínez’s housekeeper.’
75
‘Señora Lascano apologises for her lack of English,’ Sergeant Aldarino translated for Sullivan and Broderick. The three police officers sat with the Spanish woman in the small interview room just off the custody suite of New Mole House. Lines on the sixty-year-old woman’s face were etched deep into her weathered skin. Her eyes flicked from one detective to the other, apprehension verging on fear evident in her hesitant speech and the constant wringing of her hands. Both Sullivan and Broderick had immediately recognised her from the night before in San Roque.
‘She says she’s come to us because she’s scared,’ Sergeant Aldarino continued, as the señora spoke almost simultaneously in a deep, husky Andalusian dialect. ‘Says she couldn’t tell the Spanish police of this. She knows the local officers well – some since they were children – and thinks they’d believe she was stirring things. Making things up. You understand?’
Sullivan and Broderick nodded.
‘She says that she was aware of the great sadness that Don Martínez carried in his heart for so many years. She had worked for him for nearly forty of those years and knew him well.’
Tears had sprung into Lascano’s eyes. Sullivan instinctively reached across and held the woman’s hand for a moment.
‘Tell her we understand.’
The sergeant nodded. ‘Nosotros entendemos, señora.’
Lascano smiled and continued as Aldarino translated once again. ‘She says Don Martínez and his cousin Marisella were very close growing up. Marisella had been like an elder sister to him. In later years, after the death of his beloved wife, Don Martínez would confide in her – Señora Lascano, that is – although it was often under the influence of too much wine. During these times he had told her terrifying things. Don Martínez believed that a Gibraltarian police inspector called Lorenz had been murdered because of his interest in discovering the identity of Diamant – the Queen of Diamonds. He often told the señora that he believed the same fate would befall him if he attempted to track her down. For this reason, he stopped looking.’
Broderick and Sullivan glanced at each other. The señora’s story confirmed Jasinski’s.
Lascano continued, warming to her task. ‘One night, several years ago, Martínez went to visit a dying man who lived on the outskirts of San Roque. The man was old and had lived a dreadful life. After the war, he had been accused of informing on his Spanish friends. He and several local men had been recruited during the war by the Germans to spy in Gibraltar. It was believed that the man had then been persuaded to work for the British and had given up his colleagues to the authorities. Two of them had been hanged on the Rock as saboteurs. He had always denied these accusations and they had never been proven, but “el barro pegado” – the mud stuck. Despite this, Don Martínez had taken pity on him and, over the years, tried to help him when he could.’
The old woman paused for a moment and took a sip of water from the glass beside her. Clearing her throat, she (an
d Aldarino) continued the story. ‘On the night of his final visit, Don Martínez had found the man delirious. Mistaking the señor for a priest, the man had finally confessed to betraying his friends to the British. He also told the señor about the terrible things that Diamant had done. He was terrified of her. Said she was evil. Told him she had committed murder many times, including Marisella.’
‘Did he give Don Martínez the Queen of Diamonds’ real name?’ Broderick asked.
Aldarino translated the question and Lascano shook her head. ‘No. The only information he gave was an address. A house in Gibraltar.’ Lascano stopped to drink once more.
‘Did Don Martínez visit that house?’ Sullivan enquired.
Lascano took in the question and, through Aldarino, replied: ‘No. He didn’t have to. He already knew who lived there.’
‘Are you saying that the Queen of Diamonds – Diamant, as you call her – was still alive?’ Sullivan asked incredulously.
Once more Aldarino translated. Lascano shrugged. ‘I do not know. But the knowledge of the address and what the dying man had told him seemed to possess Don Martínez. It robbed him of sleep, turned him into a ghost of his former self. He aged quickly. I couldn’t bear to see it.’
‘Did he tell you any else?’ Broderick asked.
She shook her head again. ‘He’d tell me nothing more, fearing that my life would also be in danger.’
Señora Lascano leaned forward towards the detectives, her expression intense. ‘The reason I’ve come to you today is because I believe his fears have come true. When I heard of the death of the English writer, I knew it was connected. He used to tell me, “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but much knowledge can kill you.” Don Martínez knew Diamant’s identity, and because of that, he was murdered. His friend Señor Maugham also. That’s what I believe. You must find out the truth. Promise me you will?’
Without waiting for a reply, the señora turned to Aldarino and nodded. All she had needed to say had been said.