by James Green
‘And the name?’
Jimmy gave him George’s name.
‘He owns the Hind pub on Kilburn High Road, London. The Met will have a complete file on him. I went to Mercer’s house with Inspector Suarez as part of the investigation into the death of Arthur Jarvis. You have all the background to why I was on the case with Suarez, I was put in as an observer?’ Santos nodded. ‘Mercer got the wrong end of the stick, he thought I had come to poke my nose into his business. My guess is he contacted London for instructions and was told to get rid of me. He hired someone to have a go but it got bungled and the guy wound up dead. Your lot know all about that as well. The London end still wanted me dead so Harry tried, kicked in the door and found there was only Inspector Suarez there. He had to shoot her because she knew him.’
‘Mercer knew you were staying with Inspector Suarez?’
‘It wouldn’t have been too hard to find out if you were looking and Harry’s had experience at finding people.’
‘If you knew all of this why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I didn’t know it all then. I wanted to get to the UK quick to find out what the connection was between Mercer and Jarvis. I suppose that’s why I lied to you. I needed to go to England not hang about here answering endless questions that would go nowhere.’
‘All right, what else do you know?’
‘Here, you’ll need this.’ Jimmy took out George’s mobile and passed it across. ‘It’s the mobile of the man who controls the London end. If you run down the calls in and out it will give you most of what you need to tie Mercer to London.’ Santos looked at it but left it on the table. ‘If I was you I’d put somebody onto watching Harry right now. If he gets a call he’ll run.’ Santos didn’t move or speak. Jimmy reckoned somewhere the boss was listening and the orders would be going out. Harry would get his watcher. ‘Harry had a partner here, another ex-pat, Henderson, he owns an accounting firm in the UK. He also owns the publisher who publishes Harry’s books. If you check you’ll find that Harry’s book sales wouldn’t feed a cat, never mind fund the life-style he has here. The money all comes from the porn racket and gets laundered through a company called Iberian Property Holdings, which operates out of Gibraltar. The house Jarvis lived in rent-free was owned by that company. If Suarez ever got round to it you might find that the Hendersons had a rent-free deal with Iberian Property Holdings before they bought their fancy new villa.’
‘And Jarvis was connected to their operation how?’
‘He wrote the books for Harry. They met in prison. Jarvis was a teacher with an extra-curricular interest in bonking his under-age girl pupils and got handed a three-year stretch. Harry recruited him inside. I don’t know where they picked up Henderson.’
Santos thought about it.
‘Why did they kill Jarvis?’
‘I didn’t say they did. I don’t think they did. I don’t know who killed Jarvis but I doubt it was Mercer. Jarvis wrote the books, they needed him. If Jarvis’s death is mixed up in this, I can’t see how.’
‘I see. You will have to make a full statement, everything, including your relationship with Inspector Suarez. You should have come to us sooner, Mr Costello.’
‘And told you what? Suarez knew everything I knew before you bounced me out of the country so you had all I had. Everything else I got in England and now I’m giving it to you. If you don’t fuck it up you should be able to take them all.’
Santos ignored Jimmy’s little outburst.
‘Shall we begin?’
‘Where do you want me to begin?’
‘At the usual place, Mr Costello, the beginning.’
And where exactly is that, thought Jimmy? When I arrived? When I got told to come here? When I first met Professor McBride? When I first met George or Harry? When I was born? Where does anything like this begin?
‘I live in Rome and occasionally work for a college there, I collect information, do research. I was asked to come and talk to Jarvis …’
And Jimmy told them everything. He was hungry, weary and past caring about anything including himself. By the time he had finished his statement, signed a copy in English and a copy in Spanish he didn’t care what happened to Harry, George or any of them. He didn’t even care that Suarez was dead or that she died because she cared for him. She was a copper, she had to take what came with the job. He had come with the job and he got her killed, but he didn’t care any more. For a short time he had felt almost part of the human race again, he had been touched by love and it had made him want justice for Suarez. And where had that grand moral pursuit of justice got him? Nowhere. Suarez was still dead. Harry, George and Henderson might get banged up but the porn would still get made and flow from another set of Harrys, Georges and Hendersons. He would go back to Rome slightly more damaged but not really any different. No wiser, no happier, no different from when he had arrived. He sat by himself in the interview room waiting to be told he could leave.
Then something his mum had once said to him came back. He had wanted something and they couldn’t afford it. A school trip, a school trip to Dawlish, that was it. He’d sulked and she’d looked at him and said, “Self-pity is the most unattractive of emotions and the least useful”. It had taken him until now to see how right she was. Don’t feel sorry for yourself, make the bastards who did it feel sorry. Make yourself fucking useful. Then he realised he was hungry, very hungry. If he didn’t eat soon he would keel over and if he wasn’t allowed to take a piss his bladder would explode.
The door opened and Santos came in. Jimmy looked up at him.
‘What always gets worse the more you nurse it?’
Santos stood still and looked at him.
‘What did you say?’
‘It’s a joke. What always gets worse the more carefully you nurse it?’
Santos came to him and held out something. Jimmy looked at it. It was a photo.
‘Do you recognise this woman?’
Jimmy took another look. It was a surveillance photo of Rosa walking into Harry’s drive.
‘Yes, she’s Rosa Sikora. She works for the London end. When did you get it?’
‘She is with Mercer now, as we speak. She arrived there about ten minutes ago. Do you know why she’s here and why she’s visiting Mercer?’
Jimmy slowly shook his head. Why would George send Rosa to Santander. If she had come to get rid of him then why wasn’t she in Gibraltar? Was George cleaning up anything that could lead to him?
‘If I were you I’d put somebody on to Henderson’s place.’
‘We are already watching Mr Henderson.’
‘I can’t think of anything she’d be doing here except bringing a message from George that’s too important to phone or e-mail or –’
‘Or what?’
‘Or getting rid of the evidence.’
‘You mean Mercer and Henderson?’
‘No, not Mercer. She couldn’t take Harry. Harry’s an old hand and anyway, he wouldn’t talk unless he was sure he was going down for Suarez’s killing. He might talk then to try and work down his sentence but by then George would be clean or well on his way. I think she’s come for Henderson. Once Henderson faces any serious questioning and sees anything like evidence he’ll spill his guts. He’s the money-man and the money’s always the best trail to follow. He’s my bet for the one who can give you London. If the first thing she’s done when she arrives is see Harry my guess is she asking him to get her a gun. Harry can get guns, we know that.’
‘I’m afraid we’ll need to keep you here a little longer, Mr Costello.’
‘Then can I take a piss and get something to eat?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Santos left. Jimmy resumed his battle with his bladder and tried to ignore the clamour of his stomach. How many times had he let someone sweat in an interview room, no food or drink, no toilet break. It wasn’t your actual torture but it was bloody effective. The door opened and the officer from reception who didn’t speak Engli
sh came in. He said something in Spanish but Jimmy recognised the gesture. He got up and followed him They stopped outside a door with a symbol of a man on it. Jimmy went in and took his piss. It wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world but at that moment he couldn’t think of anything that would feel better. He came out of the toilet and they went back to the interview room. On the table was a plate of cold meats, a salad and some bread. There was a paper cup and plastic bottle of red wine. Jimmy went and sat down. There was a fork but no knife and the fork was plastic.
‘I don’t like wine, got any beer?’
The officer left, closing the door behind him. Jimmy took a piece of salami and popped it in his mouth. He looked at the wine, then poured some into the cup and took a drink. He had been wrong, it tasted great. He took some bread. As he ate he felt better. He spoke out loudly to the empty room and to the silent, invisible listeners.
‘A grudge.’
The words bounced off the walls. He continued.
‘A grudge gets worse the more you nurse it. So don’t nurse it – settle it, or forget it.’
Jimmy took another drink and filled his mouth. Leave it to the police, let them settle it, if they could. He was tired of it so he’d forget it, the whole fucking lot of it.
He carried on with his meal. Things weren’t so bad when you actually came down to it. It was a pity about Suarez and he was sorry George was going to get banged up. He liked George, apart from getting Harry to try and kill him. Harry and Henderson didn’t matter. Harry knew the risks and Henderson was a greedy little shit who would get what was coming to him. It wasn’t Jimmy’s job to clean up the world. He had come to find out what Jarvis knew about ETA and now he’d done that. Jarvis knew nothing, he never had. Jarvis was an unfortunate accident. As he finished his meal it suddenly dawned on him. Of course. Now he knew who killed Jarvis. He didn’t know why but he knew who. The point was, should he do anything about it? He thought about it and drank some more wine. It wasn’t beer, certainly not a London pint, but it was OK. On balance he thought not, do nothing about Jarvis’s killer and go back to Rome. It was none of his business who’d done it, nor why they did it. This time he’d keep his nose out of it and head back to Rome. It didn’t pay to get involved. Getting involved was for other people and it always led to tears in the end.
Then the small thought that had slipped from his mind when he had sat on Suarez balcony came back to him. He remembered what the old priest had said. “We make a convenience of each other.” He smiled as another little bit clicked into place. And that’s exactly what the clever old bastard had done, made a convenience of Jarvis. Jarvis was there so he had used him. Clever, devious old bugger, a piece of work McBride would have been proud of herself.
Jimmy finished the wine and another thought floated into his mind which also brought a smile. She was going to throw a fit when she saw his expenses. There was always that to look forward to.
Chapter Thirty-two
When Jimmy woke up he felt both good and bad. He felt good because the sleep had refreshed him, but he felt bad because sitting with his head on his arms on the table had not been such a good position to spend a couple of hours asleep, and now he was paying the price in aches and pains. Also he needed to take another piss. He stood up and looked at his watch. He had been in this bloody interview room nearly five hours. He walked about the room stretching and rubbing himself. It helped but he still didn’t feel great. Also his mouth felt like somebody had emptied a vacuum cleaner bag into it. That must have been the wine. He decided he didn’t like wine after all. He walked to the door of the interview room opened it and went into the corridor. There was no one there. He went to the gents toilet and went in. An officer was using it. Jimmy ignored him and, after one look, the officer ignored him, finished, washed his hands and left. When Jimmy was finished he did the same and went along the corridor and out into reception. There was a new officer on duty, a sergeant. He looked at Jimmy.
‘Do you speak English.’
‘A little.’
‘How long is Inspector Santos going to keep me here?’
‘No idea.’
‘Can I get a cup of coffee?’
‘Sure.’
‘Is there anywhere more comfortable to wait than that interview room?’
‘No.’
‘OK, and thanks for seeing about the coffee.’
Jimmy turned and made his way back to the interview room. The remains of the meal were still on the table. He didn’t sit down, he’d had enough sitting down for the time being. His bum ached from the hard chair. After a few minutes the sergeant from reception came in and put a cup of coffee on the table then left. It was black coffee and when Jimmy tasted it there was no sugar. Jimmy liked milk and two sugars in his coffee. He put it down and carried on slowly walking around the room.
He tried not to think about anything. There was nothing he needed to think about. None of this was his business any more. It didn’t matter why Rosa was in Santander. All he had to do was get back to Rome.
The door opened and Santos came in.
‘I’d like you to come with me, Mr Costello.’
‘Where?’
‘To talk to Mr Henderson.’
‘What do you need me for? I’ve told you everything I know and where you can go to back it all up. You don’t need me.’
‘I think I do. Rosa Sikora was arrested a few minutes ago at Henderson’s villa. She was stopped in his drive, searched and was found to be in possession of an illegal firearm. We know where she got it from.’
‘Mercer.’
‘Of course. He was followed. He went to a bar where certain things are for sale, illegal things. Money changed hands and he was given something. He took it back to his villa where Sikora was waiting. He then drove her to the end of the road where the Hendersons live and dropped her off. He is now sitting in El Sombrero Restaurant arguing with the waiter about something.’
‘Getting himself remembered?’
‘As you say, making his presence memorable. Once you have identified the Sikora woman we’ll pick him up.’
‘Why do you want me to identify her? Didn’t she have a passport with her?’
‘She did but we would prefer also to have a witness identify her.’
‘A witness?’
‘Of course. When all this comes to court you will be an important witness.’
Jimmy didn’t like that but he couldn’t see there was anything he could do about it at the moment. He was still supposed to be co-operating.
‘OK.’
They left the interview room, were joined by a uniformed officer and went along the corridor and then down some steps to a lower floor. Jimmy recognised the cells. He was taken to a door, the officer unlocked it and opened it. Rosa was sitting on the bed. She looked up.
‘Hello, Rosa.’ She didn’t answer. ‘What does your Politics and Economics degree make of this?’
‘Fuck off.’
She looked down at the floor. She didn’t look clever, sharp or tough sitting in a cell. She was trying to, but mostly what she looked was frightened and defeated.
‘It happens, Rosa, you better get used to it. It’s one of the risks of the trade. When they charge you and you get convicted and they bang you up in some Spanish jail, think of it as a post-graduate course or maybe more of an advanced work experience placement. And spare a thought for Harry, he’s going down for killing a police inspector. They’ll throw the book at him and then throw away the key. Harry will pop his clogs in a Spanish prison unless he can bargain some reduction. I hope you didn’t tell him what you were up to, because if you did he’ll use it.’
She looked up again. This time there was real fear in her eyes.
‘You’re lying.’
But he could see she knew he wasn’t. He had seen people in interview rooms and cells look at him like that too often to be mistaken. She was finished; she’d sing like a canary now. Jimmy stood aside and the door was slammed shut.
‘Let
her see Harry being brought in or in a cell then interview her quick, she’ll fold like paper.’
‘We don’t need you to tell us how to do our job, Mr Costello.’
Jimmy shrugged and walked away. There was no pleasing some people. Santos and the officer followed him up the stairs. Jimmy stopped.
‘Can I go now, I’m getting a bit tired of this place.’
‘No, Mr Costello. I told you, we need you for one more job. I am going to interview Mr Henderson, probably arrest him. I would like you to be there.’
‘Why, back there in the cells you told me you didn’t want my help?’
‘No, Mr Costello, I said I don’t need you telling us how to do our job. But it would be a great help if you were there when I speak to Mr Henderson. I now know what happened but you actually worked it all out and know all parties concerned. If you tell him where he stands I’m sure he will believe you, believe you much more so than he might believe me. Tell him what you told me and I think your assessment of Mr Henderson will be perfectly accurate.’
He was right, of course. But Jimmy didn’t want to meet the Hendersons again. He particularly wanted to avoid meeting Mrs Henderson. He didn’t like her, she was not a nice woman..
‘Are you asking or telling?’
‘It depends on whether you want to stay in the interview room for the rest of the night and probably all tomorrow, or go to a hotel.’
‘I see. OK, let’s go.’
They left the police station and got into a big black SEAT. They sat in the back. A plain-clothes men was in the front and another driving. It was about one-thirty when they got to the Hendersons’ villa. They pulled up at the end of the drive, Santos and Jimmy got out. A man got out from a car parked across the other side of the road, came across and spoke to Santos then stood to one side. The two men in the front of the SEAT just sat there.
‘Come on, they’re both at home and the lights are still on.’
They walked up to the door and Santos rang the bell. It was Henderson who answered it. Jimmy bet it was always his job to answer the door.