Unholy Ghost

by James Green

  He got a blank look. He would have to do better.

  ‘The Commander and I were co-operating on a matter of great importance, great importance to Denmark.’ Nothing. He tried again. ‘Important to Germany and to Europe. He told me he was working with the knowledge and support of the Munich police, he said that if anything happened and I was unable to contact him I should come to the police and they would see that some sort of contact would be re-established. How is he by the way, was he seriously wounded?’ The blank look had gone but it didn’t go beyond that. He had done enough to get her thinking, maybe even interested but not enough to get her to speak. The trouble was, he’d gone as far as he could by lying. Any further and he’d cock it up in some way. ‘Look, I can tell you what this is all about. If that’s what it takes I’ll tell you. I don’t think you’re supposed to know any of the details but I need to re-establish contact with the Commander.’ Nothing. He was getting nowhere. ‘When you last questioned me, when I was last here, there was a call that got me released. Find out who it was and tell them I need to re-establish contact. Tell them it’s urgent.’

  There was a knock at the door and a uniformed officer came in carrying a holdall. Jimmy recognised it. It was his. The officer put the holdall on the table and left closing the door behind him.

  Stoneface finally found her voice.

  ‘These are all your belongings from your hotel room. Please check them.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s all there’

  ‘Please check.’

  ‘I’m still sure it’s all there.’

  ‘You will be asked to sign for it.’

  ‘Then I’ll sign for it, won’t I?’

  He reached across and pulled the holdall in front of him.

  ‘You will be taken to the airport, Mr Costello, where you may take a flight to anywhere you choose so long as your destination is not in Germany.’

  ‘And who pays?’

  It wasn’t a serious question, just something to say to get some sort of response. She ignored it.

  ‘I have been asked to advise you not to return to Munich.’

  ‘Only Munich?’

  ‘The matter of the death of Ms Heppert is still under investigation.’ A look of distaste came over her face. Whatever she was going to say she didn’t like having to say it and she wasn’t about to hide her feelings. ‘Early indications are that she committed suicide. At the moment the police are not seeking anyone else in connection with the matter.’

  ‘So all charges against me have been dropped? Lack of evidence is it?’

  There never had been any charges against him, he knew that and so did she, he was still winding her up. He had to take out his frustration on somebody and she was to hand. If he could have hit her and got away with it he would have hit her. He wanted to hit somebody.

  The look of distaste stayed but this time it was directed at Jimmy.

  ‘You seem to have influence in high places, Mr Costello. We both know that Ms Heppert did not kill herself and we both know that you were implicated in her death. You have been told to leave Munich and not to come back. For myself I would like you to return. If you were to do that, Mr Costello, not all the important friends in the world would protect you.’

  ‘You don’t like me very much do you?’

  ‘I don’t know you, Mr Costello. I do not wish to know you. I only wish to know what, exactly, was your involvement with the killing of Ms Heppert.’

  Jimmy stood up.

  ‘Is my taxi ready?’

  She stood up and went to the door.

  ‘Sign for your belongings at the desk before you leave.’

  She opened the door.

  ‘Tell the Commander I’ve gone to Paris.’

  ‘I am not your messenger.’

  ‘The people you call “my influence in high places” would want him to know. Tell them.’

  Jimmy left the interview room and went through the corridors into the main reception area where he signed a paper which the man at the desk pushed in front of him. It was in German and could have been a confession to murder for all he knew but he signed anyway.

  Outside there was a taxi waiting. Jimmy got in and it pulled away. The driver knew where he was going.

  At the airport Jimmy checked his holdall. Everything was there. He went into the toilets and washed and shaved, changed his shirt, socks, and underwear. The ones he’d been wearing he put in one of the bins then he went out into the main concourse, found out which was the first flight to Paris, bought his ticket, and went through Security into Departures. There were no problems. His flight would leave in fifty-five minutes. He would be in Paris by late afternoon. He looked at his watch then took out his phone and made a call.

  ‘M. Joubert, please. No? But he is back at work after his accident? Good, then tell him I called, my name is Mr Costello. I would like an appointment to see him. As soon as possible. I’m arriving in Paris today and would like to see him tomorrow if that can be arranged. Please tell him that I still represent Professor McBride and she wishes him to act for her in the matter of the heir to the Colmar estate. No, this is nothing to do with the Sisters of Bon Secours. She is acting as agent for the claimant. You have all of that? Good. I look forward to hearing from you.’

  Chapter Forty

  Jimmy stood at the window of his hotel room looking down at the Gare de l’Est. He’d booked into the same hotel and had been in Paris over twenty-four hours but Joubert hadn’t called to set up any appointment. He’d phoned the office twice and each time he’d been stalled. He was getting restless. He had no way of knowing if anyone had submitted any kind of claim to the Swiss authorities and no way of knowing how urgent it was for him to get Joubert working on putting in a claim for McBride’s nominee.

  He picked up his phone and called Joubert’s office once more. This time there’d be no stall.

  ‘It’s Mr Costello, I’ve phoned twice and I … He is, good.’

  Joubert’s voice came on.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Costello, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to speak to you before but I have been busy re-arranging my schedule so that we can meet. Can you come to my office now?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Thank you, good day.’

  Jimmy left the hotel, crossed the road and headed for the taxi rank by the station. As he approached the rank two men suddenly stood in front of him blocking his way. One said something in French. Jimmy didn’t need to get it in English because he also flashed a police warrant card. The other man waved his arm and a car slid up alongside them. The arm waver opened the door and the other man pushed Jimmy towards the car. Jimmy got in and the two men got in with him, one on each side. The car pulled away. There was no siren, now they’d got him they didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

  Jimmy didn’t need any detective skills to see that Joubert had got in touch with the police and told them he was coming to Paris. The thing he couldn’t work out was why they’d got Joubert to set him up for a pickup? Why not simply come to his hotel and lift him if they wanted him? He’d told Joubert’s office where he was staying. Why all this lifting him off the street business? Then he gave it up. It made as much sense as anything else in this mad farce so he sat back and watched the traffic as the driver made his way to wherever he was going.

  Where he was going was to the back entrance of a police station. They stopped and got out of the car. The driver pulled away, Arm Waver went first and opened the doors, Warrant Card came behind and gave regular shoves to keep him moving. They didn’t say anything and there was no one in the corridor they went along. There was no one on the stairs they went down or by the cells they came to. For a police station it was an empty place.

  Arm Waver went into one of the cells and Jimmy followed, as he went in Warrant Card gave him a hefty shove in the back. Jimmy stumbled forward and fell against the wall. He pushed himself off the wall and turned round.

  Turning round was a mistake because it meant he came r
ight onto the punch. He fell back against the wall again and raised an arm to ward off the next blow. It was a useless gesture. Warrant Card’s fist landed on his cheek anyway and Jimmy fell sideways.

  Don’t go down.

  He knew the score, if he went down they’d start kicking. It was the kicking that did the damage. He knew, he’d done it often enough himself, or watched as others did it. He leaned against the wall and covered himself with his arms as best he could.

  Don’t fight back. It only makes things worse.

  Then Arm Waver, he thought it was Arm Waver, but he couldn’t be sure, kicked his legs out from under him. A fist to the back of his head put him all the way down and he tried to roll into a ball and get his back to the wall as he felt the first boot go in.

  Find a place where there’s no pain, a place deep inside where the pain can’t reach. Find a place …

  But there was no place. The pain reached everywhere. He felt the first few kicks then it all blurred into one massive pain that consumed his whole body and he knew he was losing consciousness.

  Then, far away, in some foreign country because the words made no sense, he heard shouting. It came and went but the pain stayed. Then he realised no one was kicking him any more and consciousness, if it had gone, was coming back. The voices were closer but outside the cell. He opened his eyes. The shapes of two men were shouting at each other outside the doorway. One might have been Warrant Card. He was doing most of the shouting and, as he came back into focus, pointed to Jimmy a few times.

  Then the other man said something. Warrant Card stopped shouting and looked into the cell at Jimmy. He came into the cell. Jimmy kept his eyes open and looked up at him. Warrant Card stood over Jimmy and looked down, then spat at him, turned, and left. The other man looked in, then turned away and he too was gone.

  Jimmy lay on the floor trying to feel whether any real damage had been done. It hadn’t been such a bad kicking and there’d been no science about it. In fact the whole thing had been a shambles. They’d hit him twice on the face before he went down which meant he’d be marked and the marks would last long enough to have pictures taken. From what he remembered of the kicking it was wild stuff and most had landed on his arms or legs where it would do the least damage but leave the plenty of big, photogenic bruises. It was a fucking shambles, and what for? They hadn’t asked him anything and hadn’t said anything he could understand. Jimmy dragged himself up onto all fours. He felt the blood on his face and as he looked down a drop of blood dripped from his chin, or it might have been his nose, onto the concrete floor of the cell.

  I’ll look a fucking mess, he thought.

  He pulled himself upright into a kneeling position and held on to the bed. The blood dripped onto his shirt and he tasted it in his mouth. Fucking hooligans. Why? Coppers beating the shit out of people should serve some fucking purpose, shouldn’t it? It always had when he’d done it. He slowly stood up.

  Fucking amateurs.

  He put his hands on his hips and tried to breathe deeply but stopped straight away and clutched at his chest. They must have hit his ribs at least once then. He tried to breathe carefully through his nose but the blood got in the way. It must be broken. He sat down on the hard wooden bed and felt his face. He took his nose in his fingers and squeezed to get his nose back into the right shape.

  ‘Oh fuck me!’

  The noise of his shout bounced off the cell walls. He gingerly felt his nose. It seemed to be the right shape or close enough, but only time would tell. Not that it mattered, his face was never much and for a few days it was going to look more like a glorious sunset elaborated with a bit of cross-stitch than anything else. He continued his explorative work. He was cut above his left eye his left cheek was bleeding as well. He slowly and painfully took out his handkerchief and held it to both places and then looked at it. It had turned dark red. He held it to his chin and tried to stop the blood dripping onto his shirt. He was too late. He slowly slid sideways, painfully pulled his legs onto the bed and lay stretched out looking at the light in the ceiling with his head resting on the folded bedding. At least this way, he thought, their stuff gets the blood stains for someone to clean. Then he closed his eyes and waited.

  Chapter Forty-one

  He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the man come in and he opened his eyes and looked at him. It was the same one who had pulled Warrant Card off him. He was smoking. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and held them out and said something in French.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  The man nodded, put away the cigarettes, and left.

  Jimmy closed his eyes again and went back to waiting.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later the man was back, still smoking. There was another man with him. A non-smoker.

  Non-Smoker spoke English.

  ‘Sit up.’

  Jimmy slowly sat up.

  ‘You wish to make a complaint?’

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  ‘Do you wish to complain about the officer who did this to you?’

  ‘I cut myself shaving.’

  ‘Mr Costello, you have been …’

  Jimmy coughed and then spat some blood onto the floor.

  ‘Look, sunshine, nothing happened because if I say anything did happen I would have to fill in God knows how many forms and then hang around in this pisshole of a town while you lot arrange to lose the forms and generally fuck about until, in the end, I drop the charges or you make counter charges or whatever it is you coppers do over here when one of your own fucks up. We both know this won’t go to court or anywhere else so don’t piss about pretending you give a shit. Just let me get cleaned up and out of this place.’

  It was a pretty speech and he meant enough of it to make it almost convincing, but the man listening had heard better speeches delivered by better liars so Jimmy could see he didn’t think much of it.

  ‘Mr Costello, you murdered a police officer. We have two witnesses and enough forensic to charge you. We do not need to, as you put it, fuck about.’

  ‘So charge me and when you do I’ll fill in your complaint forms and we’ll get on the roundabout together.’

  ‘No, there will be no charge, your friends have seen to that. You must have very important friends to walk away from the murder of a police officer.’

  ‘Yeah, well your chum with the boots made sure I didn’t get away scot free, didn’t he?’

  ‘Mr Costello, in a moment you will leave this cell and a car will take you back to your hotel. After you have cleaned yourself up the car will take you to the airport and you will leave. Those are my orders. Now I will add my own orders. When you leave, stay away, don’t return to Paris. In fact don’t return to France. If you do there will be consequences.’

  ‘Consequences?’

  ‘You understand perfectly well, Mr Costello.’

  ‘Am I being threatened?’

  ‘Oh yes, be clear about that. I am threatening you and my threat will be acted upon if you ever set foot again in France. Now get up and this officer will take you to the car and then go with you to the airport.’

  Jimmy stood up. He felt like a standing bruise but all in all he knew he’d got off lightly. He’d killed one of their own and the bloke was right, you needed very important friends to crawl out from under that sort of thing. Who were they, these friends? And why were they watching him and keeping him going?

  Non-Smoker left the cell and his companion stood to one side as Jimmy limped out. While they walked the man lit another cigarette.

  ‘You want to be careful, mate, those things will kill you.’

  The man said something in French. From the way he said it Jimmy didn’t really need an interpreter to get the gist. He didn’t think it wasn’t going to be a chatty journey to the airport. He was right, it wasn’t.

  He got a few odd looks when he bought his ticket to Rome and again as he went through Security but his companion made sure no one interfer
ed with his departure and finally his flight taxied out onto the runway and took off. It was a clear sunny day and as the plane ascended into the blue sky Jimmy looked out of the window at the city below.

  It was still April in Paris, still Paris in the spring, and he was leaving it and France for good. He didn’t care, he wouldn’t miss it. It was a city for locals or tourists, for ordinary people, happy people, for lovers. He wasn’t any of those. He was a man with important friends, the sort of friends who got you kicked out of countries and told to stay out or else. He looked out of the window again as the great city fell away and the plane turned to head for Rome. That was that for Paris in the spring, or Paris at any other time. It wasn’t that it was overrated, it just hadn’t worked out. Things didn’t sometimes.

  Chapter Forty-two

  ‘Mr Costello, I can barely believe what you have told me. You seem to have gone across Europe trying to start your own private war. What on earth inspired this fit of madness?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Me! I have been in hospital throughout your … your …’

  But words failed her. It was that bad and Jimmy knew it. He’d tried to keep going like she’d said. He’d tried to do what he thought she wanted, but all he had done was cause her pain. She sat for a moment with her eyes closed. If she had put on a black cap and pronounced his death sentence he couldn’t have felt much worse.

  Jimmy looked at her sitting upright in a neatly made bed in her private room in the clinic. There were no machines now nor any flowers or cards. It was a private room in a private clinic and she sat in bed with a crisp, white nightdress which emphasised the blackness of her face. She looked like she used to, straight from the laundry. Except that one sleeve was neatly folded up and pinned shut above where her elbow would be if she still had her arm.

  But Jimmy could see she was tired. She was better but she wasn’t anywhere near well. He’d told her everything, even about Serge Carpentier and how it might have been a misjudgement on his part. She had listened and now he waited for her verdict but she kept her eyes closed.