Unholy Ghost Read online

  Nadine turned to Jimmy.

  ‘I’ve got all I need for the time being.’ She wanted to be gone. ‘Let’s go back.’

  They turned back the way they had just come and Jimmy walked beside Veronique.

  ‘It’s not up to us, it’s up to other people. Someone will look after you like they did after Saigon.’

  Her face, never joyful, took on a little extra sadness and a fear came into her eyes.

  ‘Oh, no. No more punishment. I tried to pray, I really did, but the boys and the music …’

  ‘I know, and the dresses. But that’s the way things are, you don’t get to choose the people who look after you.’

  ‘Will God go on punishing me?’

  Jimmy didn’t answer so she looked at Nadine but Nadine wanted to be gone. Her voice was dismissive.

  ‘I can’t help you. It’s outside my field.’

  Veronique looked bewildered and turned again to Jimmy.

  ‘Will He?’

  ‘He usually does.’

  The face went into the hands again and the mumbling was noticeably louder.

  Nadine’s impatience was stretched as far as it would go.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, why did you say that? Couldn’t you have said something helpful?’

  ‘She didn’t want to be helped. She’s been helped enough. She wanted the truth.’

  Nadine looked at him. Then she gave up. She took Veronique by the shoulder and gave her a shake. The hands went down slowly.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Can you get back to the house all right?’

  Veronique nodded.

  ‘Come on, Costello. We have things to do.’

  Jimmy took Veronique’s arm.

  ‘Will you be all right here on your own?’

  Veronique looked at him and came as close to smiling as Jimmy guessed she could.

  ‘I’ll be all right. I spend a lot of time on my own.’

  ‘Yes, I guess you do. I guess you’ve had practice.’

  ‘Will you pray for me?’

  ‘Sure, and I’ll light a candle, a special candle, one to a secret saint who has a special way to speak to God. One who knows how to get a prayer through.’

  The sly look flickered into her eyes.

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I’m a Catholic, I know about those things.’

  Veronique looked at Nadine who was walking slowly through the sand towards the pine trees.

  ‘She doesn’t know?’

  ‘No, she knows bugger all. She only thinks she knows.’

  The almost smile came back to join the sly look. This was as happy as she gets, thought Jimmy. Poor bloody sod.

  He turned and walked on after Nadine. God knows how McBride had found her or how much of that story she’d had fed into her but she’d done a good job. Veronique Bailey or Colmar or whatever her name was might be away with the fairies, terrified of a vengeful God whose only purpose in her life was to scare the shit out of her, but as a candidate for the Colmar inheritance she certainly looked a very strong contender. If the paperwork stood up she’d walk through inheriting the Colmar estate. Then the people who would act for her as an adult of diminished responsibility could put her away somewhere where she would get more help with her problems while they got on administering everything for her. You didn’t have to be a high-flying company lawyer to see how it would work out.

  Poor loony sod. The people God was going to let look after her permanently were closing in and He was going to go on giving her hell. But there you were, what could you do? The way Jimmy looked at it, he hadn’t started the Vietnam war, some other stupid buggers had organised that almighty cock-up.

  The Alfa Romeo sports model she had hired suited Nadine. She didn’t need Jimmy to navigate the journey back to Genoa airport, she knew where she was going and she brought the same attitude to her driving as Jimmy assumed she did to her sex. To someone who enjoyed that sort of thing the driving might have been wonderful, even magnificent, but to Jimmy it was simply stomach-churning. She hadn’t wanted to talk while she used the country roads like part of a Formula One event but when they had rejoined the main highway she slipped her driving to auto-pilot and was inclined to discuss their visit.

  ‘I like her. She’s a clever choice.’

  ‘Will she do?’

  ‘She’s perfect. We don’t have to worry if she gets things wrong because she’s supposed to get things wrong. If she screws up her story and gets confused or contradicts herself that’s exactly what you’d expect of someone like her.’

  ‘Is a mentally unbalanced woman a good prospect to put before the Swiss authorities?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, she’ll be sane enough when the time comes, or at least sane enough to get the job done. After that who cares?’

  ‘So she’ll pass as the granddaughter of the Colmar woman?’

  ‘That depends on what sort of job your boss McBride did on the paperwork. If the papers are as good as Veronique it should be a walk in the park and my guess is the paperwork will be fine. Fixing the paperwork is the easy part, getting the right client, co-operative, and with the right background is the difficult bit.’

  ‘Like your brothers?’

  ‘They might have got through, except of course for their colour, and I made sure a head rolled for that. Their paperwork was good, I know, I arranged it.’

  ‘What will you do with them?’

  ‘Give them some dough and send them back to Chicago.’

  ‘They won’t make any trouble?’

  ‘What trouble can they make? They don’t know anything except what they’ve been told and they’ve been told damn all that they can use. They’ll take the money.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now we go to Munich to find your witness.’

  ‘How will you handle the police?’

  ‘Like I always handle the police.’

  Yes, thought Jimmy, I suppose you will.

  And she did.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  When they arrived in Munich Nadine went through the police procedures like a bullet through warm butter. She knew the right buttons to press, the right calls to make, gave the right references to the right people, and made the right half-threats at the right times to anybody who looked a bit squiggle-eyed. Her story was that she was representing the journalist’s employers. They didn’t want to cause any fuss but they had to be sure that the circumstances of the death were clearly documented. Since the suicide the journalist’s partner had suggested that the pressure of work applied by the paper’s editor had been preying on his mind and that the paper imposed impossible deadlines. There was the possibility of a claim for compensation. The newspaper’s owners needed to be sure exactly where they stood. The police evidence was, of course, perfectly acceptable for a coroner but civil litigation was a different matter. The way the evidence of the witness was presented would be vital to any outcome.

  The story worked and they were sitting in the bar of her hotel having a late-afternoon drink when she got a phone call which gave her the name and address of the witness.

  She put her phone down next to her drink took a pad out of her handbag and wrote in it then tore out the page and handed it to Jimmy.

  ‘That’s that. We see her tomorrow at ten at the care home where she works.’

  ‘The police gave it you?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘Because they’re not allowed to give out that kind of information.’

  ‘They are if the person concerned OKs it.’

  ‘They asked her and she said OK?’

  ‘Of course. What else could she say? She was an innocent bystander, she has nothing to hide. I represent a powerful media company making a legitimate inquiry. If she’d said no she’d only be making trouble for herself.’

  ‘And what happens when the police find out that you don’t represent a powerful media company?’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘You sure of that?’ />
  ‘Yes, because as it happens one of the clients I represent is a media company.’ The surprise sent Jimmy’s beer down the wrong way and he had to put down his glass and cough himself clear. She waited until he was finished. ‘It has nothing to do with the guy you and Serge sent here but, if anyone asks them do they use Parker and Henry, they’ll say they do and that I handle the account.’ Jimmy was impressed. She was thorough. She finished her drink. ‘I’m dining with a friend tonight so your time’s your own until you pick me up here tomorrow and we go and see this woman. Sort out transport and timing. Ring me an hour before you come.

  ‘Your friend will be stopping over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An old friend?’

  ‘I’ve never met him, I got him from an agency.’ She stood up. ‘And as you’re so interested I’ll tell you how it went when you get here tomorrow. I guess any details would be wasted on you so I’ll make it a simple score out of ten.’

  She turned and walked out of the bar. Jimmy took another drink of his beer. If it had been a man having a girl sent over for the night he’d would have thought nothing of it. Men did that sort of thing all the time. But she was a woman and somehow her sending out for a man got under his skin. Why was that? He didn’t give a damn one way or the other so why did he feel like he did give a damn? Why was that?

  He got up, left the bar, and went to reception. He told the clerk the name of the district he wanted.

  ‘I need to go there tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘How long would it take in a taxi?’

  The clerk told him to allow about three-quarters of an hour if they travelled during the morning rush-hour or around twenty minutes if they went during a quiet time of the day.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jimmy turned away from reception and looked back to the entrance to the bar. He fancied another beer but he didn’t like the place. It was too up-market for him, he didn’t feel comfortable. He’d walk for a bit, find an ordinary bar, have a beer or two, get a meal at a restaurant, and then go to his hotel and get some sleep.

  At eleven the next morning Jimmy was waiting in the hotel lobby. A taxi was outside ready to take them to the residential home. Nadine walked out of the elevator and across to him.

  ‘Nought out of ten.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My sex report, the one you were so interested in.’

  ‘I wasn’t interested, I’m still not.’

  They went out of the hotel but she stopped.

  ‘We had dinner together and I could see he wasn’t up to the job so I paid him off and did some thinking instead.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now don’t pretend you’re not interested because I can see that you are. That you’re dying for me to tell.’ And before he could say anything she went on. ‘He was one of those guys who does it part-time to help him pay his way through college or law school or whatever. Not a professional. He wanted me to like him, he actually thought that was part of the job, being a nice guy, good company.’

  ‘I’m still not interested.’

  ‘You simply can’t get quality personnel these days. The amateur freelancers bring the price down, the professionals get squeezed, and the clients lose out because the price is less but the service is lousy. You get what you pay for. Don’t you think that’s true, Costello, that you always get what …’

  ‘Are you finished, only there’s a taxi with its meter running outside.’

  ‘That’s OK. I won’t be paying. That’s what I was thinking about last night. I decided that if you’re right, and I think you are, then this might get nasty. The way I look at it, it’s more your line of work than mine. If the journalist you sent got thrown under a train, well, who knows what awaits whoever turns up to interview our witness friend? So you go and get what we want then come back and tell me all about it.’

  ‘I don’t speak German.’

  ‘Neither do I. I asked the police to find out if she spoke English when they asked if she’d see me. You’re in luck, she does. Great isn’t it, how many foreigners speak English? Makes life so much simpler. See you.’

  And she turned and walked back to the lift.

  Jimmy went out to the taxi and told him to get going.

  He wasn’t surprised, he’d half expected it. It was going to be like the Comedian had said, there was no way she was going to put herself in the front line and the woman he was going to see was connected to an outfit that killed people. If they thought their tame witness was blown they’d probably kill her, but not before killing whoever had come to talk to her. What kind of business outfit could do business that way? And it had to be business because the American side was business. Heppert was business. So it had to be business. Or political. Or both. But what it couldn’t be was some kind of gangland turf war. Which was odd because it had all the hallmarks of some sort of gangland brawl. Except that the people who had died were all civilians. But then, he didn’t actually have any full account of the casualty list so far. All he knew about were the ones he’d been given. There could be other bodies strewn across Europe for all he knew.

  As the taxi moved quickly through the mid-morning traffic Jimmy reflected that it was turning out pretty much as the Comedian had predicted. He was being used as a scout, sent out into no-man’s land to make contact with the enemy while Nadine stayed well out of the frame, where it was safe, well behind the trenches at HQ.

  Oh well, this was what he had been told to expect so he would just have to get on with it.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The meeting with the witness took place in a small common room in the care home. Jimmy and the woman sat opposite each other across a low coffee table with four chairs around it. She was middle-aged, of middle height, and mild-mannered, a quiet woman, respectable. She wore a blue nurse-like uniform and wouldn’t be most people’s idea of someone hooked up with a bunch of murderers. But Jimmy had met and questioned people exactly as mild, respectable, and nondescript before, and once in a while they had turned out to be anything but harmless.

  She gave him a watery smile and although she spoke with a distinct accent her English was good.

  ‘We won’t be disturbed. I’ve asked that this room be kept free while we talk.’ The smile turned into an enquiry.

  ‘The police said I should expect a woman, a Ms Heppert?’

  ‘I’m Ms Heppert’s assistant, my name is Costello. Ms Heppert has other business in Munich and this is a very small matter, routine really, so she asked me to deal with it.’ Her weak smile returned and she visibly relaxed, so Jimmy smiled as well, to help things along. ‘Who paid you to lie about the murder of the journalist? Was it the same people who paid you to leave the old man’s wheelchair where their lorry could run over him?’ Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer, by the look of her she couldn’t give one anyway, but he kept the smile going and the calm, friendly tone of voice, just to help things along. ‘I think it safe to assume they were the same people. I know they killed the journalist because he had visited the old man’s daughter and asked her awkward questions.’ The woman had started to breathe in gasps but Jimmy ploughed on. ‘They killed the old man because they knew they were more likely to get what they wanted from the daughter. Of course once they find that you also have had a visitor, one who knows that both killings were set-ups, they’ll have to kill you. I should also mention that I paid a call on the daughter and asked her questions about her father. I told her my name, Costello, so I suppose that will make it worse when they find out, if it could be worse. Still, there you are, it can’t be helped can it? However, it does mean that as soon as they find out I’ve visited you and we’ve talked you’ll be dead, so I would appreciate a name and contact address or phone number of the people you work for, and I would like it now please. You can see how it would not be wise for me to have to wait for the information. If I don’t get what I want …’

  The woman gave a sort of moan and slumped sideways. Jimmy stood up and went over to her.

&
nbsp; ‘Shit.’

  He’d overdone it. He meant to have her scared enough to talk, before she had time to think, not to make her pass out. He picked up her hand and patted it. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. She stayed out.

  ‘Shit.’

  He looked about the room for some water but there was nothing. Then she moaned and he bent over her.

  ‘Come on, snap out of it. Come on, I want a name out of you, you stupid bitch.’

  She moaned again but louder. Jimmy glanced up at the door.

  He took her by the shoulders and shook her again. Her eyes opened. For a split second they were confused and unfocussed. Then they clamped on to his face, filled with fear and she began to speak. Unfortunately it was German and Jimmy had no idea what she was saying.

  ‘English, speak in English.’

  She stopped speaking. The look in her eyes changed from fear to hate. He’d lost her.

  She pushed him back and struggled to her feet. For a moment she held on to the back of the chair and looked down at the floor, steadying herself. Then she looked at him again. It wasn’t a nice look. She was anything but mild-mannered and nondescript now and Jimmy could believe only too well that she could be part of two murders. He could also believe that she would be more than willing to ask her friends to arrange for his death.

  She spat something in German at him. This time Jimmy got the gist very clearly even if he didn’t know which word meant what. Then she went to the door, pulled it open, and was gone.

  Jimmy followed her out of the room; she was walking quickly up the corridor. Another figure in a blue uniform came out of a door and the woman cannoned into her but kept going. Uniform number two shouted after her but she turned a corner and was gone. This new carer, he supposed they were carers not qualified nurses, looked at Jimmy then said something.

  Jimmy walked up to her.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t speak German. Do you speak English?’

  ‘Some, yes. Greta is upset, what is it that has upset her?’

  ‘Me. I upset her.’