Unholy Ghost Page 21

  Jimmy let his head go back onto the seat. He was dirty, dog-tired, and had a headache. There was a naked, dead woman in his room and he had no idea how much trouble he was in or what he was going to do or say.

  He let his head turn sideways and watched the traffic and the buildings passing by. The day was bright, a nice spring day and he was going to spend all or most of it in a police interview room if not a cell. The only idea he had in his head was that life could be very shitty sometimes, no, correct that, life could be very shitty most of the time. But the truth was you probably ended up with what you deserved. Not in the little things like money or success, but how you saw yourself, the kind of person you knew you were.

  He let his mind run on, he was too weary to stop it. They were pointless thoughts but he didn’t care, he let them run.

  That’s why so many people top themselves, I suppose, but it doesn’t put anything right or make anything better or even change anything, it just stops it going on for one person. Who knows? Maybe it doesn’t even do that.

  And there his mind decided to stop so he looked at the passing scenery until the car pulled into a police station and he got out. Uniform gently attached himself to Jimmy’s arm again and he was taken inside.

  Now, he knew, his day would really begin.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  He had provided them with everything they had asked for, personal details, a potted version of his life-history emphasising his unblemished career as a detective sergeant with the London Metropolitan Police and his retirement with full pension. He had given them a complete explanation of what he was doing in Munich with Nadine Heppert, or, as full as he thought they could get if they checked.

  He gave them the business of the wheelchair and the journalist and how he and Heppert had agreed to come to Munich to find out if there was a connection between the two deaths and if so what it meant for the case they were working on. He told them about his visit to Greta at the home and what the other woman had told him when Greta had ran out on him. He even gave them everything he had about his meeting at the gambling club and how he spent the night with the Comedian. That bit had been sticky. The best he could manage was that he was a friend of a friend and that he’d promised to have a drink with him. It wasn’t too late when he left the gaming club so he’d contacted him and gone to his hotel where they’d sat in his room and had a few beers. It was weak, it was worse than weak, but he hoped it would hold them until he could get at the Comedian and sort out something better. Whoever’s side the Comedian was on they were alibis for each other. Unless it was the Comedian’s men who had killed Nadine, in which case Jimmy guessed he was well and truly fucked.

  Now he sat and waited.

  He was used to waiting, one way or another he’d done a lot of it. And he was used to interview rooms, both sides of the desk. He’d interviewed and been interviewed, he’d had a go at people and people had had a go at him. The great thing was to let the time pass, not try to hurry it and not worry about it as it passed. He would get company again when they were ready. Until then he waited.

  The officer who eventually came was the same one who had interviewed him when he’d arrived at the station with the escort. A woman, late thirties, short black hair and good at her job. She had a man with her, a bit older, balding at the back of his head and not so good at his job. Jimmy had seen the sort a thousand times before. One of life’s eternal sergeants. One of those who made the rank on time served rather than ability or effort and would now stick there until he drew his pension.

  The woman sat down and said something in German into the recorder.

  ‘That is the …’

  ‘I know, interview resumed.’

  ‘We have checked the information you gave us about where you say you spent the night. The room is indeed occupied by a Danish national,’ she opened a plastic folder and read from a sheet in it. ‘Krista Dahl, twenty-six from Copenhagen. She works for the Danish Tourist Office and is in Munich on business. Yesterday morning she left but she is due back later today, probably this evening. You said in your statement that the person you visited was a man. The hotel are not aware of anyone else using Ms Dahl’s room and no one has any recollection of you’re having been there.’

  ‘Did you check whether anyone ordered breakfast sent up this morning? Coffee, two cups, and croissants?’

  ‘No, but I will have that checked.’ She made a note on the sheet. ‘Earlier I asked you if you could think of any reason why Ms Heppert would have come to your room. You said you could not. Can you still think of no reason?’

  ‘No, still no idea. Have you interviewed Greta Mann or the other woman who I spoke to at the retirement home.’

  ‘Everything will be done in due course, Mr Costello. You say you were a policeman, you will know how these things work. They take time.’

  He knew they did. They took exactly as long as the police wanted them to take.

  ‘How long will you hold me here?’

  ‘Do you wish to leave? At the moment there are no charges, you are helping us with our enquiries into a serious crime, a murder. You are here of your own free will. Do you wish to leave?’

  ‘No, I don’t wish to leave but I would like to go to the toilet and after that I would like a cup of coffee.’

  She turned and said something to the sergeant.

  The sergeant beckoned him so Jimmy got up and followed him out of the interview room, along a corridor to a door with a gents sign on it. He went in, used the urinal, then gave his face and hands a thorough wash in soap and warm water. It wasn’t much but it helped. He went back out and the sergeant took him back to the interview room. Jimmy sat down again. In front of him was a cup of coffee.

  ‘I asked for milk but I didn’t know whether you took sugar so it has none. I can send for …’

  ‘No, it’ll be fine as it is.’

  He took a sip. Like the wash he’d just had, it wasn’t much but again it helped. She started on the folder again

  ‘We have checked your service in the London Metropolitan Police, it is all as you said. Ms Heppert’s office in Paris confirm that she is working on establishing the identity of the claimant to Mme Colmar’s estate and that you visited Ms Heppert at her office. They were unaware that you were working together or that she had come to Munich. She simply said she would be away for a few days on business. M. Joubert’s office confirmed all you told us.’ She flicked the folder closed. ‘I tell you this so you are aware that we are doing all we can to establish the correctness of all information you have given us. We keep nothing back from you, you understand. We share with you the information as we receive it. If you wish to challenge any of it please do so.’

  ‘No, I do not wish to challenge any of it. Ms Heppert and I had a common interest but we were not partners in any formal sense. That is to say I was working with her not for her.’

  ‘I see, yes, it is a point cleared for us, thank you.’

  She opened the folder and got to work again for a second. Then there was a knock at the door. The sergeant opened it and Jimmy caught a glimpse of a uniformed officer. The sergeant went out and moment later came back in and said something to the woman. She spoke at the recording machine again then got up.

  ‘Excuse me, please.’

  She picked up the folder and she and the sergeant left the room.

  Jimmy sat back, picked up his coffee, had another sip, and settled down to wait again.

  He didn’t wait long. The door opened and the woman came in alone.

  ‘You are free to leave, Mr Costello. Your hotel room is a crime scene so you will understand that you may not enter or take anything away. I suggest you find another room and buy whatever you need for the next few days. When you have arranged another room please let us know at once where you are staying.’

  ‘Can you suggest somewhere?’

  She thought for a moment.

  ‘Yes, I can suggest a hotel.’

  ‘Great, why don’t you get someone to call
them and book me a room then you’ll know exactly where I am and I’ll know there’s somewhere I can go and finally get a shower and some sleep.’

  He was sure it wasn’t what they usually did for someone they were questioning but if he was being kicked out of his own room and they wanted to keep tabs on him it made sense.

  ‘Yes, that will be a good idea. Please follow me.’

  ‘And who pays for the stuff I’ll have to buy?’ She turned and Jimmy saw at once he’d pushed it too far. ‘Never mind. I’ll sort it out myself.’

  She left the room with Jimmy in tow.

  It was efficient service. In not much over half an hour he had a room in a small but comfortable hotel in a quiet street. He had showered and was in bed with the curtains closed waiting to fall away into oblivion. His life as a copper had taught him to put aside whatever he was dealing with, no matter how bad it was, and give his body the rest it needed. He would do his thinking when he woke, when he was capable of thinking straight. He lay still and let the sleep seep into his brain.

  Then his mobile went off. It was on the table beside the bed. He tried to ignore it. After the right number of rings it went silent and somebody got told to leave a message. Then it began again. Again he ignored it, again it went silent and again it went off so he sat up and answered it. He knew the voice.

  ‘Hello, Mr Costello. I think we need to talk, don’t you?’

  It was the Comedian.

  ‘I need to sleep, go and talk to someone else. Better still, go and talk to the police and tell them I was with you all of last night.’

  ‘Of course I will, Mr Costello, but only when you and I have talked things over. You really do need to talk to me, I think you know that, so please don’t be difficult. Turn left as you come out of the hotel doors and walk, keep walking and I’ll find you. Goodbye.’

  Jimmy threw the bedclothes off his legs, got out of bed, and began to dress. At least he’d had a shower. He went down into the hotel lobby, out of the doors, turned left, and began to walk. He’d gone about a hundred metres when he came to an intersection, he crossed the road and kept straight on. He hadn’t gone much further when someone came from behind and fell into step alongside him. It was the Comedian.

  ‘I didn’t think the police would be watching you but I didn’t like to take the chance.’

  ‘The hotel lobby was empty, there wasn’t even anyone on reception. Did you have it cleared?’

  ‘Me? No. I do not have the resources for that. It’s hard enough to get approval for two men and a car.’

  ‘And a woman who works for the Danish Tourist Board, Kirsten Dahl. Don’t forget Kirsten.’

  The man ignored Jimmy’s remark and started into his act.

  ‘You haven’t shaved. But it suits you. These days I understand it is fashionable to have a certain amount of stubble on the chin. Why that should be so I couldn’t say, but there you are. You are fashionably dishevelled, your face and clothes match perfectly.’

  Jimmy kept to the point.

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  ‘Me? No.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you personally. Did you have her killed?’

  ‘I’m afraid that is a very direct question and not one I am sure it would be wise for me to answer, even assuming my answer would be that Ms Heppert’s death was not of my doing.’

  The Comedian’s manner was losing conviction. Jimmy had seen it often enough now to recognise that he was having to work at it. He got the feeling the man walking beside him was working his way slowly to something so he let him take his time. Finally the Comedian spoke, there was still a trace of his act but it was almost gone.

  ‘In some ways you could say that Nadine Heppert committed suicide.’

  ‘Will that be your defence if it comes to court? She killed herself. She shot herself in the head in my bathroom, undressed herself, wiped up some of the blood with her own clothes, and then went and threw herself on my bed.’ The Comedian didn’t answer. ‘Oh yes, and while she was at it she hid the gun she used or took it away with her. No, she couldn’t have done that, could she, not take it away? She was dead on the bed.’

  ‘I use the word suicide in a metaphorical sense, as an image to enhance the reality.’

  ‘I did my share of murder investigations but I never came across a metaphorical killing.’

  The Comedian gave up his act. His voice was flat and direct.

  ‘Ms Heppert came to Munich to contact the people whom she knew had committed two murders and attempted a third. She knew the sort of people she would be dealing with and, unlike you, she fully understood what the stakes would be in the game she wanted to play.’

  ‘And her game was?’

  ‘I told you, to sell out her own side, the American interests her firm represented.’

  Jimmy stopped so the Comedian stopped.

  ‘Is that another fairy story I’m supposed to swallow because I’m just a fucking gullible foot-soldier? Because I warn you, if you or anyone else in this stupid bloody farce pushes me very much further I’m pretty sure I’ll find I can kill the fucker without my hand shaking like it did with Serge.’

  And the funny thing was, that although he had thought he didn’t mean it, that it was only a try-on to see where it might get him, it came out sounding like the truth. Then he suddenly realised that it sounded that way because he meant it. He really was angry and lost and ready to lash out at somebody and because of that he still might kill. They began walking again. The Comedian stopped and put his hand on Jimmy’s arm.

  ‘Let’s go in there.’ Jimmy looked. It was a bar. It wasn’t busy, most of the tables were empty. ‘We can sit and talk and I can explain what it is I want. No fairy stories, I promise.’

  Jimmy nodded. He wanted the thing explained. He wanted to be brought back from the edge he’d found himself at. Or maybe there was no edge, maybe it was just lack of sleep and too long doing God knows what and worrying about McBride. Maybe the tough-guy outburst had been nothing but his own fairy story and, like all the others, for a second he’d believed it. He could feel the weariness seeping through him. He wanted to sit down. Better still he wanted to lie down for a very long time, maybe for ever.

  ‘OK, buy me a beer and tell me what it is you want.’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘You were, in part, right about the Arctic resources. However, it is not a question of getting anything out. Before anything can be got out a great deal has to be got in. To get in all the equipment that will be needed to extract the riches of the Arctic requires a deep-water harbour preferably ice-free all year round and an airport capable of taking the largest transport planes. Needless to say the people who will eventually litter the Artic with oil rigs, gas pipelines, mining equipment, and all the other paraphernalia of energy and resource extraction began looking for places to bring in the equipment some time ago and did so under the greatest secrecy. Mme Colmar still had friends in America and through these found out that there was an island off Greenland that was ideal. She moved quickly and bought up as much as she could of the company that effectively owned the island and, had she not died, would have played one party off against another. I cannot imagine how much money she expected to make, the figure would be too great to guess at.’

  ‘So it’s the Americans and the Russians fighting over …’

  ‘The Americans have some interest, yes, but not the Russians.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. They have ready access to the Arctic through their own borders. They do not need an island. No doubt, quietly, their plans are already well advanced.’

  ‘But surely the Americans have access through Alaska?’

  ‘They have some access, but not as much as they would like, and certainly not as much as Canada – and the Canadians have made it clear that this time Canada will, so to speak, freeze onto their advantages of an Arctic border and exploit the situation for themselves. They will not be America’s partner nor puppet in this.’

  ‘The Americ
ans and who, then?’

  ‘Come along, Mr Costello, who has the wealth to be a player in this and has absolutely no access to the region by proximity?’ Jimmy thought. ‘If you don’t own the actual land which holds the resources then be the people best placed to bring it up and get it out. Ms Heppert was not telling fairy tales when she said this was all about big business. Nations may own the rights but it will be multi-national companies who exploit those rights.’

  ‘The Saudis? They’re the only ones big enough to try something like this.’

  ‘Are they? Who knows how much oil money is sitting in accounts around the world, and, with their oil reserves diminishing each day, who could say which particular oil-rich state might not back such a project. And if it is oil money then why only the Saudis or any of the Gulf states? The whole thing probably won’t cost more than a few billion, a small price to keep the revenues flowing in and have a seat at the councils that really matter. The technology already exists to bring it all up. All that is lacking, for the moment, is the political will to exploit the region. But when competition for resources raises the spectre of engines slowing down or even stopping the politicians will fall into line and any opposition will be trampled into silence, so why wait for the inevitable? It’s all there and it will be brought out. The only question is, who gets to bring everything in and who gets to bring it out?’

  ‘And you? Which side do you represent?’

  ‘Denmark. The island is Danish and we have our share of Arctic territories through Greenland. We are by no means a disinterested party in all of this. Apart from that, my government takes considerable exception to people who try to effectively annex Danish soil, especially when the methods they use are criminal.’