by Rennie Airth
Yet he soldiered on, finally reaching Westminster and then skirting the square in front of it with faltering steps, following the route he was familiar with. Beyond was a park that he remembered pausing in earlier to check the map he had with him. Discovering that its wide gate was unbarred despite the late hour, he went in and found it all but deserted, the few people he met all hurrying towards their destinations, hands buried in coat pockets and hoods pulled up over their heads against the bitter cold. The path they were on was largely free of snow, but the grass on either side of it was still mantled in white and when Kimura ventured on to it, he found he was treading on an icy crust.
Taking care not to slip – he was losing blood fast and a fall would only weaken him further – he made his slow way to a small copse of trees, and finding one with a broad trunk to lean against he cleared what snow remained at its base and then lowered himself painfully on to the cold ground. In truth he could go no further. The snow-topped mountain they had pictured together, its lower slopes carpeted with pine trees, remained what it had always been: just a dream. He had done what he meant to do and now he was at peace.
From his pocket he took a box of matches, which he had bought in order to light a pair of candles that he had added to the sparse decor of his room so that he could eat his evening meal by candlelight. It was something Suzume had suggested they do during their time together and he recalled with a pain so mixed with pleasure it was all but impossible to separate the two, the play of light and shadow on her young face as she bent over their small table to serve him.
Taking the snapshot of her he always carried, he lit a match and held it close to the photograph, drinking in her features for the last time, hoping that by fixing the image of his loved one in his mind, by welding it to his memory, he would somehow carry it over with him into death, where by some miracle they might be reunited. When the match flickered out, he lit another … and another …
‘Night, and while I wait for you … ’ He began to whisper the words she had murmured so often in his ear.
‘… cold wind … cold wind … ’
How did it end? His mind was failing.
‘… cold wind turns into rain.’
The lighted match he was holding had burned down to his fingers, but he felt no pain.
He no longer felt anything.
THIRTY-TWO
‘So you made it?’ Pushing his forelock back, DS Dave Malek glanced up from the table where he’d been checking his phone. The sunlight was so bright he had to shade his eyes. ‘I was starting to wonder if you’d come.’
‘You said it was important.’ Addy scowled.
The text he’d sent her had used that word together with ‘developments’.
Important developments – meet me at pub called Anchor, Southwark Bridge, noon.
The message had sent a chill through her. She had not heard from him for two days, and although part of her had missed his calls, she’d been tempted to hope that her name had not come up again in the ongoing investigation. But the Anchor was the pub where she’d sat waiting for Peter Flynn’s call, just a few steps downriver from the Globe Theatre. What was Malek doing there? What did the police know?
According to a news programme she had watched the night before, there was no explanation as yet for the headless body of a man discovered in the theatre on Christmas Eve. But the police were thought to be actively pursuing ‘several leads’, the newscaster said, and one theory was that the crime was linked in some deranged way to William Shakespeare. Was the killer sending a coded message, he had asked – and if so, to whom?
Addy wasn’t taken in. For all she knew it was just a story cooked up by the cops, a way of lulling her into a false sense of security, letting her think she was in the clear before they pounced. The only thing she could do was try to brazen it out. She sent a reply back – see you there – and then spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and wondering how in Hades she was going to talk her way out of this.
And it wasn’t as though she didn’t have other things to worry about. There was Rose’s funeral for one thing, which she would have to handle herself now that Molly was out of the picture, and decisions that would need to be made regarding the house and its contents. Addy didn’t even know if Rose owned or rented it, but she would have to find out, and talk to her lawyer too, because there’d be a will and it was likely she’d be Rose’s beneficiary, or one of them, she might even be her executor, and these were all matters she would have to deal with in an adult way. And as if that weren’t enough, there was something even more important weighing on her mind, a decision she would have to take, and as she made her way over to the South Bank where Malek was waiting for her she told herself it couldn’t be postponed any longer. One way or another, the issue had to be resolved.
She had thought of using Uber to get where she was going, but changed her mind in favour of taking the Underground, mainly because she was in no great hurry to confront whatever awaited her at the Anchor. Although Malek had been friendly enough up till now, she had no illusions: he was a cop first and foremost and would not take kindly to the thought that he’d been misled by her at any stage. So far she had been straight with him, but the situation had changed radically since their last meeting and she was going to be faced with some tough decisions.
A study of the Tube map in Knightsbridge station had shown her there were basically two ways of getting to Southwark. One took her over the footbridge from Embankment and then along the South Bank. It was the shortest way, but it also went right past the Globe where there were likely to be cops still hanging about, or so Addy reasoned, and although she had no cause to think that she was under suspicion she felt it might be wiser to steer clear of the area for now. The other way, which was slightly longer, would take her to a station called Monument from where she could walk across Southwark Bridge to the Anchor, and it was this route she had opted for.
Crossing the bridge, she had paused to look down at the river. She had read somewhere that the water moved both ways in the Thames – upstream when the tide was coming in – but at that moment it was flowing strongly downstream and with the winter sun shining brightly overhead, it had a sparkle she hadn’t seen before.
At the end of the bridge there were steps going down to the riverside walkway where the Anchor was situated. In spite of the sun the air was still frigid, but there were a few hardy souls sitting at the tables placed on the terrace outside and she saw that Malek was one of them. He was checking his phone and didn’t notice her arrival until she was standing by the table in front of him, at which point he had looked up.
‘So you made it? Sit down, won’t you?’ He gestured at a chair beside him. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you. Do you want something to drink? Coffee maybe?’ He had a paper mug on the table in front of him.
She shook her head. ‘What’s so important?’ She didn’t need her fur stroked. If she was in trouble, she wanted to know it. But she accepted his invitation to sit.
‘Well, I take it you’ve heard about the headless body they found in the Globe?’ He gestured in the direction of the theatre.
Addy nodded. ‘It was in the news on TV. They said he hadn’t been identified. What about it?’
‘I’ll tell you in a moment. But first, there’s been another body as well that’s turned up with no explanation.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Addy’s eyebrows went up. ‘Where was that?’
‘In St James’s Park. He was found sitting propped up against a tree. The story was in the papers.’
Addy shrugged. She hadn’t seen any papers. ‘Who was he?’
‘A Japanese gentleman by the name of Hideki Kimura. Ring a bell?’
Addy was silent.
He cocked his head to look at her.
‘What?’
‘Nothing …’ She sat blinking. ‘It’s just … are you sure it’s him?’
‘I told you we sent a request to the Tokyo police for a photograph of Kimura and they wired one back
. It’s him all right. He’d been injured, wounded – he had a deep cut in his side. It seems he just bled to death.’
Addy said nothing. He studied her face again.
‘What is it, Addy? What’s the matter?’
She shook her head. ‘You say he just bled to death?’
‘Apparently. But it needn’t have happened.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The wound wasn’t fatal, the medics said. If he’d gone to a hospital it could have been treated. Instead he just let himself die …’
Addy was lost for words.
‘They found a photograph in his hand. It was of a young Japanese girl and he had a spent match in his fingers.’
‘A match?’
‘He’d been striking them – there were dead matches on the ground beside him. Perhaps he wanted to look at her face.’
But it was Addy’s face he was watching. He wanted to see her reaction. She put a hand to her head. She wasn’t prepared for this, not even close. She remembered the look in his eyes as they stood face-to-face with the bloody head at their feet; what he had said to her.
‘So what’s it got to do with this other business?’ She had needed time to compose herself. ‘I mean the guy with no head?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Malek looked thoughtful. ‘At first it seemed we wouldn’t be able to identify him.’
‘Without a head, you mean?’ She was trying to sound interested.
‘And even when it showed up that didn’t help.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Addy blinked. ‘What do you mean – showed up?’
‘It washed ashore on a mud bank down Bermondsey way, but nobody spotted it at first, and when they finally did, it turned out the rats had been at it.’
‘Ugh! Thanks for that detail.’ She winced.
‘The face wasn’t recognizable, or so the detectives handling the case told us. But although there was nothing on the body in the way of papers to identify the man and his fingerprints weren’t on record here, when Scotland Yard sent them to Interpol they got a hit. They were prints that the police in Stockholm and Ankara both had on file and were connected to a couple of unresolved homicide cases. They couldn’t give us a name to go with the prints, but the murders involved were political and in both cases the police thought they might have been ordered by some intelligence agency.’
Addy grunted. ‘So what you’re saying is it could be … what was the guy’s name?’
‘Charon.’ He nodded. ‘That would be my guess.’
‘And you think Kimura caught up with him?’
Malek shrugged. He was still watching her face for any change in her expression – too closely for Addy’s taste.
‘And what – cut his head off?’
‘It sounds unlikely, I agree.’ He nodded. ‘But word went out to all stations to ask around and would you believe it, a dealer in old weapons – swords and so on – with a shop off the Portobello Road reported he had sold a couple to a Japanese gentleman only a few days ago.’
‘Swords, you mean?’
‘That’s right, the Japanese type. You may have seen some of those old samurai movies.’ He waited for Addy’s nod of assent. ‘That kind. There was no sword found by Kimura’s body, but if he walked there from the Globe he could have dropped it in the river. Anyway, since it was my day off, I thought I’d come down here and talk to the boys working the case, tell them what we’d learned about Kimura from Bela Horvath.’
‘Which explains your presence?’ But she didn’t believe it. There was something else going on here, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
He scratched his head.
‘What really puzzles me though is how they happened to meet at that theatre of all places. Any ideas?’
‘Who?’ Addy pointed at herself. ‘Me?’
‘And how they got in? The gate to the courtyard outside the stage door has a coded lock. Normally you’d need a card to open it. I suggested to the detectives working there that if the dead bloke really is Charon, he might have been taught some tricks by the CIA, like how to open a lock like that. The only problem with that is it suggests he was the one who set up the meeting.’
‘With Kimura of all people? I see what you mean …’
‘Doesn’t sound very likely, does it?’
He paused as though he actually wanted to hear her opinion, but Addy wasn’t fooled. He was playing with her, just waiting to spring the trap he had set.
‘Then with who?’ She dared him to come out and say it: that it was her. But his reply came as a surprise.
‘Oh, that’s anyone’s guess.’ He waved the question aside. ‘The world he lived in, those people, some other old enemy of his – could be almost anyone. We’ll keep working the case. Maybe we’ll come up with a name.’
Smothering a yawn, he stretched. It seemed he wanted to toy with her a little longer.
‘So how was Christmas?’ he asked.
‘Christmas was fine.’
Actually Christmas had been cancelled. There’d been no turkey, no crackers, no paper hats. Addy had spent most of the day in bed catching up on sleep, and when she wasn’t doing that, just pottering around the house, thinking about Rose, thinking about other things. She’d done a lot of thinking.
‘How’s Molly holding up?’
‘Why do you ask?’ She eyed him with suspicion.
‘No reason.’
‘Molly’s out of the picture.’ She might as well tell him.
‘You know, I wondered about her.’ He tugged at an earlobe. ‘That first evening at your aunt’s house, when she had a go at us. I thought it was an act. I thought she was putting it on.’
He’d spotted that. Addy had to admit he’d been quick there, quicker than she had been.
‘I was wondering – has she got anything to do with all this?’ He sent her a questioning glance. ‘Could she be mixed up in it in some way? What do you think?’
Addy was ready this time. ‘My dear man, are you quite insane?’ She gave him her version of Molly’s fruity voice and saw him chuckle.
‘It’s a pity that headless bloke’s face was all chewed up.’ He mused. ‘We could have asked her if he was Philip Moreau.’
‘Why not show it to her anyway? Give her something to think about.’
‘Addy … Addy …’ He shook his head. ‘Remind me never to get on your wrong side.’
‘Why? Do I scare you?’ she challenged him.
‘And how!’
But he didn’t mean it. He was giving her that look again, trying to read her expression, trying to probe beneath the surface.
‘OK, out with it.’ She’d had enough. She was sick of being played with. ‘If you’ve got something to say, say it.’ And when he didn’t reply at once: ‘Do you think I’ve been lying to you?’
He looked startled. He’d even managed to blink.
‘No, I think what you told us was the truth.’ But then, as though he’d had second thoughts, he cocked his head on one side to peer at her. ‘But since you brought it up, I just wonder if you told us everything.’
Was he serious? For a second she thought so … thought, oh shit! Then she saw him grin.
The sonofabitch was teasing her.
‘What can I say?’ She spread her hands. ‘If you’re going to arrest me, do it.’ She offered him her wrists. ‘Bring out the cuffs. It’s a fair cop, guv. Isn’t that what they say?’
He started laughing.
‘It’s a fair cop …’ He shook with laughter. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, Addy.’
‘Then why did you get me here? Come on, let’s have it – the truth.’
He took his time replying, catching her eye and then holding it. Finally he shrugged.
‘I thought we might do something together.’
Her double-take could have won the mime-of-the-year award if it hadn’t been totally genuine.
‘You mean that’s what all this is about?’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘You’re just hitting on me
?’
He weighed the question, grinning.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of a pizza.’
Like hell he was. Addy had seen a look in his eye she thought she recognized. He had something entirely different in mind – and about time too! A shiver of anticipation went through her, more like a tingle really.
‘A pizza, huh?’
OK, let him have his little joke. But first things first.
‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘Don’t go anywhere. There’s something I have to do. I won’t be long.’
She got up to leave, then stopped and looked back.
‘Aren’t you going to ask where I’m going?’
He shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t want to spoil the picture I have of you.’
‘What picture?’ She scowled. ‘What are you talking about? How do you see me?’
‘As a woman of mystery, of course.’ He spread his hands. ‘What else?’
Addy couldn’t hide her smile as she went off. And to think only a few days ago she’d been a girl: a brave girl, mind, but still just a girl.
Now she was a woman of mystery.
It felt like a step up.
Leaning on the railing, Addy looked down at the sunlit river. It was running as strongly as before. The tide must still be out. She had walked some distance downstream, out of Dave Malek’s sight, though that wasn’t the reason. She simply wanted to be on her own and to think, and when she’d finally stopped it was at a spot where there was a bench where people could sit and look out over the river (in warmer weather, anyway). Just now, in the crisp, biting air, there were no takers and Addy had positioned herself between the bench and the wall flanking the river.
She put her hand in her jacket pocket and took out the memory stick. It was the real one, the stick she had found inside Grumble and not brought along to her rendezvous with Uncle Matt. If things had gone south at the Globe, the one thing the bastard wasn’t going to get his hands on was the money. She had made sure of that. It was the other stick she had taken with her – a twin of the real one – which she had bought in Harrods.
