The Real World- the Point of Death

by Laurence Todd

  “I’ve no idea, but if anything is reported, it won’t have come from me.” I met his eyes and held his stare.

  He nodded, looked at me with a very quizzical expression for several seconds, and then turned and walked away.

  S I XT E E N

  Five days later

  It was 9.55 pm and I’d only been home twenty minutes as my interviewing a suspect had overrun considerably, though ultimately it had proven rewarding. I was standing in the kitchen with a cold beer, which I’d needed after such an exhausting interview, and talking to Taylor when my iPhone rang. I saw Number withheld and answered.

  “Rob, how’s it going?” a familiar voice said.

  I immediately knew who was talking.

  “Told you I’d get back to you if I could, did I not?”

  Taylor mouthed, Who is it? I mouthed, Mike Mendoccini. Her eyes opened wide in surprise.

  “Yeah, you did,” I said aloud, putting him on speakerphone. “So where are you now? You still in the country?”

  “Eh, rather not say, just now. Suffice it to say I’ve done what I went back to England to do.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Shame about your old poppa, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, you know about him?” He sounded surprised.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “This’s the errand you were here for, wasn’t it? Comfort your dying poppa and be with him at the end.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. My dad’s a bit frail these days and wasn’t up to travelling, so I came over. I did the right thing coming to sit at his bedside, Rob. Nobody deserves to die alone,” he said, a little sadly, “and when he died, he died peacefully with someone who loved him by his side, holding his hand and talking to him. I just assumed you’d think supporting the famiglia when they most needed it was a good reason to be in the country.”

  I couldn’t deny it was a reason I approved of. “It was, but why’d you bring Post Poe with you? What was he here for?”

  “Post? He wasn’t with me.” He sounded certain.

  “Oh, I’d heard he was. My information was you were with someone called Post, and there’s only one Post I know of.”

  I noticed Taylor had moved closer and was listening intently to our conversation. I put my arm around her, and she reciprocated.

  “No, you heard wrong, mate. Post’s now living in Holland, he’s got himself involved with a Dutch woman and her son, he rarely comes out to play anymore. I was with an Italian friend, Joost van den Peurst; he’s technically a South African, though he’s lived in Italy most of his life. He was travelling at the same time, so we came over together. Who told you . . .”

  The line was quiet for a moment.

  “Fucking Fiddley.” He was laughing. “You saw Ray

  Fiddley, didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t work out how you knew so much about me when you first called, but in the end it was obvious. My guess was you’d seen Fiddley and he’d told you. I was right.”

  “Yeah, I had. I knew you’d figure it all out, Rob. Anyway, Poppa’s been laid to rest, the cremation’s been taken care of and his ashes scattered where he wanted them to be, so I’d no further reason to be in England.”

  Taylor was resting her head on my shoulder, still listening. I was surprised to see we were now sitting on the couch. I couldn’t remember moving out the kitchen.

  “So why was Angie over here, Michael?” I asked.

  “She came over with us, me and Peurst; why else?”

  “But she left without you on the Monday, two weeks back. Poppa was still alive then, didn’t die for another day or so, and you were at the hospice in Chilham when he did.”

  “That’s true, she did. But she had something else to do while she was here.”

  “Yeah, like drive Alecks Krachnikhov to Hemel Hempstead. We know it was him killed Charles Garlinge.”

  “I don’t know anything about this, mate. No, she came over to visit her father, Roberto, who’s in Wormwood Scrubs. Who’s Alecks Krachnikhov, anyway?”

  I didn’t bother answering the question. There was silence for a few seconds.

  “So, how’d you know Harry Ferguson?” I asked.

  “I don’t.” He didn’t sound too convincing. “Who’s he?”

  I didn’t reply. There was no point discussing this with him.

  “One other thing,” I said instead. “How’d you manage to get the Italian authorities to believe you were recuperating from injuries caused by a car crash whilst you slipped out of Italy and came over here?”

  I heard him laugh. “I’m very seriously impressed, mate. How’d you find out about this?”

  I didn’t answer. Several seconds’ silence.

  “Ah, well, let’s just say you’re not the only one who knows people in the Italian embassy,” he said in an amused tone. “Victoria Sacchialli’s lovely, isn’t she?”

  Silence for a few seconds. I was stunned. How did he know about my meeting with Victoria Sacchialli? I wondered if this was how he got in and out of the country so easily, through a contact at the Italian embassy in London.

  “Which is also how I knew Sally was working the Saturday lunchtime I met her. She didn’t think I stood outside waiting on the off-chance, did she?” He laughed again.

  Taylor looked up with open-eyed surprise.

  “Anyway, this is just a quick call as I’ve a long way to go, and I just wanted to speak to you again before I left.”

  “Where you off to? Someplace nice?”

  “Oh, just somewhere,” he said, casually. A few seconds’ pause. “It’s a real shame I couldn’t have met up with you, Rob, really is. I thought about waiting around by where you live but decided not to. I’ll see you one day though, man, trust me on this. At least I got to meet Sally. Hey, is she there with you?” He raised his voice. “Hello, Sally!”

  I could see Taylor shaking her head, mouthing I’m not here and grinning widely.

  “I heard about you meeting her,” I said. “Yeah, she’s here,

  but she’s in the shower.”

  “Oh, pity. Anyway, she’s lovely. I can see why you said she’s amazing. She’s molto bella.” He emphasised the words. “Be sure to tell her I said that. Sei un uomo fortunato, Rob.”

  I knew fortunato mean something like luck, so I assumed he was saying I was lucky.

  Taylor buried her head in my shoulder and I could sense she was chuckling to herself.

  “Oh yeah, tell her I read her piece in the magazine,” Michael said. “Really good article. You’re right, mate, she really can write. I take back what I said about giornalisti.”

  “I’ll pass it on.” I saw her smiling. “So, I’m guessing you’re not in the country.”

  He didn’t speak for four seconds.

  “You know what I’d like, Rob, more than anything at this moment? I’d love it for you and Sally, Angie and me to get together and go out one evening. Go to a nice restaurant in a small Sicilian town, overlooking the Adriatic, have some great Italian food, drink lots of good Italian wine and just enjoy being with each other. That’d be fantastico,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Who knows, one day, eh?”

  “Who knows?” I replied.

  He’d had the same dream I had.

  “Anyway, man, it’s late, and I’ve a long way to go. Ciao to you and Sally.” He paused, and then spoke again, quietly but meaningfully. “Did Sally tell you what I’d said about us, and about her?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “You’re my brother, Rob. Don’t ever forget it, no matter what happens,” he said solemnly, “’cause I won’t forget it, not ever. You and Sally are famiglia.”

  I could feel a familiar choking sensation.

  “I love you, man,” he said. “Take care, Rob.”

  “Yeah, you too. Take care, mate. Bye.”

  We rang off.

  I immediately rang Special Branch and reported the call with number withheld on my iPhone, asking for a number and a trace, but again I was told, twenty-nine seconds later, neither had been po
ssible.

  I sat back against the couch. Biting my lower lip, chewing over what I’d heard and sighing to myself. I took a few deep breaths.

  Taylor sensed how I was feeling. She squeezed my hand and I pulled her close. She sat up tight next to me.

  “How you feeling, hun?” she asked quietly, sounding concerned. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I think.

  I couldn’t explain how or why I was feeling like this, or even why I still harboured strong feelings for my old friend, despite everything I now knew about him. That he’d referred to me as still being his brother had struck a chord inside me somewhere. We were on different sides but, somehow, we were still connected spiritually. We’d even had the same dream.

  I looked at Taylor. She smiled at me, touched my nose lightly, then put her head back on my shoulder. I felt her warmth.

  We sat like this for several minutes. There was nothing to say.