A Thousand Cuts

by Thomas Mogford

  Spike peered down at the white dressing wrapped tightly around the old man’s wrist.

  ‘It was a burn,’ Sir Anthony finally admitted. ‘From the night Eloise died.’ He withdrew his arm beneath the sheets. ‘I thought it had healed, but it seems I picked something up at the hospital.’ Sir Anthony stared up at the gauze-covered glass. ‘She was trapped on the top floor. The door was locked.’ His voice grew hoarse as he remembered. ‘I tried to reach her, but there was too much smoke.’

  Sir Anthony said nothing for a while after that, and Spike was just about to stand up and leave. But then he spoke again, ‘I had a letter from a friend in the Service last week,’ he whispered, making an awkward movement with one shoulder. ‘Nothing official; he just wanted to warn me that I’m to be stripped of my knighthood. Good of him, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ They both knew it was a platitude, but part of Spike meant it, and it pained him to see the old man twist his mouth into what remained to him of a smile. ‘What’s to be sorry about? Seventy odd years ago, I let an innocent man go to his death. To safeguard my own interests.’

  ‘There were others involved,’ Spike said. ‘People whose lives would have been destroyed.’

  Sir Anthony nodded. ‘I’ve thought about it often over the years. And I suppose there’s something in what you say. I might not have been the oldest of the Mil Cortes, but I was the most pragmatic. Perhaps I have my dissolute father to thank for that. Such things teach a boy to be resourceful.’ His gaze flicked over to Spike, and he was left in no doubt of the subtext. ‘John Capurro was a hot-headed fool. Tito was just a boy, almost catatonic with grief. And Marcela . . .’ Sir Anthony sighed. ‘Well, Marcela was what I wanted most in the world.’ He made a small motion with his forefinger, and Spike picked up the cup of water on the bed stand and held the straw to his mouth. ‘But, of course, Marcela believed she loved Esteban in that way all teenage girls do. Especially when it’s someone they can’t have. And when Esteban died, and then his wife, I knew she could never forgive herself, let alone care for me. I had hoped we might be reconciled, but the guilt was too great. We never spoke when we crossed paths, never sought each other out. And, you know, John was just the same. Until he learnt he was dying, and decided that he had to see Esteban’s son. To unburden himself.’

  ‘Massetti’s dead,’ Spike said. ‘Did you know?’

  Spike caught the ghost of a smile on Sir Anthony’s withered mouth. ‘Drew’s been keeping me informed.’

  I’ll bet he has, Spike thought. It wasn’t as though he had much else to occupy his time. ‘Can’t get arrested’ had been Peter’s injudicious choice of phrase. ‘The Attorney General’s considering whether to charge Massetti posthumously,’ Spike added.

  Sir Anthony gave a quiet click of the tongue. ‘Why don’t they just leave the poor bastard alone?’

  ‘He murdered three people, Anthony. In cold blood.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Spike remembered the conversation he’d had with Isola on the day that Juliet had been born, and leant in closer. ‘Massetti couldn’t have killed John Capurro. He didn’t have access to the morphine.’

  Sir Anthony managed a chuckle. ‘It wasn’t me, Spike, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though we did have the drug in the house. The morphine was prescribed many years ago. When the doctors said there was nothing more they could do for Angela.’ His voice faltered. ‘She was in a great deal of pain towards the end. A more devoted spouse might have used it to put her out of her misery.’

  It took Spike a moment to work out what Sir Anthony was saying. Then it finally made sense. ‘You think it was Eloise.’

  Sir Anthony gave a non-committal grunt. ‘I think that Dr Capurro loved her husband very much.’

  Spike stared into Sir Anthony’s good eye, watching the pupil dart about like a trapped insect, wondering if he could ask the question that had been preying on his mind; if the old man could muster the strength to answer. ‘That night at the Dockyard, Anthony. Who was supposed to plant the bomb? Was it you?’

  Sir Anthony closed his eyes. Spike assumed that marked the end of the conversation, but then he started to speak again, his voice low and strained. ‘John,’ he exhaled. ‘John was meant to do it. None of us knew what was in the box when we brought it over the border, but as soon as John saw the bomb, he knew what Raúl expected of him. But when it came down to it, John’s nerves failed him, as they always did. But Tito had been listening to everything Raúl said that night. Everything, of course, except how to work the timer.’ Sir Anthony gave a sudden, hacking cough. ‘Esteban and I were so close to stopping the bomb going off. But then we heard voices, so I grabbed hold of Tito and fled. But Esteban was made of sterner stuff.’ Sir Anthony’s strength was fading. ‘After that, it was just a case of survival. Trying to keep the rest of us out of gaol. But Esteban never broke. He stayed loyal to his Mil Cortes. They strike medals for that sort of thing, you know.’

  ‘I saw Drew at the hospital. He’s very angry.’

  Sir Anthony’s hand emerged again from the blankets and took Spike’s. ‘It’s easier for him to hold you responsible. That way he doesn’t have to think about what I’ve done.’

  In the corner of his eye, Spike saw the Spanish nurse hovering with a bowl of lavender-scented water and a sponge. He squeezed Sir Anthony’s hand, then got to his feet as the nurse rolled the patient over and drew back the blankets. Spike turned away, but not before he’d seen the bedsores covering Sir Anthony’s legs and buttocks. ‘Tell him I said goodbye.’

  ‘Sí, sí,’ the nurse murmured as he worked.

  In the hallway, Spike heard a key twist in the lock. There was only one person it could be. But Spike knew he couldn’t put off the confrontation for ever, so he set down his briefcase and waited for the door to open.

  78

  Drew looked up at Spike with a scowl of surprise, his stubbled face puffy with fatigue. Then he stepped past Spike and folded his coat carefully over the banister. ‘Seen enough?’

  ‘Your father asked me to come. I think he had things he wanted to say.’

  Drew sat down carefully on the third step of the staircase. ‘So Jessica had the baby?’

  Spike ventured an embarrassed smile. ‘A girl. We called her Juliet.’

  ‘That’ll please Rufus.’

  Spike nodded.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ Drew went on, but there was no amusement in his eyes. ‘After all these years. Your life coming together perfectly, while mine . . .’ He let out a bitter laugh and swept an arm in front of him. ‘Well, mine is as you see it.’ The heel of one shoe slipped on the step, and it was then that Spike realised that he was very drunk.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father, Drew.’

  ‘Which bit? The one where he has to lie in his own excrement? Or the fact that every accolade he’s achieved in the course of a remarkable life will be forgotten because of some idiotic thing he did when he was sixteen.’

  Spike moved towards the door. ‘I should go. Jessica will worry.’

  But Drew was swaying to his feet, upper lip curling. The sweetness of booze on his breath reminded Spike of Massetti in his pomp. ‘You always thought you were better than everyone else, didn’t you? Even when we were at Law School.’ Drew’s hooded eyes narrowed. ‘So quietly pleased with yourself. So sure that only you could walk the righteous path.’

  Spike tried to control his anger. But he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in as long as he could remember, and after his recent encounters with Peter and Sir Anthony, his reserves of patience were low. ‘Is that what’s bothering you, Drew? The manner in which I choose to practise the Law?’

  Drew grinned. ‘Maybe it’s just the irony of it. You with your lofty ambitions, while every lawyer on the Rock knows your partner is a crook.’

  Spike shoulders stiffened, and he saw Drew’s drunken eyes widen as he registered that he’d hit home. It had all been conjecture, Spike realised, until now. But the damage was done. ‘You can tell yo
urself this is about my professional ethics if it gives you comfort, Drew. But we both know it’s not about that at all. You got a taste of all those things you’ve always wanted. Influence. Status. Prestige. Then they were snatched away. And you blame me.’ The expression on Drew’s face was enough to tell Spike that he was right.

  Spike reached for the door handle and heard Drew call out behind him, ‘I could have done something for this place. I could have been useful.’ Then Drew pushed past him and wrenched open the door. ‘My father is going to die, Spike. And after that, you should know that I’m coming after you.’ He gripped Spike’s sleeve and leant in. ‘You and your lousy partner.’

  Spike pulled himself free and reeled out onto the road, hearing the door slam closed behind him. His head suddenly felt very heavy on his shoulders. High on the Rock, he saw that the apes were watching him. He turned his back on Dragon Trees and set off down the road towards home.

  79

  Spike was struck by a blast of spices as soon as he stepped into the house. Jessica stuck her head around the kitchen door, face glowing, hair tied back in a shiny ponytail. ‘You need to see this. Your father’s making Christmas pudding.’

  ‘Plum pudding,’ Spike heard his father correct over the sound of boiling water.

  Spike knelt down by the baby bouncer, feeling the tension in his neck ease as he watched Juliet perform her gummy smile. Then he turned and saw Charlie standing behind him, arms dangling by his sides. ‘What is it?’ he asked gently.

  The boy spun around and ran up the stairs, and Spike followed, hearing laughter echo behind him. Charlie’s room was the neatest in the house, his favourite toys carefully arranged in a biscuit tin in the corner – an egg of desiccating Silly Putty, a robot from the Cathedral charity shop, a handful of stickle bricks he must have pocketed at nursery. The hoarding was some kind of defence technique, Jessica had concluded, in case Juliet suddenly sprang to her hindquarters and ran off with his treasures.

  The little boy clambered onto his bed with a glance over one shoulder to confirm he had Spike’s undivided attention. Then he pointed up at a long, thin crack on the wall. ‘Look.’

  ‘It’s just a movement crack,’ Spike said, aware that he was quoting a surveyor he’d never met, and hoping that further quizzing wouldn’t reveal him to be a complete imbecile in an area where most fathers seemed to excel.

  Charlie rose to his tiptoes and traced a finger down the fissure. ‘Max Macfarlane . . .’ he began.

  It took Spike a moment to place the name. ‘The ninja from nursery?’

  ‘Max Macfarlane,’ Charlie resumed, ‘says Gibraltar has a hole in it. He says we’re all going to fall inside.’ The boy turned, demanding an answer, so Spike attempted a sage sort of nod, playing for time. ‘I suppose Max is right, in a way.’ He stood up and made a thorough examination of the crack. ‘On one side we have Africa.’ He tapped a finger to the left of the crack. ‘And on the other’ – a tap to the right – ‘Europe. Two different’ – he hesitated – ‘plates. And Gibraltar sits in the gap between.’

  The boy’s frown deepened, and Spike assumed that his explanation of plate tectonics had been insufficient, probably because he didn’t really understand it himself. But then Charlie pointed up, mirroring Spike’s motions. ‘Africa,’ he said, tracing one finger over the fissure. ‘And Europe.’ He dug a nail into the crack. ‘And us.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Spike said.

  ‘But if we don’t choose a side, will we not fall down the hole?’

  ‘I think we’ll be OK.’

  ‘Promise?’

  Spike nodded. ‘Just as long as we all stick together.’ He bent down and let the boy wrap his arms around his neck. As he held his child close, he thought about Marcela Peralta and Esteban Reyes. About Christopher Massetti taking his last breaths alone on a park bench with a bottle of whiskey and no socks. Of the expression in Sir Anthony Stanford’s eyes as he awaited death on a state-of-the-art hospital bed in his beautiful mansion. Of what Peter had done for Siri Baxter, and how Spike had let him think he’d been beaten into submission, and of what Drew might make of that.

  Then they both heard Jessica’s impatient voice calling them from downstairs. ‘Are you two coming to see this or not?’

  Spike gave Charlie another squeeze and set him on his feet. ‘Come on. Let’s see if Grandpa’s set fire to the kitchen yet.’

  The little boy took his father’s hand and dragged him down the stairs. Outside, Spike could feel the waves beating against the Rock, back and forth, back and forth, in time with their footsteps.

  ‘We all stick together,’ he heard Charlie whisper.

  Yes, thought Spike. That’s exactly what we’ll do.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’d like to thank Rodney French at the National Archives in Kew for helping me track down declassified MI5 files pertaining to actual espionage and sabotage cases in Gibraltar during the Second World War. Anyone wishing to delve further into this fascinating corner of history will find the NA – both online and in physical form – an invaluable resource.

  A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

  THOMAS MOGFORD has worked as a journalist for Time Out and as a translator for the European Parliament. The preceding four novels in the Spike Sanguinetti series, Shadow of the Rock, Sign of the Cross, Hollow Mountain and Sleeping Dogs have all been published by Bloomsbury and to critical acclaim. He was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger Award for best new crime writer of 2013. He is married and lives with his family in London.

  thomasmogford.com / @ThomasMogford

  Also available by Thomas Mogford

  Shadow of the Rock

  A Spike Sanguinetti Mystery

  Shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey Dagger 2013

  One humid summer night in Gibraltar, lawyer Spike Sanguinetti arrives home to find an old friend, Solomon Hassan, waiting on his doorstep. Solomon is on the run, accused of a brutal murder in Tangiers. He has managed to skip across the Straits but now the Moroccan authorities want him back.

  Spike travels to Tangiers to try and delay Solomon’s extradition, and there meets a beautiful Bedouin girl. Zahra is investigating the disappearance of her father, a trail which leads mysteriously back to Solomon. Questioning how well he knows his friend, Spike finds himself drawn into a dangerous game of secrets, corruption and murderous lies.

  ‘If you want a terrific thriller to enjoy, try Shadow of the Rock ... It’s ace – an original, pacy, great writing debut’ Susan Hill

  ‘Evocative, engrossing and entertaining’ The Times

  Click here to order

  Sign of the Cross

  A Spike Sanguinetti Mystery

  A domestic dispute has escalated into a bloodbath.

  When his uncle and aunt are found dead, Spike Sanguinetti must cross the Mediterranean to Malta for their funerals, leaving the courtroom behind. But the more he learns about their violent deaths, the more he is troubled by one thing: what could have prompted a mild-mannered art historian to stab his wife before turning the knife upon himself?

  Reunited with his ex-girlfriend, Zahra, Spike embarks on a trail that leads from the island’s squalid immigrant camps to the ornate palazzos of the legendary Knights of St John. In Malta, it seems, brutality, greed and danger lie nearer to the surface than might first appear.

  ‘Excellent’

  Irish Examiner

  Click here to order

  Hollow Mountain

  A Spike Sanguinetti Mystery

  At the heart of Gibraltar lies the Rock. At the heart of the Rock lies darkness.

  The late-morning sun beats down on the Rock of Gibraltar as bored tourists photograph the Barbary Apes. A child’s scream pierces the silence as she sees a monkey cradling a macabre trophy. A man’s severed arm.

  In the narrow streets of the Old Town below, lawyer Spike Sanguinetti’s friend and colleague is critically injured in a mysterious hit-and-run. Spike must drop everything and return home to Gibraltar, where he is drawn into a case defe
nding a ruthless salvage company hunting for treasure in the Straits.

  As Spike battles to save his business, he realises that his investigations have triggered a terrifying sequence of events, and that everything he holds dear is under threat.

  ‘A rare and enviable talent’ William Boyd

  Click here to order

  Sleeping Dogs

  A Spike Sanguinetti Mystery

  An idyllic Greek island. A brutal murder. A dark secret unearthed.

  An old friend persuades Gibraltarian lawyer Spike Sanguinetti to take a well-earned rest on Corfu’s beautiful north-east coast. But when the bloodied body of a young Albanian is found and a local man accused of his murder, Spike reluctantly agrees to take the case. Beneath the island’s veneer of wealth and privilege Spike uncovers truths so damaging that those involved will go to any lengths to protect them. And when a vulnerable young woman disappears, Spike knows that there are some sleeping dogs he cannot let lie…

  ‘Popular fiction at its best’

  Susan Hill, Spectator

  Click here to order

  First published in Great Britain 2017

  This electronic edition published in 2017 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  © Thomas Mogford, 2017

  Map by ML Design

  Thomas Mogford has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.

  Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted