Cold Kill dss-3

by Stephen Leather

  The driver got behind the wheel and edged the car towards the M25.

  ‘Be nice if you could step up and take a bow some time, though,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘I’ve got half a dozen photographs of me shaking hands with various police commissioners,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just not allowed to show them to anybody.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Spider.’

  ‘I’m not in this for the glory,’ said Shepherd. He smiled ruefully. ‘Or the money.’

  ‘How did it go with your man?’ asked Hargrove.

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t play ball. I’m not even sure he knows he was carrying money.’

  ‘I’m sorry you were in there for so long. There was a manpower shortage. Local cops didn’t have anyone to bring him over until the evening shift.’

  ‘I figured something had gone wrong.’ He stretched and groaned. He needed a shower.

  ‘Wasn’t as if we could call and tell you,’ said Hargrove. ‘So, you reckon he didn’t know what was in the cans.’

  ‘He says he didn’t. I didn’t tell him – thought that might be pushing it too far. I planted the idea that it might have been drugs and he didn’t argue. We could use that as leverage, maybe. If he thinks he’s facing ten years for bringing in a class-A drug, he might talk.’

  ‘Did he say what he was supposed to do with the cans?’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘Clammed up, pretty much. That was when he started the head-banging routine. I couldn’t put him under pressure without stepping out of character.’

  ‘How do you read him?’

  ‘Just a guy trying to do the best for his family. Figured they’d have a better life in the UK. Probably thought the streets were paved with gold. Sad bastard.’

  ‘No one forced him to come,’ said Hargrove. ‘Everyone on that boat was there by choice. They’d all paid for their passage.’

  Shepherd sighed. The superintendent was right. But it was easy to talk about choice when you’d been born in England with the safety-net of a welfare state and a health system that might have its faults but was head and shoulders above what was on offer in the third world. He wondered how he’d feel if he had been born in a country with no prospects, no health care, no free education, no pension provision, no future, just a lifetime of toil with no prospect of anything better for his children. Would he grin and bear it? Shepherd was pretty sure he wouldn’t stay put. He’d save whatever money he could, then take his family to a country where a man was paid a decent wage for his labour. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ he said. He didn’t want to argue politics with Hargrove. ‘What happens next?’

  ‘I’ll get Immigration to speak with him and run through his options. He won’t be able to claim asylum without giving us an explanation for the cash.’

  ‘So, if he doesn’t talk he gets sent back?’

  ‘That’s the way it works,’ said Hargrove.

  ‘And if he does talk, what’ll his life be worth? Whoever gave him those cans isn’t going to stand by and let a million euros go without repercussions.’

  ‘If he helps us with the money, and gives evidence against Pepper, we can arrange witness protection for him,’ said Hargrove, patiently. ‘He’s already opted for a new life so he might as well live it under a new name.’

  ‘I hope he sees it that way,’ said Shepherd.

  At just before midnight the Rover pulled up in front of Shepherd’s house. The drive from Newcastle had taken the best part of four hours. ‘Take a few days off, Spider,’ Hargrove said.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘We’ve only just pulled you out of the sea,’ said the superintendent, ‘and you’ve been working for two weeks non-stop. Spend some time with Liam.’

  ‘Okay.’ It had been four days since Shepherd had been at home, but he had spoken to his son on his mobile.

  ‘We’ll sweat the father for a few days. When he tells us what he was supposed to do with the money, we’ll work out how best to play it.’ Hargrove patted Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘You did good, Spider.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Shepherd opened the door and climbed out. He waved as the Rover drove off, then let himself into the house. The kitchen light was on. ‘It’s me,’ he called, not wanting to startle the au pair.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ said Katra. She appeared in the doorway as he walked down the hall.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t call first. I thought you might be asleep,’ he said.

  Katra was wearing pink flannel pyjamas and her black hair was clipped up at the back. ‘I was just getting some warm milk,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to cook something for you?’ Her English had improved a lot during the year she had worked for Shepherd, but she still had the strong accent that betrayed her Slovenian origin.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve had a sandwich and I’ll make myself a coffee. You get off to bed.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Katra said, and switched on the kettle. ‘You look exhausted.’

  ‘It’s been a rough few days.’ Shepherd pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. ‘How’s Liam?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Katra. ‘He wants to start piano lessons.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wants to learn to play the piano. He can have lessons at school. He brought home a form for you to fill in.’

  ‘I didn’t know he liked music.’

  Katra spooned coffee into a cafetiere. ‘One of his friends has started lessons.’

  ‘A girl?’

  Katra laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because it’s the way we guys operate. There’s a girl he likes, she starts piano lessons so he wants piano lessons.’

  ‘You are suspicious because you are a policeman,’ she said.

  ‘I’m suspicious because I know how guys think.’

  ‘Liam is nine,’ said Katra.

  ‘Nine, nineteen, ninety-nine – guys are all the same. Trust me.’

  ‘She is pretty,’ admitted Katra.

  Shepherd stood up again and stretched. ‘I’ll just go up and check on him,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute for the coffee.’

  He went upstairs and nudged open the door to Liam’s bedroom. His son was asleep on his side, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Shepherd knelt down next to the bed and stroked Liam’s hair. He looked so like Sue when he was asleep, he thought, with a twinge of sadness. ‘Sweet dreams,’ he murmured. ‘Sleep tight. Hope the bedbugs don’t bite.’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ whispered Liam.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Shepherd.

  Liam’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Oh. Hi, Dad. You’re back.’

  ‘I just got in,’ said Shepherd. ‘Sorry. It took longer than I thought.’

  ‘Can I have a cuddle?’

  ‘Sure you can.’ He lay down next to Liam and put his arm round him. ‘Goodnight,’ he whispered.

  ‘Goodnight, Dad,’ said Liam. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Three, four, five,’ said Liam.

  Shepherd closed his eyes, took a deep breath and was asleep.

  ‘Dad?’ Shepherd groaned and rolled over at the sound of his son’s voice. He opened his eyes and blinked.

  Liam was standing next to the bed in his school uniform, carrying his sports bag. ‘Dad, I’m going to school.’

  Shepherd sat up and rubbed his face. He was still wearing his Tony Corke clothes and they smelt foul. Katra appeared behind Liam. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ Shepherd asked her.

  ‘I tried,’ said Katra. ‘You were fast asleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Liam,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just came in to say goodnight. I guess I was more tired than I thought.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Liam. ‘I’ll see you tonight, yeah?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Can we go to the park and play football?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ Liam held out his hand, little finger crooked.

  Shephe
rd linked his own with it. ‘Pinkie promise,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I made coffee for you in the kitchen,’ said Katra, and grinned. ‘You and Liam were so cute, asleep together.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Shepherd rolled off the bed and ruffled Liam’s hair. His son protested. ‘Go on with you,’ he said. ‘You’ll be late. We can talk about your piano lessons tonight.’

  ‘Katra told you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She told me.’

  Shepherd headed for the bathroom as they went downstairs. He shaved and showered, then put on his white towelling robe and went to his bedroom. There were three mobile phones on the bedside table. He hadn’t wanted to risk taking them on the trawler. There’d be no reason for a sailor like Corke to have more than one. While he was away he’d missed a call on the phone he used for personal business. The caller had blocked their number, but there was a voicemail message. It was Major Allan Gannon of the SAS. He didn’t identify himself but Shepherd recognised the clipped tone and note of authority in the voice. ‘Call me back when you get the chance, Spider.’ Short and to the point.

  Shepherd phoned the Major’s mobile. Gannon answered on the second ring.

  ‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked the Major. ‘Sixish?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Fancy a drink? The club?’

  Shepherd knew that he could only mean the Special Forces Club, behind Harrods. ‘Sure. Anything wrong?’

  ‘Just a chat,’ said the Major. ‘It’s been a while since we had a chinwag.’ He cut the connection.

  The Major wasn’t one for small-talk and Shepherd doubted that it was a chinwag he wanted.

  He changed into a faded T-shirt and shorts, then put on thick socks with his well-worn army boots and went downstairs. He poured some coffee, took a couple of gulps, then got his old canvas rucksack from the cupboard under the stairs. It contained half a dozen house bricks wrapped in newspaper. Shepherd always ran with the rucksack, a habit picked up from his army days. Before he had taken the SAS selection course he had spent many weekends running up and down the Brecon Beacons with a brick-filled rucksack, pushing the limits of his endurance and stamina. During SAS training all cross-country running was done with a full pack, and even though those days were behind him, he still felt that a run without a rucksack wasn’t a run. He went back to the kitchen, finished his coffee, grabbed a plastic bottle of Evian from the fridge and headed for the door.

  Rudi Pernaska was barely aware of the cold, hard concrete through the thin plastic mattress. From the moment that the Englishman had told him the detectives had been talking about the cans he’d known his life was over. Rudi had no idea what was inside them. He hadn’t wanted to know. All he had cared about was delivering them to London. The men in France had told him that if he made any attempt to open them, he would pay with his life.

  Now there was nothing he could do to make things right. If the police had the cans and there was something illegal inside, they would never give them back to him, so the men who had entrusted them to him would kill him. They would kill him and probably his family, too. His beloved Jessica – he couldn’t bear her to suffer. Or his wife. She had been through enough already. They both had.

  Tears ran down his face. He grabbed his hair and pulled it, cursing his stupidity. He should have stayed in Albania, should never have gambled on a new life in the West. They had barely scratched a living out of their smallholding on the outskirts of Tirana, but at least it had been a living. Now he had nothing. Less than nothing.

  He slipped off the bed and paced round the cell. The window was made of glass blocks. The overhead fluorescent light was protected by a Perspex panel. There was a stainless-steel toilet in the corner with a button to operate the flush. Rudi knew what he had to do, but the cell had been designed to thwart any attempt at suicide. He’d asked for food, hoping they would give him a knife and fork, but he’d received a cheese sandwich, a handful of chips, two plain biscuits, a plastic cup of weak coffee, and no utensils. He could tear up his shirt to produce a home-made rope, but there was nothing in the cell to tie it to.

  He paced up and down, faster and faster, and bellowed in frustration. If he ended his life, then maybe the men who had given him the cans would leave his family alone. It was the only solution, the only way his family stood a chance of any sort of life. He lifted up his right arm and stared at the pale green arteries under the skin. Just a few pints of blood and it would be over. He patted down his pockets for the hundredth time. They had taken away his belt, his shoelaces, his change, his wallet. There was nothing he could use to release his lifeblood and end his suffering.

  Tears ran down his face. He had to take his life because if he didn’t, his wife and child would die too. He raised his wrist to his lips, and kissed the flesh. He tasted the salt of his tears on his tongue as he bit, softly at first, then harder. Coppery-tasting blood spurted between his lips. He barely felt the pain. He opened his mouth and pushed his upper teeth harder into the wound, feeling them slip across the rubbery veins. He bit down hard, twisting his neck like a lion sacrificing its prey.

  Shepherd’s feet pounded on the pavement. He was breathing evenly, and although his T-shirt was soaked and his shoulders ached with the weight of the rucksack, he knew he could do at least another ten miles. When he saw the black Mazda sports car parked opposite his house he slowed and groaned.

  Kathy Gift climbed out and waved. She was wearing a fawn raincoat with the collar turned up and carrying a black-leather briefcase. She brushed her chestnut hair behind an ear and locked her car. Shepherd forced a smile. He liked Kathy Gift but, as the unit’s psychologist, she was a nuisance. ‘Hey,’ he said, stopping at the car.

  ‘I thought that, rather than play phone-tag, I’d come to the mountain,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t shake hands,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m all sweaty.’ He jogged past her and unlocked the front door. She followed him down the path. ‘Make us both some coffee while I shower,’ called Shepherd. ‘You know where everything is.’

  He tossed his rucksack into the cupboard under the stairs and went up to the bathroom. After he’d showered, he changed into a grey pullover and black jeans. He found Gift sitting at the kitchen table, her hands round a mug of coffee. She had hung her coat on the back of a chair and pushed up the sleeves of a pale blue cashmere polo-neck. A thin gold necklace with a Star of David hung over the sweater. She indicated a second mug on the table opposite her. ‘Splash of milk and no sugar,’ she said.

  Shepherd grinned. ‘You remembered. Or is it in my file?’

  ‘I remembered,’ she said. ‘It isn’t rocket science.’

  Shepherd sat down. ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  Gift opened her case and took out a notepad and pen. ‘It’s your biannual. Last time it took us ages to schedule a meeting.’

  ‘I was busy,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Gift. ‘Anyway, I’m here now. How’s things?’

  Shepherd smiled easily. ‘Things is fine.’

  Gift tapped her pen on the notebook.

  ‘Aren’t you going to write that down?’ he teased.

  ‘You’ve never liked these assessments, have you?’ she said.

  ‘I think they’re a waste of time,’ said Shepherd. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken.’

  ‘If I didn’t think I could do the job, I’d be the first to quit,’ he said. ‘It’s my life on the line, remember.’

  ‘I’m here to help you do your job better,’ said Gift.

  Shepherd smiled thinly. ‘That’s not strictly true, is it? You’re also the one who decides whether or not I’m fit for duty.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Definitely. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I could eat.’

  ‘Toast?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Shepherd went over to the toaster and slotted in two slices of wholemeal bread. He pressed the lever, then turned and leaned against the
counter top. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘Still running, I see.’

  ‘Keeps me fit.’

  ‘How’s Liam?’

  ‘Doing well at school. No nightmares. He seems fine, too.’

  ‘Does he talk about what happened to his mum? The accident?’

  ‘He talks about her. We both do. He misses her, of course – he’ll miss her for ever – but he doesn’t talk about the crash.’

  ‘Do you think he blames himself?’

  ‘No,’ said Shepherd, emphatically.

  ‘He was in the back of the car, your wife was turning to help him when she jumped the red light. If wouldn’t be unnatural for Liam to blame himself.’

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘What happens when you’re away on a case?’

  ‘We have the au pair. She lives in. Is this about me or my son?’

  ‘It’s about putting you in context, that’s all. Are you in a relationship at the moment?’

  ‘I’m a father,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s a relationship, right?’ The toaster pinged and ejected the two slices. Shepherd put them on to a plate and arranged it on the table with butter, strawberry jam and marmalade.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Gift, as she picked up a slice of toast.

  ‘I’m too busy for a relationship at the moment,’ he said. ‘When I’m working, I’m with villains or victims and neither would make suitable girlfriend material. When I’m not working, I’m at home with my son.’

  ‘It can’t be easy, being a single parent and an undercover policeman.’ She was buttering her toast.

  ‘Katra’s a big help. She does the school run, same as his mum would have done. She cooks, cleans, helps him with his homework if I’m not around.’

  ‘Are you away much?’

  ‘The unit operates all over the UK,’ said Shepherd. ‘You know that. We go where the work is.’

  ‘And you were overseas recently?’

  ‘France. But only for a few days.’

  ‘And you’re okay with that?’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘In a perfect world, I’d like to be able to spend more time with Liam. But in a perfect world, my wife wouldn’t have died. Look, I don’t see what Liam has to do with my ability to function under cover.’