Death Warmed Up

by John Paxton Sheriff

  Twenty-six

  There was a car parked outside Reg’s house when we got there, leaving me just enough room to pull in off Europa Road, my hired Punto, nose-to-nose with Reg’s Nissan Micra. Fishing rods were draped across the Micra’s roof rack, lead shot hanging from line glinting wetly in the moonlight.

  Reg must have just arrived. We climbed out of our cars as one. He was wearing stained jeans, a faded denim shirt, a fisherman’s waistcoat with its pockets weighted down with … I don’t know, weights, floats, worms and maggots? There was a guarded look on his thin face. He didn’t know whether to be angry, or offer his congratulations. What he was doing, I think, was studying our faces for some clue about how to proceed. In the end, of course, he settled for diplomacy.

  ‘No signs of injury, old boy, so it must have gone extremely well.’

  ‘It didn’t go at all, Reg.’

  The tenseness left him, and a huge grin spread across his face.

  ‘Well there you are, you see. I did warn you that leaving me behind was a big mistake.’

  I shook my head. ‘We were sent to the wrong location. Charlie led us up the garden path.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded sagely, and gestured with a sweep of his arm for us to go ahead of him down the steps to the house. Sian and Calum started down as Reg put a hand on my shoulder as I went past and said, ‘What d’you think Charlie’s deception signifies? That we were right all along, and he’s the feller flogging those jewels?’

  ‘Actually, Reg, I’m getting weary of the whole bloody farce.’

  Reg chuckled. We’d reached the bottom of the steps. Sian and Calum were waiting politely by the door. There was a jingle as Reg reached into his pocket for his keys.

  ‘The old dear might be dozing,’ he said, ‘and the last thing we want to do is disturb—’

  He stopped, frozen in the act of poking the key at the lock. Metal had barely touched metal when the door swung away from him, pulled open by the man standing in the hallway. Ebenholz was a silhouette framed in the unusually bright light from the living room. It glinted on the weapon he held casually in his right hand. Reg took half a step backwards. He looked sideways at me, a stunned expression on his face. Then, behind us, there was the hard, oily metallic clack that anyone who has served in the army will have heard a thousand times and will instantly recognize.

  I swung around. The Australian, Clontarf, was at the foot of the steps, broad and sinewy in jeans, sandals and a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves. He was holding the black Glock in both hands. Rock steady, it was aimed at a point midway between my waist and my knees.

  ‘All you’ve got to do to avoid a future singing like Kylie Minogue’s canary,’ he said, ‘is go on into the house as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘Nothing has – not yet,’ Sian said sweetly.

  She’d stepped sideways, away from Calum. He had hold of her wrist; an iron grip restraining a middle-aged blonde tornado.

  Clontarf grinned appreciatively at her. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, darl, but you’re caught in a crossfire and there’s a sweet old lady in the house at the mercy of a man not known for his patience.’

  Reg growled something unintelligible, then pushed his way scornfully past the impassive Ebenholz. I heard Reg call out something as he entered the living room, heard Eleanor answer, her voice clear and untroubled, and over it all the hard laugh that I knew must have come from Bernie Rickman.

  I looked at Sian, tilted my head towards the house. ‘Come on, Soldier Blue. This is about Reg, not us. He needs help.’

  ‘Sounds like a good old Aussie nickname,’ Clontarf said approvingly, and as we trooped into the hallway he was close behind us. I heard the door bang shut, the soft whisper of his trainers. If Ebenholz was following him, the muscular man was as silent as a kitten on a carpet.

  The living room’s gold-shaded table lamps were switched off, the ceiling’s central light fitting delivering a harsh glare which banished the usual warm shadows from the room’s corners. I guessed Eleanor had been relaxing cosily with a book and a tipple while waiting for the intrepid fisherman’s return, when Rickman and his merry men came hammering on the door and turned the place into a lighthouse. I didn’t know what had been done or said by any of her visitors in the interim, but she seemed entirely unfazed. She was curled up on the white sofa looking as relaxed as I’d ever seen Sian in that same position. Reg, on the other hand, was sitting beside her, clasping her hand tightly. He looked like a convicted prisoner watching the judge don his black cap.

  Clontarf and Ebenholz had drifted to positions on either side of the living room door. All weapons had been tucked out of sight: Ebenholz’s under his short jacket; Clontarf’s down the waistband of his jeans in the small of his back. Calum circled around behind the sofa, rested his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. Sian dropped into one of the big chairs; if Ebenholz was a kitten padding across a carpet, Sian was a stalking cat now stilled and awaiting the opportunity to pounce.

  ‘Who are those two?’ Eleanor said, jerking her head at the two men by the door, her voice dripping with scorn. ‘Your two goons?’

  She was looking straight at Rickman, her gaze contemptuous. Rickman was standing over by the suspended sun room with the star-spangled night skies at his back, drinking some of Reg’s whisky and looking smug.

  ‘They’re highly respected employees of mine,’ he said, and Clontarf was forced to cough into his hand.

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t know what you think you’re doing breaking into my home,’ Reg said, ‘but if it’s about the money I owe you I’m flat broke so you’re wasting your time.’

  Rickman grinned. ‘This is a bit like that caper where I say you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’

  He was ignoring Reg completely, watching me, waiting for a reaction.

  I moved to a space away from obstacles. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s like this. Before I tell Reg if my time’s being wasted, why don’t you tell us all how you’ve been wasting yours?’

  ‘What, and waste even more? You’ve been in this with Creeny from day one so you know that tonight he was selling those diamonds. We were all set to scupper his deal. The location we were given was Eastern Beach. We were misinformed.’

  ‘By a long way. Karl’s been in Tangier ever since he had his picture taken. And he hasn’t got any diamonds to sell.’ Rickman took a sip of whisky, looked at me with amusement. ‘Who was it misinformed you? Charlie? Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Sent you on a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Are you still insisting he planned this?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And he’s got the diamonds?’

  Rickman shook his head. ‘He planned the lot, the theft, his escape – which I freely admit showed a lot of flair, and only went wrong because he hadn’t anticipated the violence his scheming would provoke. His treachery, if you like. But the crucial point here is that what happened to poor old Pru didn’t put the kybosh on Charlie’s plans; it only delayed them. And in answer to your last question, no, Charlie didn’t steal the diamonds. In fact, he’s never had a sniff of them.’

  ‘You just said—’

  ‘What I said was, Charlie planned the theft.’

  The room fell silent. Rickman looked around brightly, waiting for a response. None came.

  Rickman shrugged, said, ‘Reg, old Ebenholz there, he likes the look of that little Micra of yours, fancies a drive in it, so if you’d let him have your keys—’

  ‘I don’t see why—’

  ‘It’s not a request.’

  ‘If taking my new car is some bizarre way of recouping your losses—’

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ Clontarf said, grinning, ‘give us the flamin’ keys.’

  ‘If that car has one scratch on it when it’s returned,’ Eleanor said, fixing Rickman with a gaze cold enough to freeze blood, ‘you’ll have me to deal with. D’you think you’re up for that?’

  Given the armed reception waiting for us when we arrived, that
might have sounded like a reckless question. But the weapons that had threatened us had been tucked away before she could see them; there was no obvious threat and I found myself wondering if Reg had ever told Eleanor how much trouble he was in with Rickman. If he hadn’t, then there was no reason for her to link her broken ankle to Rickman’s wife, Françoise, no reason to believe she was in any danger. All talk so far had been about stolen diamonds, and I’m sure she felt safe in the knowledge that a robbery in Liverpool city centre and all that followed had nothing to do with her and Reg.

  Rickman met Eleanor’s challenge with a roguish wink that brought a flush to her cheeks and tightened her lips, and for the second time that night there was a jingle of car keys as Reg tossed them to Clontarf and he sent them looping across the room to Ebenholz.

  ‘Why does he need Reg’s car?’ I said as the door closed behind the big man.

  ‘The short answer is I left mine down on South Barrack Road so we could storm the hill.’ Again the grin. ‘This way’s quicker.’

  ‘And the long answer?’

  ‘Difficult. So why don’t you ask me something simple, like what Charlie was playing at tonight?’

  ‘Go on then. What was he doing?’

  There was a sudden thump followed by an angry exclamation. Clontarf had moved over to sit on the arm of Sian’s chair. With one thrust of a stiff arm, she’d dumped him on the floor. He rolled over and stood up, his blue eyes ugly. Rickman lifted a warning hand. Sian smiled sweetly.

  ‘Jack, if Charlie gave us the wrong location,’ she said, ‘then he did it so that he could go to the right one.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Calum said, leaning nonchalantly with his hands now resting on the back of the sofa, his glasses halfway down his nose. ‘He’s been protesting his innocence all along, and if we can believe Rickman then it seems that the wee man really didn’t have the diamonds.’

  ‘All right, then let’s look at the only other way it could have been worked,’ Sian said. ‘If Charlie didn’t have them, he sent us chasing shadows to leave the way clear for his mate. He had a partner in crime.’

  ‘Fair enough, but the way clear … to where?’

  ‘Somewhere else.’

  ‘Dear oh dear,’ Rickman said, ‘how on earth did you lot get such a hot reputation?’

  ‘The answer to that question is down to qualities beyond the wildest imaginings of a greasy crook like yourself,’ Reg said. He was up on his feet. His rigid stance would have brought a gleam of approval to a sergeant major’s eyes. ‘It’s quite clear this visit is not about me at all, but about those confounded diamonds,’ he went on. ‘All right, so if that’s the case then why the hell don’t you get to the bloody point, and then get out?’

  ‘Cut to the chase?’ Rickman nodded. He was now sitting on the upper of the two carpeted steps leading to the suspended sun room, the empty glass by his side. ‘Well, it is getting late, so why not?’ He looked at me. ‘I’ll simply mention one name: Tony Ramirez.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, feeling all at sea but nodding wisely.

  ‘And ah ha,’ Calum said, and as he poked his glasses up with a forefinger he actually looked as if a penny had dropped. ‘Like a Spanish chappie called Mario, who sold Charlie down the river, Ramirez indulges in double-or even triple-dealing.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ Rickman said.

  ‘How much are you paying him for information?’

  Rickman shrugged.

  ‘So why are you here? If Ramirez told you where it was happening, why aren’t you there?’

  ‘Be like shutting the stable door,’ Rickman said, ‘when the jolly old horse has bolted.’

  And then he looked quickly across to the door as it opened with a bang to admit Ebenholz. The big man came in carrying a rectangular basket. It was damp, dirty, fastened with a leather strap. It brought to that elegant room a strong smell of fish. He sent Reg’s keys clattering onto the coffee table, dropped the basket onto the Persian rug. It landed with a solid thump.

  ‘In the trunk,’ he said.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Reg said, his voice tight with fury. ‘Here’s me been down at the point fishing, and what did you find in the boot of my car? A fishing basket.’

  Ebenholz had moved around the table. Clontarf was already down on one knee. Strong fingers drew wet leather from a brass buckle. He flipped the lid open, sat back on his heels.

  The basket was packed with banknotes.

  Into the stunned silence, Eleanor said softly, ‘Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs.’

  Twenty-seven

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Reg said. ‘Look, that can’t be my basket, someone’s done a switch.’ He glared at Ebenholz. ‘You, of course, that’s why you took my keys and went out there with some cock and bull story.’

  Already on his feet, staring at the neat bundles of banknotes, he tried to dart past the big man. Ebenholz stepped across to block him. Clumsily, Reg barged him with his shoulder and started for the basket. Ebenholz moved just enough to give himself room. His muscular arm swung lazily. The side of his clenched fist hit Reg’s forehead with an audible thwack. The old diplomat seemed to take off. He hit the sofa and bounced, then flopped sideways with his head in Eleanor’s lap. His eyes were glazed. He grunted, twitched, struggled to rise.

  I looked at Calum, standing behind the sofa. He gave a slight shake of his head. Sian hadn’t stirred from her chair, but she’d changed her position and her eyes were moving constantly from Ebenholz to the Australian.

  Still sitting on the step by his empty glass, Rickman said, ‘Have we quite finished?’

  ‘Could go on all night for all I care,’ Eleanor said, ‘but I’ll never in a month of Sundays believe this old sweetie stole that money.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ Rickman said. ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘So I’ll say it again, then: why don’t you bugger off?’

  ‘Ah, would that it were that simple,’ Rickman said, and looked around happily. ‘Got a Shakespearean sound that, hasn’t it? And so it should have, because this is either a tragedy or a bloody farce. Or both.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ I said softly.

  ‘Yeah, back to the chase.’ Suddenly, Rickman changed. His eyes narrowed. Something evil swirled in their depths, and I heard Eleanor draw a sharp breath.

  ‘This is how the plan – Charlie’s excellent get-rich-quick scheme – was to be wrapped up,’ Rickman said. ‘After that unexpected delay, Charlie made it back to Spain and got Tony Ramirez to locate a buyer and arrange the sale of some stolen diamonds—’

  ‘Charlie didn’t have’em—’

  ‘—and come up with a time, and a place,’ Rickman went on, ignoring Reg’s dazed protest. ‘The agreed place was Europa Point. The buyer would bring the money in by boat. The seller – Charlie told Ramirez – would be Charlie’s partner. This guy had listened to Charlie’s idea for stealing stolen diamonds, and thought the plan brilliant because it would make this feller rich and enable him to get back at another guy who was giving him aggro. The partner snatched the jewels at the airport—’

  ‘Christ, no, you’re wrong,’ Reg said weakly.

  ‘—and he’s had them ever since. And Charlie told Ramirez the seller would know his partner – waiting down there at Europa – because he’d be an old guy fishing off the rocks, a little runt with grey hair snatched back in a pony tail. The diamonds would be in a leather pouch, inside a fishing basket.’

  Reg said something that went unnoticed, because it seemed everybody was now ignoring the little man. I was leaving Clontarf and the American to Calum and Sian, who were watching them intently. It was Rickman who interested me, because I sensed this story would have a twist in the tail.

  ‘So once Ramirez had arranged the deal,’ I said, knowing how this had to end, ‘he informed you.’

  ‘Not directly, no,’ Rickman said. ‘What Ramirez did was go to Karl Creeny. In Morocco, remember? Only not exactly Morocco, but Ceuta, which, of course, is a Spanish enclave
over there and much closer to Gib than good old Tangier. It was Karl who kept me up to date. Karl who sailed across the straits earlier today. And it was Karl who did a midnight deal with diplomatic Reg Fitz-whatever.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Calum said. ‘Why would that bloody crook spend a fortune buying back stolen diamonds?’

  ‘Well, the answer to that is, he didn’t.’

  Grinning, Clontarf again went down on one knee. He reached into the basket, peeled a banknote off the top of one of the piles. Beneath it there was blank paper. He did the same with each of the piles in turn. He was left clutching a handful of genuine banknotes, and we all stared, mesmerized by the sight of a basket full of plain copier paper neatly cut to the shape and size of banknotes.

  ‘Without violence, and for little more than the cash he carries in his back pocket,’ Rickman said, ‘Karl’s got his diamonds back.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Calum said. ‘None of this is necessary. Creeny sails away with his diamonds; Reg would have come home and had fun counting his piles of waste paper – a win-win situation for you and Creeny, so why this palaver?’

  ‘Because as of now, we’ve got Reg,’ Rickman said, and he lifted a hand, pointed his forefinger like the barrel of a pistol at the white-faced diplomat, and cocked his thumb. ‘And for dear old Reg it’s payback time. Too bloody right it is, because he did something much worse than cost me a small bloody fortune. See, Reg, the man who brought in the diamonds, the man you conked on the head at the airport, well, he was Karl Creeny’s younger brother.’

  Twenty-eight

  The was a moment of complete silence.

  Eleanor’s face had turned chalk white. She looked up at Reg, who had struggled to his feet and was standing as if turned to stone. Then she shook her head in despair and slowly leaned forward to rest her face in her cupped hands. I think Reg saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. Either that, or a storm of hair-prickling thoughts galvanized him: the realization that if he didn’t act fast he was going to be taken to one of the Rock’s most desolate spots and made to suffer before he died.