by Mark McKay
‘Let’s go see Ibanez,’ he said. ‘Tell him what happened and let Don Gilberto make his statement.’
Isabella made her way back to the main road and they headed for the police station. They had to wait an hour to see Ibanez. He was interviewing someone and couldn’t be disturbed. When he did emerge, he saw two people with bloodstained clothes and an impassive, clean and tidy shaman waiting for him.
‘Something you want to tell me?’ he enquired as he took in the sight in front of him.
‘This is Don Gilberto,’ said Nick. ‘He’s here to make a statement. Now would be convenient.’
He told Ibanez about Conrad and what had happened on the way to Nauta. Ibanez listened with an air of stoic detachment and nodded a few times, but didn’t interrupt. Then he summoned one of his men and spoke with him. The policeman saluted and left.
‘He will go to the hospital and see how this man Conrad is progressing,’ said Ibanez. ‘Now, let’s take that statement.’
They went into an interview room. Isabella had her recorder with her and Ibanez had the standard police recording equipment. Nick could only listen as Ibanez asked questions and Don Gilberto answered them, all in Spanish. Isabella made a few comments, but this wasn’t her forum. It was a witness statement to the police. Half an hour later they were done.
‘I will finish my report tomorrow,’ said Ibanez. ‘In a few days we will see the judge again and then I will return your passport.’
They drove Don Gilberto back to his house. Through Isabella, Nick thanked him for his help and then the old man got out and crossed the street to his front door. They watched him go.
‘Do you mind telling me how he did that thing with the snake?’ asked Nick. ‘Why didn’t it bite him?’
‘How would I know? Perhaps he called it with his singing and hypnotised it. Did you notice what happened just before he threw it? It was as though time stopped.’
‘I did notice that. Perhaps he hypnotised us, too.’
‘Do you need a rational explanation? He saved our lives, Mr Severance.’
‘Call me Nick, please. No, I don’t need an explanation. Rational or otherwise.’
They both sat in silence for a minute. Then Isabella sighed. ‘I need to change these clothes and I think you need to do the same thing. I will drop you at your hotel.’
The sun was low in the sky when Nick got out of the car and walked into the Epoca. The girl on reception was talking to another guest and he managed to glide past without her seeing the bloodstained shirt. He’d already been arrested on the premises and the sight of the shirt would only give the hotel management yet another reason to doubt his good character. He slipped into his room unnoticed.
He took off his bloodied shirt, scrunched it up and threw it in the trash basket. Then he took a long shower to wash off the dirt and stench of an exhausting day. When he was dressed and feeling more human again, he looked through Conrad’s wallet. It had cash and one credit card in it and that was all. The credit card was a company card in the name of Hackett Pharmaceuticals. It would seem he did work for them in some capacity. The phone was locked, so that yielded nothing. And the gun was a Beretta semi-automatic with a full cartridge. He must have acquired it in Peru, perhaps from Jason at the Ascension Institute. Nick stashed it on the top shelf of the wardrobe and covered it with a blanket. Ibanez knew they’d been forced into the jungle at gunpoint, so it was just a matter of time before he asked where the gun in question was. He would take it to the station, tomorrow.
He went downstairs and found Diego. The manager was polite enough, but Nick could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable being in the presence of a guest who may or may not have committed a murder in his town.
‘I found the witness I was looking for,’ said Nick, in a bid to soothe his concerns. ‘He made a statement.’
‘You must be relieved, Senor Severance. Our prisons are not pleasant places.’
‘Diego, tomorrow morning I would like to visit Mrs Ramos and pay her the money I owe to Emilio. Will you come with me and translate?’
‘Yes of course. I’m sure that will be of great help. What time would you like to go?’
They agreed on 10am. When he left Diego, the hotel manager seemed more relaxed. Of course I could still be a killer who just likes to honour his debts, thought Nick, as he went into the restaurant for dinner. If that were true, I could cheerfully shoot Diego but not bear to leave without paying the bill. It was a twisted but feasible logic, which Diego probably hadn’t thought about. Nick chuckled to himself as he sat at a corner table and looked at the menu. Not everyone is as screwed up as you, Severance, he thought. He found himself wondering what Isabella Delgado was doing tonight. She’d almost been killed this afternoon and he didn’t even know if she was married or had children. He hadn’t seen a wedding ring. He sighed and ordered a large glass of wine. Being alone in foreign countries was never an issue until you noticed yourself always asking for a table for one in restaurants or you woke up alone in bed, one morning too many. He decided that when he got back to England he would call Marielle in Germany and see if she still wanted to see him. They hadn’t been in touch for months, now. He finished his wine and ordered another. He’d sleep well tonight.
They stopped at the bank the following morning. Nick withdrew 7,000 Peruvian Sols, equivalent to around 2,000 US dollars. It was much more than he’d agreed to pay Emilio, but even when Diego told him a hotel receptionist only made about 400 dollars a month, it seemed paltry under the circumstances. Mrs Ramos had just lost the family breadwinner and she might justifiably hold Nick responsible. It felt like he was offering her blood money.
Julia Ramos took the money. She’d identified her husband’s body and discovered that the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the chest. Judging by the tone of her exchange with Diego and the angry look on her face, she probably did hold Nick responsible. He was glad he didn’t understand what she was saying. Through Diego, he could only say how sorry he was and offer his condolences. When they left she understood that the man who had killed her husband had been apprehended, but it was scant consolation. She practically shut the door in their faces. For Nick, the meeting had only increased his sense of culpability in Emilio’s death. And if things had gone differently yesterday, there could easily have been two more dead bodies to consider. But if things had gone differently, he’d also be dead.
He went straight to the police station and handed over the Beretta. If the bullet that had killed Emilio could be matched with the gun, then Conrad would be in deep shit. Ibanez wasn’t there, but the policeman who had gone to the hospital to check on Conrad recognised Nick and spoke a little English. He bagged the gun up and entered it into evidence.
Then he visited the hospital. It was the same woman on reception and she recognised him, but the language barrier was proving insurmountable. She signed to him to wait and then spoke with someone on the phone. A few minutes later a doctor appeared. He was a middle-aged man with thick black hair and a moustache.
‘What can I do for you?’ he enquired.
‘We brought a man in here who’d been bitten by a snake. How is he? Where is he?’
‘And who is he?’ said the doctor. ‘He has no form of identification.’
‘Did the police speak to you?’
‘A policeman came yesterday but just said there would be some questions to answer, once he was conscious.’
‘I’m helping the police. I’d like to check up on his condition.’
The doctor thought about that and made up his mind. ‘OK. Follow me.’
He led Nick to a single room right down the end of a corridor on the ground floor. The door had a glass pane and he could see Conrad lying in bed, apparently sleeping. The doctor showed no inclination to open the door.
‘He is sedated at the moment and we’re giving him some strong painkillers.’
‘Has he been unconscious since he arrived?’
‘No. He was awake m
ost of the night. You see his arm?’
The arm was bare and still swollen. From the wrist to the shoulder, it had turned black.
‘In a day or so, the arm will blister and then the blisters will burst,’ continued the doctor. ‘After that, we will know how much dead tissue there is. But I think we may have to amputate that arm.’
Christ, thought Nick. Not a pleasant prospect. ‘When will he be in a position to answer questions?’
‘I suggest you come back this evening, around 7pm. He should be awake then.’
There was nothing to do but wait. He thanked the doctor and made his way out. There should really be a police guard on the door, he thought. He’d suggest it to Ibanez, though it seemed with his arm about to literally fall off, Conrad wouldn’t make a run for it. Maybe they could handcuff his good arm to the bed, instead. He went back to the police station and was told to wait till Ibanez was available. Fifteen minutes later, he was shown into the captain’s office.
‘I’ve just been to the hospital,’ he explained. ‘The patient is sleeping at the moment, but you can question him this evening. I’d like to be there.’
Ibanez was drinking coffee and smoking a large cigar. The window was open, but there was very little breeze. A haze of cigar smoke filled the office.
‘You haven’t told me why you were at the Ascension Institute, Mr Severance. You don’t look like a typical ayahuasca tourist. Did you go there looking for cocaine? Perhaps you could explain yourself.’
‘I’m a private investigator. Someone who visited the Institute was murdered. I was looking for a connection.’
‘And you think it was drug related?’
‘Perhaps. That’s what I want to ask our snake bite patient about. I’d also like to suggest with all due respect, that you place a guard on the door.’
Ibanez drew on the cigar. ‘The Iquitos police are understaffed. However, I agree with you. I will meet you at the hospital tonight and bring someone with me. I will formally charge Mr Steadman and then my man will stay by his door overnight. When he is well enough, we will transfer him to a cell in this building. Now if you don’t mind, I have a report to write. I’m sure you want that done as soon as possible?’
‘Of course. Till this evening, then.’
Nick left, feeling somewhat reassured. He wondered if Isabella was free for lunch. He had her card; at the very least he could ask her how soon she thought his next and hopefully final hearing with the judge would take place. He took a moto-taxi into the town centre.
Delgado and Delgado was located on the second floor of a beautiful old building just off the main square. It looked as though it had once been a residence of palatial proportions, with wrought-iron balconies outside every window. It was built around a courtyard and all the formerly grand rooms had been converted into offices. He knocked on her door and went in.
It was a big office, almost as big as some apartments he’d been in. Isabella was seated at a desk right across the room, overlooking the courtyard. She stood up as he came in.
‘Mr Severance. I wasn’t expecting you.’ She smiled at his astonishment. ‘I know it’s too large. We’ve had this office since my father’s day. I could move, but it’s too beautiful and not as expensive as you might think.’
She looked as though she’d recovered from her recent ordeal. ‘It is beautiful,’ he said. ‘Can I take you out for lunch?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, I…’
He thought he’d put his foot in it. ‘Sorry, I don’t know the customs here. Are you married, by the way?’
That made her laugh. ‘No, I’m not married. I tell you what. We can order something and they will deliver it. We can eat in the courtyard.’
She made a call and ten minutes later the food arrived, in plastic containers. There was a shared kitchen in the building, and they transferred what Isabella told him was a traditional fish dish to plates, and went outside. There were several tables in the courtyard, all shaded by umbrellas. They picked one and sat down.
‘I’m sorry you had to go through that yesterday,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling OK?’
‘I felt much better once I got out of those bloodstained clothes. I will be fine.’
‘Actually, I wanted to know when you think my next hearing might be.’
‘I have arranged it for the day after tomorrow. After that, you will be free to go.’
‘Don’t forget to bill us for all this. And add twenty percent for the inconvenience.’
‘I will. Now let’s talk about something other than business.’
They made small talk. She told him about the grand era of Iquitos, when the rubber barons of the 19th century ruled the place. They had used their fortunes to try and outdo each other by building ever more extravagant dwelling places and shrines to their wealth. But after someone stole some rubber plant seeds and started production elsewhere, their monopoly was broken. Iquitos had never been the same since.
‘This is one of their buildings,’ said Isabella. ‘They imported all the materials from Europe.’
She wouldn’t be drawn on her private life and although he wanted to know more about her, he didn’t press it. Once lunch was over, she said she would call him when she had the time of the hearing, and he let her get back to work.
That evening, he got to the hospital early. Ibanez wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes. He could get some alone time with Conrad and maybe learn something before the presence of the police made him clam up. He went straight down the corridor to Conrad’s room. It was empty.
He rushed back to reception and asked if Conrad had been transferred. It was a different woman this time, and she didn’t understand him either. But she found the name ‘Steadman’ on her computer screen and she could see that Nick was agitated. She picked up the phone.
The doctor he’d seen earlier appeared. At the same moment Ibanez came in the door, accompanied by one of his men.
‘Where’s Conrad Steadman?’ asked Nick. ‘Have you moved him?’
The doctor was concerned. ‘He discharged himself.’
‘What? I thought he was in no condition to go anywhere.’
‘That is what I told him. But a private ambulance arrived, with a doctor. He said they were taking him out of here to another facility. There was nothing I could do to stop them.’
‘You should have called us,’ said Ibanez, who looked furious.
The doctor wasn’t intimidated. ‘I did nothing illegal, Captain.’
‘Another facility where?’ asked Nick.
‘They didn’t say. The doctor was English, I think. Not someone I know from around here. I would say they are flying him to another country, where they can do reconstructive surgery on his arm. Assuming it can be saved, that is.’
‘When did he leave?’
The doctor checked his watch. ‘Two hours ago.’
‘We must go to the airport,’ said Ibanez. ‘Now.’
They got to the airport in record time. Yes, said the airport supervisor. A man had come through on a stretcher just an hour ago. A medical emergency. There had been a private jet waiting to transfer him to a suitable hospital.
‘Where was the flight going?’ asked Nick.
The supervisor consulted his terminal. ‘The jet is registered to a company called Hackett Pharmaceuticals. Destination, London.’
Ibanez was fuming. Shit, thought Nick. There’s nothing we can do. Conrad had gone.
Chapter 9
Two days later, Nick attended the court hearing. The judge scanned the investigative report and the transcript of Don Gilberto’s statement and asked Ibanez a few questions. Then he told Nick, through Isabella, that he was free to leave.
He wasted no time. He’d booked a flight in anticipation of the decision, and that evening he flew out of Iquitos on the first leg of the trip back to London. He had promised Ibanez that he would do his best to apprehend Conrad. The Beretta had been identified as the gun that had killed Emili
o, so that gave the Peruvian authorities a strong case for extradition. Conrad might yet end up in the high security jail that Isabella had threatened him with.
Conrad had a two-day head start. The doctor at the hospital in Iquitos had told Nick that if the surgeons wherever Conrad was going wanted to save that arm, they’d first have to cut away any dead tissue and then do a skin graft. That meant at least a week’s stay in a private clinic, which meant they might be able to track him down that way. It would be time consuming, but it might just pay off.
When the second leg flight touched down at Gatwick Airport, Nick found Oyama waiting for him in the arrivals hall. As the journey back to the cottage only took half an hour and he’d planned to go by taxi, he was somewhat surprised. Oyama looked worried.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Nick. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here.’
‘I’ll tell you in the car,’ said a tight-lipped Oyama. ‘Was the flight OK?’
Nick couldn’t remember ever seeing the sensei so tense. Something out of the ordinary had happened. He fought back the urge to ask anything else and they took the lift to the car park. Once they were seated in Oyama’s aging Toyota, he could restrain himself no longer.
‘What’s happened?’
‘The Aikido retreat in Kiyosato was attacked last night. Yoshi Mashida was shot. He’s dead.’
‘I can’t believe it.’ Nick was stunned. His boss, one of the most secretive yet influential men in Japan, was the last person he’d expect to be murdered. But that wasn’t his only concern.
‘What about Mariko?’
‘She survived. Shot in the leg. She is in hospital, undergoing surgery. I understand it isn’t life threatening.’
‘Is she being protected?’
Oyama’s hands were wrapped around the steering wheel as if he meant to crush it. ‘Yoshi’s men are at the hospital. What I’d like to know is where they were last night.’
Nick knew from his time in Kiyosato that Yoshi Mashida only had people guarding the retreat centre when he thought the circumstances merited it. That had happened once, the first time he’d visited. He couldn’t help wondering.
