by Robert Daws
16
Broderick and Sullivan pulled into a parking bay at the side of New Mole House, police headquarters. They were just in time to see an ambulance leaving from the front of the building. Sergeant Aldarino stood in front of the main entrance, as if waiting for them.
‘Who’s in the ice cream van?’ Broderick asked.
‘Our angry and sadly crippled leader, sir,’ Aldarino answered dryly. The look of surprise on his fellow officers’ faces prompted him to continue. ‘Fell over in her high heels and is now off to A&E with a suspected fractured ankle.’
‘Ouch,’ responded Broderick.
‘I’m afraid that “Ouch” doesn’t come close to describing the Chief Super’s thoughts on the incident, sir. The air’s been blue around here for the last half an hour.’
‘Poor Massetti,’ said Sullivan.
‘Spare a thought for poor Calbot, too. He’s had to go along to the hospital with her.’
‘Oh dear,’ Sullivan said, with somewhat less sincerity.
‘Come to think of it, you should spare a thought for yourself,’ Aldarino said, turning towards her.
‘Why’s that?
‘If Massetti’s incapacitated, you’ll be the one going to the governor’s reception in her place.’ Aldarino smiled knowingly. ‘On the arm of Chief Inspector Broderick here.’
Sullivan and Broderick looked at one another.
‘Sorry, guv,’ said Sullivan, as she entered the building. ‘Everything really does happen to you.’
17
The last hour had passed in a frenzy of explanations and questions for Josh. He had methodically taken his inquisitive visitor through each of the documents relating to the Queen of Diamonds. As they sat drinking tea together, it became clear to Josh that he was giving much more than he was receiving. He had even named Don Martínez as his intelligence source. The panic he had felt so acutely earlier in the day was returning. How had none of these revelations come to light before? Could they be fully believed? If true, who was the real Queen of Diamonds and what the hell had happened to her after the war? Why did Don Martínez give him the Sovereign Villa address and what was his visitor’s connection to all this?
The only thing Josh knew for certain, as he sat surrounded by documents that could so easily lead to his ruin, was that he was feeling most unwell. He was still tired and had been drinking, but the sudden exhaustion and lightheadedness he was now experiencing was becoming more overpowering by the second. The room began to swim alarmingly around him. He reached out for some support but, finding none, collapsed backwards his legs giving way beneath him. The fall knocked the breath from his lungs, breath he now found increasingly difficult to retrieve.
Josh was suddenly aware of his visitor’s face staring down at him. He tried to speak, to ask for help. No words came, only a swift and total darkness. He felt pressure on his face. He could not breathe. The weight bearing down on him increased. He could do nothing to stop it. Darkness and helplessness engulfed Josh Cornwallis, as death slowly and painfully came to claim him.
18
Two soldiers from the Royal Gibraltar Regiment stood on sentry duty in front of the Governor’s Residence at the southern end of Main Street. There would normally be just one stoic, unflinching and immaculately turned-out warrior on duty, but on state occasions or for civilian receptions such as the one taking place this evening, slightly more pomp and ceremony was deemed necessary.
It was now 5.45 pm and the guards were glad of the shade offered by the large, canopied main entrance of the imposing building. Its exterior – predominantly Georgian in style, updated over time with Victorian adornments – hid a building many centuries older. Once a Franciscan convent, the only remaining outward sign of its provenance was the ancient chapel that adjoined the building on its right side. The Convent – as the Residence had long been known – stood opposite the classic pillar-fronted and cannon-adorned Main Guard. Nearby was the equally distinguished building that housed many of the main departments and offices of the Gibraltar government.
As if adding some kind of relief to these centres of political and military power, the north and south sides of the enclave were lined with cafes, shops and, most prominently, the famous Angry Friar public house. For almost half an hour, Lech Jasinski had sat alone at one of the many tables that spilled out from the entrance to the old drinking establishment. Nursing a pint of once-chilled lager that had grown warm and flat in the late afternoon sun, he looked on as police officers closed the streets to traffic, and a large area in front of the Convent was cleared and ringed with metal barriers. This would be where the evening’s more famous guests and dignitaries would arrive before being escorted indoors when the formalities commenced.
The reception for the Queen of Diamonds was to begin at 6.30, so the first of the guests would arrive soon after 6.00, Jasinski had concluded. The evening event had been so timed to allow Julia Novacs an early departure for Marbella. A stickler for early nights, she needed to be in bed at a reasonable hour. The gruelling shoot of the previous evening and morning had already upset her delicate metabolism. This, Jasinski wasn’t to know. He was only too aware, however, that the star would arrive at this spot within the next thirty minutes.
Pulling his red baseball cap firmly down over his face and zipping up the light green jacket he was wearing in spite of the heat, Jasinski focused on the task at hand. Picking up his rucksack as he rose, he moved swiftly from his table at the front of the pub towards the newly cordoned-off area by the main entrance of the Convent. Assessing the best vantage point to see the incoming guests, Jasinski quickly positioned himself as close to the main doors as possible. He was not alone. Out of nowhere, several other people arrived at the same spot from different points around the enclave. Star spotters and autograph hunters who had been playing the same reconnaissance game as Jasinski now jostled for position. But the powerful Pole soon gained the best vantage spot by unceremoniously pushing a middle-aged woman to one side.
‘Hey, watch it!’ she cried out. ‘That’s my place.’
One look from Jasinski silenced not only the woman, but any others who might have considered challenging the brutish Pole. Backing away, the group let Jasinski take prime position without another word. Calming himself, Jasinski opened the zip of his rucksack and reached inside. He needed to check he had easy access to what was hidden there. There would be only one opportunity to do what needed to be done and he must not fail. Finally satisfied, he stood at ease and waited.
Not long now, Jasinski thought. Not long now.
19
A little earlier, in the empty CID office at police headquarters, DC Calbot had sat thinking about the scene he had just witnessed. It was definitely a first, he had absolutely no doubt about that. The fact was that both his immediate superiors, Sullivan and Broderick, had left work early. This was unusual enough, but the fact they had both spent ten minutes prior to that complaining about having nothing to wear for the Queen of Diamonds reception was something that Calbot would relish for some time to come. How he wished he had been able to capture their panic for YouTube posterity.
What had made it all the more enjoyable was that Broderick had been worse than his female colleague. With the event coming a week before he had expected, the chief inspector had made several desperate calls in search of his sister. Apparently his only decent suit had a large ketchup stain on its right leg – the result of an exploding cheese burger – and he now had no time to get it to a dry cleaner before his enforced attendance at the early evening reception. He only hoped that Cath could work some magic with a cloth and washing-up liquid. Getting no reply to his calls for help, Broderick had rushed off to attempt the task himself.
This display of male uselessness had not gone unnoticed by Sullivan.
‘Isn’t it strange that a man who regularly views bloody corpses with utter dispassion can so easily fall to pieces at the thought of a stray blotch of tomato condiment?’
The observation had been made sa
fe in the knowledge that Broderick had just left the office. Moments later Sullivan herself had rushed off to the shops on a frantic last-minute quest to find ‘Something in black. Or perhaps red. Or maybe even blue.’
Calbot had raised his hands in surrender as Sullivan had left him. Advice on ladies’ formal wear being beyond his area of expertise, the detective constable concentrated on matters a little more serious – an unfinished cappuccino and a game of Temple Run.
20
At two minutes to six, the first guests arrived at the Convent. Not all came by limousine. Some had walked and others were dropped by taxi outside the crowded ring of tourists and celebrity watchers. On the other side of the metal barriers, several police officers were positioned for crowd duty and two of the governor’s officials were at the door to greet the guests and guide them into the labyrinth that was the Convent. Added to this were several TV film crews and the ever-hungry paparazzi, eager for footage and images to splash across the night’s news bulletins and the next day’s papers.
Lech Jasinski had chosen his position well. He was to the right of the main entrance and the closest anyone could get to the arriving guests as they passed just a metre or so away. He could reach out and touch them if he wanted. But alone among the gathered throng, Jasinski found himself with no desire to do so. His aims were different. Most people in the crowd had cameras on standby, while others had pieces of paper ready to thrust into the faces of a passing star or two. The main focus of their attention was undoubtedly Julia Novacs’ imminent arrival, but many of the movie’s supporting cast were turning up and they were famous enough in their own right to merit a scream and an outstretched hand to shake. Jasinski knew them all. In recent months, he had carefully documented the growing cast of actors after the film had been announced to the press. The Pole even knew the names of many of the technicians working on the other side of the camera. He had made it his personal business to become informed about every aspect of the Queen of Diamonds enterprise.
Another limo pulled up and the American actor Ryan Grace emerged. The crowd erupted with applause and shouts of appreciation. The handsome star of the film version of the TV western Rawhide waved languidly to the crowd before reaching into the limousine to offer a hand to the beautiful young Australian actress and model, Estelle McCormack. Stopping briefly to sign autographs and pose for snaps, the couple passed right in front of Jasinski. The Pole let them go without so much as a smile. Grace and McCormack were not who he was waiting for.
Jasinski’s glazed expression hid a growing inner discomfort. He was feeling sick to his stomach. It was due to nerves, but also because he had not taken his medication. This discomfort was the price he had to pay to maintain mental clarity. His drugs would subdue and distance him from what was happening. That was unacceptable. It was imperative he remained alert and in the moment.
21
Sullivan and Broderick had agreed to meet outside The Angry Friar at 6.15.
‘No need to be too bloody early,’ Broderick had insisted.
Not that there had ever been any real chance of that happening. Returning home, Broderick had nearly gone insane searching for his sauce-stained suit. It was nowhere to be found. Cursing the whole business, he had finally cobbled together a jacket and trouser combination that, though far from ideal, would have to suffice. Having ironed himself a shirt and buffed up his shoes, he changed into the mismatched outfit and briefly caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror.
Jesus, I look like the man who got chucked out of the Rotary Club, he thought as he saw his dismal reflection.
Fighting off the desire to pour himself a scotch and run up the white flag, Broderick was distracted by his sister entering via the back door holding aloft his newly dry-cleaned suit.
‘I put it in yesterday,’ Cath announced. ‘I knew you’d forget.’
Grabbing the suit and moving to the stairs, Broderick mumbled some thanks to his sister.
‘Now I’ve got to get ready, too,’ Cath called after him. ‘Sister Clara’s got a tummy bug, so it’s just you and me.’
Broderick stopped in his tracks. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The governor’s reception? The film company is making donations to various charities in Gib, the Foundation among them. Sister Clara and I were supposed to be picking up a rather generous cheque from Julia Novacs. Now it’s just me doing it.’
‘You didn’t say.’
‘Yes, I did,’ Cath replied firmly, passing him on her way upstairs. ‘I mentioned it last at breakfast this morning. I knew you weren’t listening. Now get your glad rags on and we’ll walk down to the Convent together.’
As usual with matters concerning his sister, Broderick simply decided to obey orders.
22
Wearing a newly bought dark blue dress, a rainbow-coloured clutch bag and her Jimmy Choo shoes – an entirely out-of-character Christmas present to herself the previous year – Sullivan arrived outside The Angry Friar right on time. The crowd that stood before the Convent now numbered in the hundreds, and an air of excitement and expectation filled the street as Sullivan looked around for a sign of the absent Broderick. A few moments later, he and Cath strolled around the corner of the Main Guard and made their way over to her. Broderick, Sullivan could not help noticing, looked more uncomfortable than she had ever seen him. At his side, Cath was calm, smiling and very pretty in her simple white summer dress and sandals.
Cath beamed at Sullivan. ‘You look perfectly lovely, Tamara.’
‘And so do you, Cath. What a nice dress,’ Sullivan replied before looking at her boss. ‘Nice flute, guv. Not a stain in sight.’
Broderick grunted in reply.
‘Time to go in, I think,’ Cath continued. ‘Don’t want to miss anything.’
The three moved towards the opening in the barriers and the main doors beyond. About to pass through the check point, they were beaten to it by a large limousine. The silver Bentley glided almost silently past them before coming to a gentle halt a few metres from the entrance. Because it was bigger and shinier than the previous cars, the crowd had no doubt who it belonged to and they gave a huge cheer. The police officers at the entrance were now forced to stop the two senior officers from proceeding further.
‘Sorry, Chief Inspector,’ one of the constables said. ‘We’ve been told to hold at the barrier until this one’s cleared.’
Broderick glowered. ‘So much for power and influence, eh?’
Meanwhile, the limo’s chauffeur had slipped out of the driver’s seat and briskly walked around to open one of the car’s rear doors. After a pause to achieve maximum dramatic effect, Julia Novacs appeared, rising from the limousine and out into the sunlight as if she were walking on air. The star was dressed in a pink, floor-length, off-the-shoulder creation that clung to her beautiful body like a delicate mist.
Alexander McQueen, Sullivan thought. Or perhaps Stella McCartney …
‘Bloody ridiculous’ was the phrase on the tip of Broderick’s tongue.
It was the diamond necklace that had caught Cath’s attention. It had to be worth several hundreds of thousands of pounds. Enough to run our African hospices for years, she thought without judgement or anger.
Just yards away, Lech Jasinski was having much darker thoughts. It was immediately clear that Julia was not going to engage on a one-to-one basis with her adoring crowd. No autographs and handshaking for her. Just a regal wave and a flash of the smile that had helped her achieve stardom. Having also emerged from the back of the limo, Gabriel Isolde now stood respectfully to one side of his leading lady. His job was to escort Julia Novacs but in no way suggest that the two might be a couple. A delicate balance between personal space and etiquette had to be observed, and Isolde was a master at accomplishing that. Smiling admiringly at Novacs, he politely gestured towards the main door of the building. Novacs needed no second invitation. With a last wave to the crowd, she moved to the entrance as quickly as she could.
Standing in rea
diness, the front of his cap pulled down low to disguise his face, Jasinski realised that his chance had finally come. As the star approached him, the Pole reached into his rucksack and pulled out a gun. Novacs was now only about a metre from him, but moving swiftly. With precision honed from his years in military service, Jasinski took aim and squeezed the trigger. The spray of red paint that erupted from the end of the gun hit Jasinski’s target with some force, covering Novac’s face, hair and most of her upper torso. The movie star’s screams were soon lost among the cacophony erupting from the shocked crowd and police.
Dropping the paint-gun onto the ground, Jasinski reached again into his rucksack for some paper flyers, throwing a large number of them into the arena. On each was printed in bold red letters: ‘Queen of Diamonds – Murderer.’ The effect of these actions temporarily paralysed those around the Pole. Only the police officers beyond the barriers moved swiftly to apprehend the aggressor. Turning quickly, Jasinski looked for his escape route. The terrified crowd now in front of him automatically cleared a passage, thus facilitating his getaway. One or two people tried in vain to stop him, but the huge Pole effortlessly brushed them to one side. Then, as quickly as it had parted, the crowd closed behind him, innocently hampering the attempts of the police to cross the barriers and give chase. Just as he was nearly clear, a man from the crowd leapt at Jasinski, bringing him to the ground in a rugby tackle. In the scuffle that followed, Jasinski’s cap and rucksack fell to the ground. Desperate to keep his face covered, the Pole kicked away his assailant and reached for the hat lying on the cobblestones. Rising, he replaced it on his head and escaped north towards Main Street. Running as fast as his legs would carry him, it took several seconds for him to realise that his rucksack had been pulled from him and was his no more.
