by James Green
His phone went off on the table. He picked it up.
‘Good morning, Mr Costello.’
‘Good morning, Ms Heppert, nice to hear from you at last. You got something for me?’
‘If you come to my office I will show you copies of the marriage record and the birth certificates.’
‘And the death certificates for the parents?’
‘Only those papers I have mentioned.’
‘And the brothers?’
‘No, it has been decided that you should have no direct contact with them.’
‘It’s not good enough, Ms Heppert. My boss wouldn’t …’
‘I’m not in the least interested in your employer, Mr Costello, in what she does or does not want. I am offering you this chance to examine the documents in my office this morning before midday. After that, whether you take up the offer or not, I consider all necessity for communication between us to have come to an end. Good day.’
And she hung up.
Jimmy put his phone down. So, tough guy all of a sudden. This is my offer, take it or leave it, and no sight of the boys at any price. Well, he didn’t want to see any papers, if she reckoned they were going to be good enough for the Swiss authorities they’d certainly look like the genuine article to him. When he’d left her office a couple of days ago she was prepared to think about dealing. Now she was freezing him out. She had something now that she didn’t have before.
His phone went off again. It was Serge and he didn’t waste any time.
‘Our journalist is dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Dead. Suicide. Threw himself under a train at the Bahnhof near where the daughter lived. He must have been coming away from seeing her.’
‘Who says it’s suicide?’
‘The police, there was a witness standing near him. She says he shouted out something in what sounded like French as the train came then threw himself under it.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Maybe, but that’s what the Munich police have got it down as. You’re not going to try and tell me they’re in this as well? One bent policeman in Paris, possibly. The Munich police force? No.’
No, thought Jimmy, the Munich police aren’t part of it. If they say they have a witness to a suicide then they have a witness.
‘Did the driver of the train see anything?’
‘What they usually see I suppose, a body going under at the last minute. He couldn’t have heard anything from inside his cab and he wasn’t looking for anyone to throw themselves off the platform.’
‘Who was the witness?’
‘No idea. I only found out this morning. I was worried that we hadn’t heard anything so I checked. It happened yesterday, middle of the afternoon. Quiet time, only one other person on the platform, the witness.’
‘It’s got to be a fix. Get anything you can on the witness, whoever it is has to be part of it. Unless your journalist really was suicidal?’
‘No, he wasn’t about to kill himself when he left Paris.’
‘OK, let’s find out about this witness.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Jimmy put the phone down.
‘Shit.’
But it wasn’t said to anyone in particular.
He picked up his phone and made a call. There was still no change with McBride.
‘Shit.’
It was becoming very apparent to him that on his own, without McBride pulling the strings, he was only managing to go round in ever decreasing circles and would all too quickly disappear up the only avenue of escape that would be left to him.
‘Shit.’
He went back to his thoughts and absently put his cup to his lips only to put it down quickly. The waiter was clearing another table so he ordered another coffee. The waiter took the one from his table and left.
It was now two killings in Munich and McBride as near as dammit dead in Rome. Somebody was playing for bloody high stakes. He was still sure Heppert was up to her neck in it but now she looked like a blind alley. So was the daughter unless he wanted to go under a train or a lorry himself. All that was left was the witness to the suicide and the only way he could do that was through Carpentier. But Serge couldn’t drop everything and go with him to Munich and Jimmy was sure he’d get nowhere with the Munich police on his own, except maybe thrown in jail.
The waiter arrived and left and Jimmy took a sip of his coffee.
He gave it some more thought but decided that all he could do was to wait and see if Serge could get anything on the witness. He didn’t like waiting, doing nothing, but he’d done enough of it in his working days so he waited.
Serge phoned at two thirty. Jimmy was lying on his hotel bed staring at the ceiling. He’d been thinking and his thoughts had not been comfortable.
‘Did you get something?’
‘Yes. The witness was a woman, local, worked in a care home. Absolutely clean as far as the police could see. No record, nothing known, not even a parking ticket.’
‘Worked in a care home?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘I think I might know her and if I do we’ll have a solid lead to follow up at last.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Well, unless she’s an innocent bystander and it really was a suicide I think there’s a good chance she’s the one who left Young Hitler out in his wheelchair for the lorry to run over him. If I’m right and I can find her then I might be able to get a line on who’s doing the killing in this.’
‘And where would that get you except maybe killed yourself?’
‘I don’t have a lot of choice. I got a call from Heppert. She’s decided to freeze me out. She knows what this is about but she won’t unbutton unless I can get more leverage than I’ve already got.’
‘And you think you’ll get that in Munich from this witness woman?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Heppert works for an American firm. Colmar came to Europe from Boston and worked for American friends in Paris during the war. Let’s say Heppert represents the American interest in what’s going on but she’s up against interested parties on this side of the pond competing for whatever Colmar had. If I can give her a good line on the opposition, if I show her I can be of help, then she may change her mind about keeping me out in the cold.’
‘I’m still not convinced that this is worth the candle. All we’ve managed so far is to get a good young journalist killed. That might not bother you but it sure as hell bothers me’
‘For God’s sake, Serge, you’re a copper, of course people get hurt in this sort of thing.’
‘But not by me. I’m supposed to be one of the good guys, remember?’
‘Look, Heppert represents someone heavy from the US, political, big money or both. Someone else, we don’t know who, is also heavy because they kill people. Both sides want whatever Colmar was sitting on. How big do you think this thing has to be to get all the action we’ve had so far? And that’s only the action that we know about.’
Serge didn’t need to think too long about it.
‘So?’
‘I want to be on the inside, that’s where the money is, not pissing about round the edges. If I can bring Heppert information about her opposition I might find out where the real money comes from.’
Jimmy waited to see if the point would sink in. When Serge spoke he could see that it had.
‘And see if any of it is lying about loose for you to pick up?’
‘Why not? Whatever’s going down will keep going down whether I’m in or out. I’m not doing anything criminal.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Look, I was sent to do a job. I’m doing it. I was told to find out what was going on. I’m finding out. I didn’t make it messy and I didn’t kill anybody.’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I maybe I won’t have to so don’t come the boy scout on me until I do. At the moment I’m like you, I’m still with the angels.’
‘Sometimes angels fall.’
‘Fuck you. Will you help or not?’
Jimmy waited for his answer.
‘You sure about this woman in Munich?’
‘No.’
‘But you think you’re right?’
‘Yes. They needed someone to put the body where the lorry could hit it. Now they needed a witness who could make it suicide. Why not use the same woman? The care home work pretty much nails it, wouldn’t you say?’
Jimmy waited again. It would make sense to any copper with more than five minutes’ detective experience. Once might be chance, twice meant guilty, so go and get evidence or a confession, preferably both, and get them any way you could.
‘Yes, I agree. If they already had a woman in Munich they’d use her again. All right, I’ll find out who she is and I’ll try to get an address for her, home or where she works. But you’ll have to go carefully, if they think you’re on to her they’ll kill her.’
‘And then kill me, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
The phone went dead so Jimmy put it down, sat on the edge of the bed, and put his shoes on.
Three days of nothing then slap-bang-wallop, the thing goes bananas. Well, that’s how it was sometimes, but at least he’d moved on. The daughter was no good for the moment but the woman in Munich might help put her back in play. Then there was Heppert. To get at her he’d need something that she couldn’t refuse. And then there was Serge. Yes, he’d have to think of some way of dealing with Serge when the time came, if the time came, which he rather thought it would.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jimmy finished his drink and decided to take a walk. He couldn’t face the idea of another coffee and he didn’t want anything else. After about twenty minutes of aimless wandering he stopped and got some lunch. Then he walked back to his bar overlooking the Seine. He’d had two beers with his lunch and he didn’t want any more, also he’d got fed up with buying coffee just to let it go cold, so he ordered a glass of red wine. After a few minutes his phone went off. It was Serge.
‘I’ve got what you want on the woman in Munich, the witness. A name and an address.’
‘Good, give me them and I’ll get going.’
‘No, before I give you anything we need to talk.’
‘Do we?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about getting on the inside. I don’t like it. We already suspect that Heppert paid off someone in the police to get you out of the way. Your boss was gunned down, Joubert put in hospital, now my journalist has gone under a train …’
Jimmy interrupted.
‘Make your point.’
‘We need to talk before you go to Munich. I need to know exactly what you intend to do. I’m in this now, up to my neck. I made all the enquiries to the Munich police. They think it’s all official. You and I know different. I got us the journalist, he will have told people something, he had to say why he was going to Munich. I need to be sure where I stand in this so I think we should talk before you go to Munich. I want to be sure what it is you’ll do when you get there.’
Serge waited.
Jimmy wasn’t sure. Either this bloke was a bloody good actor or he really was worried that he might be in deep shit. But he wasn’t sure which it was. Had he pegged him wrong? Was he really one of the angels? He picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. No. No, he couldn’t be wrong. Everything fitted too well. The way Carpentier had handled the bum’s rush at de Gaulle airport, the way he came running as soon as he knew Jimmy was back. The way he’d agreed to everything and come alongside so easily. He had to a be a wrong ’un and the next question was, how dangerous could he be? How far would he go?
‘OK, Serge, I can see what you mean. I’m at the bar, the one near Notre Dame where we went the other day. Come here and we’ll talk over anything you want.’
‘No, I’m busy now. I’ll pick you up in two hours. Be outside the Gare de L’Est where I can see you.’
There it was. If that wasn’t an invitation to a set-up then nothing was. Jimmy wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or angry. For God’s sake, he’d done it himself often enough, but at least he’d done it properly, better than this – give me a couple of hours to sort things out then stand out in the open where I can see you. For God’s sake it might as well have been printed on a card.
‘OK. Two hours outside the station. I’ll see you then.’
Jimmy put his phone down. It was still a warm, sunny day. The weather was being extra kind. He looked at his watch. Ten to three. He had a couple of hours to fill and he didn’t want any more wine. He picked up his phone and made a call.
A slight improvement. If it continued they would be able to operate again and her chances would look much better.
Jimmy put some notes with his bill and got up. He crossed the road and headed alongside the Seine for the Isle de la Cité. He had another appointment he needed to keep and now was as good a time as any to get it done.
In Notre Dame Cathedral he found the statue of the nun where he had lit a candle on his last visit. He put his coins in the box, picked up a candle, lit it, put it with the others, and looked up at the blank, plaster face.
‘Say thank you for me, will you, she’s a bit better. She may even make it all the way although she’ll be minus an arm if she does. I’m not complaining, you understand, I’ll settle for her alive and, if possible, back at her desk.’ He stood for moment then bent down and put a note into the box. He picked up three more candles. He lit them slowly and put them on the holder. Then he went to the rows of seats nearby and knelt down. He wanted to say the right words, the words Bernie must have said so many times for him. Now he wanted to say them for her, for their son Michael, for Eileen and the grandchildren, but no words came so he fell back as he always did on the ancient formula from his childhood.
‘May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.’ For Eileen, her husband and the kids it was easier. They were alive. ‘Look after them, God, keep them safe and happy if you can. Amen.’
Jimmy stood up, left the row of seats, and genuflected towards the altar. A column of tourists led by a woman holding up a yellow, folded umbrella, snaked round him as he bent his knee and crossed himself in salute to the Blessed Sacrament reserved in the tabernacle at the back of the altar. They didn’t look at him, just went round him. A man praying or acknowledging the presence of God in this place wasn’t what they’d come to see. They wanted history, culture, beauty, not faith nor any of the faithful.
Well, why not? You could see and touch the history and the beauty here. Faith was more intangible, elusive. That was because it probably wasn’t there however much you bent your knee or crossed yourself, lit candles, or said the words.
Jimmy left the soaring Gothic space and went out into the sunshine and the crowds. He’d go back to his hotel and wait for five o’clock and then go across the road and meet Serge. And once he’d got the name and address he’d let him know exactly what it was he was going to do.
Chapter Twenty-four
Two hours later Jimmy stood by the kerb of the main road which passed the Gare de l’Est where any approaching car could clearly see him. Then his phone rang. It was Serge.
‘Hello, Jimmy. Where are you?’
‘I’m waiting for you at the Gare de l’Est. What’s the matter can’t you find your way here?’
‘Change of plan. Can you meet me at the Gare du Nord instead? It’s not far from where I am now and I’m on foot.’
‘Sure, anything you want. I’ll see you there in a few minutes.’
Jimmy put his phone away. Somewhere close by Serge was watching him to make sure he was alone, but it didn’t matter. Let the bugger think he was on top of things. Let the bugger follow to make sure there was no one else tagging along.
Jimmy joined the early evening crowds heading home. He went up the Rue d’Alsace, across Rue Lafayette, and into the Rue Dunkerque. There he stopped as people poured past into the Gare du Nord behind him.
‘Hello, Serge, why no car?’
‘I prefer it that way. Let’s just be part of the crowds shall we? Come on.’
They turned and walked back down the Rue Dunkerque, crossed a road, and went into an RER station; Magenta. They joined the line at one of the ticket windows.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Somewhere I’m sure no one will recognise me. I don’t want to be seen with you at the moment. I’ve decided that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to listen to you in the first place and a bad idea to get involved after I had.’
Serge bought two tickets and Jimmy followed him until they came to a platform. There was a train waiting, already crowded. They got on and stood; neither could see any available seats.
‘Where are we headed?’
‘Out of town, to the suburbs.’
They stood in silence as more people boarded the train. It was the end of the working day with crowds of workers going home. When the doors closed and the train began to move the carriage was packed in the way that only happens in rugby scrums, subways, and commuter trains the world over. The train travelled quickly through central Paris on out into a landscape of grim suburban sprawl. At the first few stops a miracle occurred and more passengers got on. But the crowding began to ease as at the next few stations as more people got off than got on and after a few more stations they even got seats. A few stops later the pressure had thinned out considerably and at a place called Gagny sous Bois the train stopped and began to empty. Serge got up and Jimmy followed.
Outside the station it wasn’t a pretty sight.
This was still Paris and it was still spring, but what Jimmy saw around him was another world, about as different as you could get from anything you might see in the brochures. It wasn’t the Paris the tourists saw or would want to see. This was where Paris’ immigrant community had settled, urban living on the edge, in every sense of that word. Rising up around them were tower blocks of monotonous, modern flats that had never been a pleasure to look at and now, dirty and in disrepair, were more than just the eyesore they had originally been. It was as if they had contracted a disease from which they were slowly and painfully dying. And beyond the main road they almost filled the skyline, they were everywhere. At street level there were shops, some boarded up, some open but with broken windows, some so busy that the goods, staff, and customers spilled out of the doors onto the street to blend in with the other rubbish which also seemed to be everywhere. This was high-rise, high-density living, and Jimmy guessed that the poverty, crime, and unemployment also came in high density.
