Blood Count

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Look, Marco, why don’t you—’

  ‘I’ll make it easy for you, doctor. If the new owner of the villa’s turned it into a fortress and there’s obviously no way of getting to the tapes, I’ll give the idea up.’ Hammond did not believe that for a moment. Piravani would not abandon his quest for vengeance whatever obstacles were in his path. ‘You risk nothing by going to Belgrade. You can pull out at any stage.’

  That much was true. And there was no other way to persuade Piravani to transfer the money. Certainty on the point camped itself glumly at the centre of Hammond’s thoughts. Maybe the trip to Belgrade would be the last hoop he had to jump through. Maybe. ‘Someone may already have found the safe and emptied it, Marco. Has that occurred to you?’

  ‘I doubt it. No one else knows it’s there. If Todorović had got hold of the contents, he wouldn’t be looking for me. If someone else had, quite a few people, including Todorović, would be in prison. No. It’s still there. I’m sure of it. So, are you going to help me or not?’

  The question could no longer be dodged. And there was, as Piravani must have foreseen, only one answer Hammond could give. ‘All right. I’ll go to Belgrade with you.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Piravani extended his hand across the table. It was a formality that took Hammond aback. But there was a solemnity to the gesture that was somehow more worrying. And it reminded him that he had still not mentioned Zineta. He shook Piravani’s hand cautiously.

  ‘I’ll expect you to honour our earlier bargain, Marco. The whereabouts of Monir Gazi as well as the transfer of his father’s money.’

  Piravani frowned. ‘Why should you care about the boy?’

  ‘Because Zineta didn’t betray us. At least, not in the way you think.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Hammond explained as best he could. Whether Piravani was convinced or not was impossible to tell. He listened in sullen silence.

  ‘I told you to leave Milan without speaking to her,’ he growled when Hammond had finished. ‘You’ve put us both in danger. What were you thinking of?’

  ‘We can trust her now, Marco. She’s learnt her lesson.’

  ‘No, doctor. I trusted her once. Never again.’

  ‘She’s waiting for me at the station. I promised to go back for her.’

  ‘You brought her to Lugano?’

  ‘I’m not going to abandon her.’

  ‘Why not? Fancy her, do you?’ Piravani’s face was flushed with anger. ‘Or has it already gone beyond that? It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘She just wants her son, Marco. That’s all.’

  ‘You’re suddenly the expert on what she wants, are you?’

  ‘No. But I gave her my word I’d stand by her.’ So he had. And, to his surprise, the fact was all-important to him. He did not like the things he was being forced to do to protect his good name. There had to be some line he would not cross. And this was it. ‘You know she never wanted to become Gazi’s mistress, Marco. You’re blaming her for what he did to you.’

  ‘I thought your specialism was hepatology, not psychiatry.’

  ‘It’s unworthy of you to go on punishing her like this.’

  ‘Unworthy?’

  ‘You’ve both suffered enough. Why prolong it? Tell her where her son is. Or tell me. You don’t even have to speak to her if you don’t want to.’

  Piravani stared long and hard at him, the edges of his mouth twitching faintly beneath his moustache. Then he whipped his glasses off and pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. His biggest problem, Hammond now grasped, was that he no longer believed what he badly wanted to: that Zineta had deliberately betrayed them. ‘Why did you have to be such a good surgeon? If Gazi had died on the operating table … all our lives would have been so much … happier.’

  The same thought had occurred to Hammond many times of late. He shrugged helplessly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I need some air. Finish your breakfast and pay the bill with this.’ Piravani tossed a fifty-franc note on to the table. ‘Meet me in the piazza we crossed on the way here in ten minutes.’

  ‘Why? What’s going to change in ten minutes?’

  ‘Maybe my mind.’ Piravani shrugged. ‘Or maybe not.’

  The Piazza della Riforma stood open to the palm-flanked highway and beyond it the lake, across which the snow drifted like a curtain draped from the low, yellow-grey sky. Piravani was waiting for Hammond in the shelter of the porticoed entrance to one of the city’s numerous banks, smoking a cigarette and gazing out grimly at the swirling flakes.

  ‘You want a drink?’ he asked, proffering his hip-flask.

  Hammond realized that, yes, he very much did want a drink. He took a swig. The liquor was smooth and warming.

  ‘Prepečinica,’ said Piravani. ‘Double distilled.’ He retrieved the flask and took a swig himself. ‘Best thing to come out of Serbia.’

  ‘Is this the bank?’ Hammond nodded to the thick smoked-glass doors behind them.

  Piravani smiled. ‘No. Gazi’s money isn’t in there. But it’s not far away.’

  ‘Neither is Zineta.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me, doctor. Unnecessary, but … kind of you.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Confess, as every good Catholic should.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘I don’t know where Monir is. And I have no way of finding out for sure.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘There was a man who could tell me. I know what I said. I reasoned you’d settle for the money if I could string you along about the boy for a while. It wasn’t me who arranged his disappearance. Gazi must have been afraid Zineta might be able to charm the truth out of me, so he didn’t trust me with that job.’

  ‘You must have had some idea what was going on.’

  ‘Of course. But not the particulars. Gazi said he had something arranged and I needn’t concern myself with it.’

  ‘So …’

  ‘There’s nothing I could tell Zineta even if I wanted to. Exactly.’

  ‘She’s pinning all her hopes on you, Marco.’

  ‘Then she’s making a big mistake. Not for the first time.’

  ‘What am I going to say to her?’

  ‘I suggest you say I’ve insisted you accompany me to Belgrade, for reasons I’ve refused to give. In return, I’ve agreed to transfer the money and tell you all I know about Monir, but only after we’ve been to Belgrade.’

  ‘You just admitted you don’t know anything about him.’

  ‘True. But the answer may well be on those tapes, doctor.’ Piravani gave Hammond a disarming half-smile. ‘You see? You really will be doing your best for her.’

  ‘In the unlikely event that we succeed in spiriting the tapes out of the villa.’

  ‘As you say.’ Piravani took a long, final draw on his cigarette and ground the butt into the Swissly sleek stubber mounted on the pillar beside him. ‘Zineta can’t come with us, doctor. Send her back to The Hague. Tell her to wait for you there. She can listen to the tapes before I deliver them to the War Crimes Tribunal. Most of the conversations will be in Serbian anyway, so they’ll make more sense to her than to me. If they lead her to Monir, well …’ He shrugged. ‘I won’t stand between a mother and her son. You’re right. It would be … unworthy. And Guido wouldn’t want me to be that.’

  FOURTEEN

  The snow had eased by the time the 10.55 to Basel was announced at Lugano station, but the temperature was, if anything, lower. Passengers began emerging with their bags from the fuggy interior of the waiting room, shivering and grimacing in the chill. Hammond was already on the platform with Zineta. But only one of them was planning to board the train.

  It had been easier than Hammond had expected to persuade Zineta to return to The Hague. Felltrini’s death, and her share of the blame for bringing it about, had left her half-disabled by guilt, which Piravani’s refusal to meet her had only compounded. Hammond knew he was exploiting her emotional fragility, but he told himsel
f it would be in her best interests in the end. Self-serving though Piravani’s argument was that Gazi’s tapes might reveal where he had sent his son, it was undeniably plausible. Zineta did not know about the tapes yet, of course. If they turned out to be completely inaccessible, she never would. For the moment, all she knew was that the price of Piravani’s cooperation was Hammond’s presence in Belgrade – and her absence.

  ‘It’s hard to believe he’s just a few minutes away,’ she said, turning to gaze down at the rooftops of the old town. She shook her head sadly. ‘So near, yet so very, very far.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll see him soon in happier circumstances,’ said Hammond, silently doubting it.

  ‘He’s going after Todorović, isn’t he?’ She looked at him, her eyes full of concern. ‘You know that, don’t you, Edward?’

  Hammond shrugged. ‘I certainly can’t think of any other reason why he wants to go back to Belgrade.’

  ‘You should be careful. The war’s been over ten years. But it’s still a dangerous city if you ask the wrong questions in the wrong places.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be careful all right. You can be sure of that.’

  ‘You really have no idea why he wants you to go with him?’

  ‘He’s afraid he might be recognized. I’ll be able to move around more freely than he will.’

  ‘But to move around doing what?’

  The rumble of the arriving train gave Hammond the excuse he needed to dodge the question. ‘Don’t worry about me, Zineta. I can handle the situation.’

  ‘But I have no way of contacting you.’

  ‘I’ll contact you.’ She had supplied him with the number of the office-cleaning agency she worked for in The Hague, where she would leave her new mobile number as soon as she had one. ‘If all else fails, call my PA. But only if all else really does fail.’ She nodded her understanding.

  The train came to a halt. Most of the other passengers were bunched near the waiting room. No one else was boarding at the door Zineta headed for. She pressed the button and it cranked slowly open. ‘What time will you reach The Hague?’ he asked as she stepped into the carriage.

  ‘About eleven o’clock tonight,’ she replied through a brittle smile. ‘Later, maybe, in this weather. You’ll be in Belgrade by then.’

  ‘I hope it’s not too grim a journey for you.’

  ‘As a Serb, I’m used to grim journeys. Oh, I have something for you.’ She pressed a folded piece of paper into his hand. ‘My brother Goran’s address and phone number. If you run into any trouble, he might be able to help you. I’ll call him tomorrow and ask him to do anything he can if he hears from you.’

  ‘I don’t expect he will. But thanks.’

  ‘He’s always been a good brother to me.’

  Boarding was complete. A whistle blew. Zineta leant forward and kissed Hammond on the cheek. ‘Take care,’ she said softly.

  ‘You too.’

  A bleeping heralded the closing of the doors. Hammond stepped back as they clunked shut and exchanged a wave with Zineta through the glass. Then the train started moving.

  He took the next funicular down into the town and went straight to the café where he had breakfasted earlier. Piravani was waiting for him, frowningly perusing Hammond’s day-old copy of La Gazzetta dello Sport.

  ‘She’s gone?’ the Italian growled.

  ‘Yes. She’s gone.’

  ‘Good.’ Piravani tossed down the paper and sighed heavily. ‘Guido was even crazier about football than I am, you know. Just think. If he hadn’t regularly bought this pink rag, he wouldn’t have seen that advertisement. Then you’d probably never have tracked him down. And then …’

  ‘He’d still be alive.’

  ‘Yes.’ Piravani nodded thoughtfully. ‘Still alive.’

  ‘We can’t turn back the clock, Marco. I’d like to, every bit as much as you would. But we’re stuck with the present.’

  ‘Present? Yes, doctor, you’re right. Actually, that’s what I have for you. A present.’ He took a brand-new mobile phone out of his pocket and handed it to Hammond. ‘I put a hundred francs on it for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Now, I was planning to fly from the local airport, but the snow’s caused a lot of delays, so we’ll take the train to Zürich instead. We’ve plenty of time. The Zagreb flight’s not until six o’clock.’

  ‘Zagreb? I thought we were going to Belgrade.’

  ‘We are. But I don’t want any record of our arrival in Serbia, so we’ll take the overnight train to Belgrade from Zagreb. That means there’ll be no computer logging of our names and passport numbers.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Friday.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Ingrid’s expecting to have the money by the end of the day.’

  ‘No chance. You’ll have to stall her.’ Piravani smiled faintly. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something to tell her, doctor. Just don’t mention where you’re going. Or that you and I are working together. The less she knows – the less anyone knows – the better it’ll be for us.’

  A woman he did not know answered the land-line number Ingrid had given him. He had established by now that it was in Madrid. But that was all he had established. The woman spoke just enough English to assure him Ingrid would call back. By the time she did, he and Piravani were standing on the platform at Lugano station, awaiting the next train to Zürich. Piravani paced up and down near by, puffing at a cigarette, throughout the conversation that ensued.

  ‘You have changed phones, doctor,’ said Ingrid, sounding almost impressed. ‘You are learning, I see.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m learning a lot.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Switzerland.’

  ‘That sounds promising.’

  ‘It is. But, even so, I’m not going to be able to get you what you want by tomorrow.’

  ‘You must.’

  ‘It’s going to take until Monday at least.’

  ‘My terms were clear. By close of business Friday.’

  ‘Listen to me, Ingrid. It can be done and I’m going to do it. But your deadline’s unrealistic. I can’t explain why to you now. You wouldn’t want me to. I simply need more time. Not a lot. Just a few days. I’m sure your father will be willing to wait that much longer.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. You are taking a big risk, doctor.’

  ‘Nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid. Are we agreed?’

  There was no reply. In the background, Hammond could hear someone gabbling in Spanish: quite possibly the woman he had spoken to earlier. Then Ingrid said snappishly, ‘Silencio!’ and the gabbling stopped.

  ‘Ingrid?’

  ‘Nothing is agreed. I will think about what you have said. That is all.’

  ‘You got your extra time?’ Piravani asked as Hammond slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  ‘She said she’d think about it.’

  ‘Then you got it.’ Piravani smiled. ‘And with luck you won’t need to go to a penalty shoot-out.’

  The next call Hammond had to make was in its own way equally critical. He needed to assure Alice there was no reason to worry about him without actually telling her where he was going or why. As usual, her phone went straight to voicemail. He fondly supposed she might be in a lecture or seminar. The message he left was well-rehearsed, his words carefully chosen, his tone deliberately light.

  ‘Hello, darling. How are you? Just to let you know, I’ve had to fly to Zürich to deal with an emergency. I’ll be away until after the weekend. To complicate matters, I’ve lost my phone, hence the change of number. If you hear from Uncle Bill, tell him I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve stopped chasing my tail. Keep safe. Lots of love. ’Bye for now.’

  Fortunately, like all well-adjusted twenty-year-olds, Alice had absolutely no interest in what her father was doing. She texted back casually at some point in the afternoon: ‘Ok, dad. No probs. Time u got rid of old fone anyway. More features on new ones. A xx.’ She made no mention of Bill and she
sounded monumentally unconcerned. That was exactly how he wanted her to be. And how he wanted her to remain.

  Normality still ruled in Alice’s world, though Hammond could easily remember a time when that had seemed inconceivable. The weeks after Kate’s murder had been an ordeal for him, but for Alice they had been the purest torture, her childhood paralysed by grief and disbelief and incomprehension. It was bad enough that her mother was dead, worse still that some strange man, for reasons nobody could even guess at, had killed her one fine day in a supermarket car park.

  Hammond had consoled himself that at least Alice had not witnessed the murder, as she might have done had Kate been running late and decided to go shopping after collecting her from school rather than before. Of course, that would have altered the time of Kate’s arrival, so the apparently motiveless gunman would presumably already have killed some other shopper. Hammond’s reasoning made no sense, unless the gunman was not motiveless, a possibility he had never quite been able to put out of his mind.

  Perhaps he went too far in his efforts to shelter Alice from the reality of what had happened to her mother, although at the time it seemed to him impossible to go far enough. Her uncle Bill took a more robust view and did something Hammond would have recoiled from. He took Alice out one day during her half-term holiday, six weeks or so after the murder. On the way back from a visit to Chessington Zoo, they stopped off at the Colliers Wood superstore. ‘Because,’ he explained to Hammond later, ‘she asked me to.’

  She had never asked her father to take her there. Perhaps she had feared he would refuse, or, ironically, had worried how he would cope with going. Uncle Bill was to her the safer option. She wanted to see where her mother had died. It was as simple as that. Six weeks after the event, of course, nothing distinguished that one bay-marked stretch of car park from any other, except in her mind. But she wanted to stand on the spot and look around her. She wanted to be able to remember it.

  Hammond did not discuss the experience with her until Bill had left. Alice seemed anxious to put his mind at rest at once. ‘Don’t worry, Daddy,’ she said, cuddling up to him. ‘There’s nothing there to be frightened of.’