Kill and Tell (12 page)

Staffe shaves at the pink basin with a one-blade scraper he bought from the all-night store on the corner. He draws his wet hair back and fashions a parting with his fingertips, picks up his phone and goes to the window of his hotel room, lifts the sash. The night is balmy and has salt on its sea breath.

He makes the call, fearful this could backfire. ‘Jacobo is here,’ he says. ‘I’m damn sure of it. We’re on.’

Although they have agreed a plan, Staffe is uneasy as he walks to the Rendezvous. When he gets to the casino, he pauses on the steps, is tempted to turn around, but resists. He feels eyes on him. It’s what he wants, and he calls Josie, but she doesn’t answer. He hopes that this is because she is sleeping, so he texts her to say he can’t be contacted for at least two hours and he’ll see her in the morning. He reiterates that she should lie low until he gets there.

Going inside, he makes the final call, gets a final thumbs-up, and at the desk, where members sign in, he sees himself again, on a monitor. The commissionaire is a handsome woman who shows him all her teeth. Looking over his shoulder, via the monitor, he sees an old man waiting in the doorway. Jacobo Sartori.

The main room is low-lit with a balcony running in a horseshoe above the tables. Staffe sits at the bar, sees Maurice Greene playing blackjack on a mid-rollers’ table. He chats to the croupier and bets casually, winning more than he loses. Staffe nurses a coffee, unable to tell if Maurice knows he is there.

He fixes a hard gaze onto Maurice, the way you can sometimes make a person feel they are being watched. It’s something you can achieve beyond the five senses and, sure enough, when the hand finishes and the dealer pushes a teetering column of chips in Maurice’s direction, the young fop turns and looks at Staffe who walks to Maurice’s table and pulls up a chair alongside. Without turning, Maurice pushes across a small pile of low-denomination chips. They are playing a fiver a pop and Staffe takes his cards. ‘Where’s Jacobo, Maurice?’

‘Jacobo?’ says Maurice, raising his voice slightly. He turns, looks around the room and says, ‘Jacobo?’ again, so anybody keeping an eye on them might see what he is saying.

Staffe turns, too, but you can see little of the room beyond their immediate sphere of light. It’s a place to be on the outside looking in.

‘You seem intent on being with me tonight, inspector,’ says Maurice, folding his cards. ‘First the dog track . . .’

Staffe takes another card, raises, and Maurice folds. Staffe wins and the dealer pushes across a modest pile of chips. ‘You’re in the public domain.’

‘And so are you. Haven’t you considered that in following me, you might be being watched?’

In this instant, Staffe has an instinct – that Maurice is a force for good. He knows better than to trust these instincts and, lo, beyond the tables, a commotion erupts.

A glass smashes and a deeper rumble sounds as if a table might be overturned. A woman shrieks and Staffe turns to see a congress of bouncers slowly trundling through the room. Some punters turn to see, but most keep their eyes on their hands. This is not so unusual, when money and greed and defeat come together at the end of long days.

The house lights come up and a brace of men in overcoats, clearly not bouncers, accompany a frail, elderly gentleman. Staffe recognises one of them as Miles Hennigan. The old man is Jacobo Sartori, with his turned-up nose and big jowls. His hat is askew.

Maurice says, ‘I fear you have been used, inspector.’

‘I was lured here to bring Jacobo out, wasn’t I?’

‘He worked for Carmelo long enough to know that the best way not to be watched, is to watch.’ Maurice looks Staffe in the eye and weighs him up. ‘But you might have known that. Did you know that and come here anyway?’

‘Let’s go outside, see what’s happening.’ Staffe walks towards the door, in no particular hurry and he flashes his warrant card to the head doorman. He lets Maurice go first, to keep an eye on him.

Two squad cars point full beam at the Rendezvous’s golden entrance. Four uniformed officers have a hold of suede-headed Miles and a police dog snaps at his legs. A WPC holds Jacobo Sartori’s arm, the way an attentive niece might accompany an elderly uncle. His eyes are wide with excitement, flitting one way and then the other, possibly trying to calculate who presents the greater threat.

Alongside Jacobo, Rimmer smiles broadly at Staffe, who says to Maurice Greene, ‘Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?’

‘You expected this?’

‘I’m sorry, Maurice. I think I like you.’ He clasps a strong hand around Maurice’s thin forearm. ‘But you’re going to have to come with us.’

‘I admire your style,’ says Maurice. He smiles, and shrugs, spins free of Staffe’s clasp, taking a fast step back against the door of the Rendezvous and karate-kicking Staffe in the balls. As Staffe hunches double, Maurice brings down the full weight of his two small fists on the back of Staffe’s neck.

Staffe’s head whiplashes and he falls heavily to the ground, his face smashing into the flagstones. He watches Maurice’s shoes, a high-end pair of side-buckled brogues, skip fast across the ground, deep into the dark.

Louis Consadine chain-smokes his L&B silvers. Josie can tell he is coming down from something and she says, ‘If you help us, I’ll make sure they can’t touch you. And whatever it is you need, I can get it for you.’

‘Fuck off.’ He says it with a broken spirit.

‘Brandon killed Jadus. You know that, don’t you, Louis?’

Louis stubs his cigarette out on the cracked linoleum of the kitchen-diner. He avoids looking at Josie and fidgets with his pack of L&B. He has one left and chooses to save it.

‘If you think they’re going to protect you, Louis, you’re wrong and if you don’t help me, there’ll be two squad cars round here in five minutes, and uniformed officers marching you past Jasmine’s flat, with Brandon watching you go into custody. What’s it going to be like for you then? And Curtis.’

‘Curtis? What you talkin’ about?’

‘Curtis is involved, isn’t he, Louis?’

‘You don’t know Curtis. He’s not like me.’

‘I asked around. He’s just started Uni.’

Louis plunges his hand deeper into his trackie bottoms.

‘They’ve all got alibis for the night Jadus was murdered. Yours isn’t so good, is it?’

‘I was with my girlfriend – in Margate.’

‘Do you think she’ll stand by you once you’re remanded in custody and Brandon pays her a visit? Do you want Brandon to pay her a visit?’

‘That fuckin’ copper killed J.’

‘You know he didn’t. I know you know.’

Louis looks up at Josie, then at the door. His eyes go wide and Josie feels a chill in her stomach. Louis looks as if he’s trying to work something out and his forehead crinkles, his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth. She has backed the dog into the corner. ‘Will you let me help you, Louis? I can help you and Curtis.’

‘You’re right. It wasn’t that copper. It was me. I killed him, miss. I killed J.’

Louis Consadine pulls the Browning from his trackie bottoms. He looks at the gun and backs away from Josie, extending his arm. He looks at the gun in his hand as if it might damage him and he turns the gun ninety degrees, so it is horizontal, the way he has seen in films, and out on the silt flats of the estuary, past Tilbury, learning to use the thing.

‘Louis, don’t. Don’t ruin your life.’

‘You’re the one ruining it. You should have let me be, but you didn’t and now it’s all fucked up.’

‘You didn’t kill Jadus, Louis. I know that.’

‘I fuckin’ did.’

‘Where d’you get the gun from, Louis?’

‘I fuckin’ killed him, man. Brap! Brap!’

‘Where did you shoot him, Louis?’

‘Down the fuckin’ canal.’

‘Where in his body did you shoot him?’

‘You know that.’

‘But you don’t, Louis. And how many times did you shoot him?’

Louis steps towards Josie. He reaches out with the gun and pushes it into her face. ‘Open your mouth.’

‘Please, Louis. I want to—’

‘Open your fuckin’ mouth, you bitch.’

Josie opens her mouth. She tastes the metal of the barrel and it bangs hard against her teeth. He pushes the barrel in further and she gags, convulsing, and the gun bangs into her teeth harder. With his other hand, he picks his last cigarette from the pack, puts it in his mouth and scrunches the pack, drops it to the floor, then lights the cigarette and blows smoke in her face. She closes her eyes, keeps them closed and breathes smoke in through her nose. The metal harshness of the gun withdraws. When she opens her eyes, Louis is further away, the gun by his side.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and he turns the gun around, holds it by the barrel and hands it to her.

Josie takes hold of the pistol butt, and together, they are each gripping it. Josie pulls the gun away from Louis, but he keeps hold of the barrel. She tugs again and he tugs back and they each look at Josie’s hand, one finger on the trigger. Louis takes a long draw on his cigarette, holds the smoke in his mouth, the burning tip glowing red, then he blows into her face again and fast as a flash, plunges the glowing cigarette into the soft flesh of her hand.

Josie can’t help herself. She clenches and the trigger snaps heavily. She waits for the bang, but it doesn’t come and then pain sears into her hand. Louis pulls the gun away.

‘Not fuckin’ loaded, man.’

She wrings her hand, instinctively puts the soft flesh to her mouth, sucks on the burn as Louis walks away, letting himself out and taking the gun with him, her prints on it now.

Leadengate’s strip lights buzz in the bleary night and the coffee machine gurgles. Far away, a photocopier whirrs.

Staffe issues his instructions to the uniforms and SOCOs for the exercise of warrants at Maurice Greene’s flat, both Abie Myers’ houses, Ockingham Manor and Jacobo Sartori’s house. Uniformed officers will simultaneously enter each of the premises, and the SOCOs will work in two teams, taking Greene’s place and Abie’s Stepney Green house first. Staffe tells Josie to call on Appolina Sartori and stay with her. It might be some time before they get there.

Josie smiles thinly and looks at her hands, covering the burn on one with the palm of the other. She looks up at him and together they think about the prints those hands left, on the gun that probably killed Jadus Golding. For now, nobody else in the room knows about that.

As everybody leaves, Staffe catches Josie, says, ‘When we’re done with these interviews and searches, we’ll catch up with that scrote Louis Consadine.’

‘I’m so sorry. I was an idiot.’

‘For now, get Appolina Sartori talking about the past. She knows something. She might not even think it’s important, but Jacobo and Carmelo share a secret, I’m sure of it.’

Jacobo Sartori asks if he can see Appolina and Staffe tells him that will have to wait, which saddens both. In the meantime, Jacobo refuses to answer the questions asked of him: why did he go into hiding; why was he in the Rendezvous; when was the last time he saw Carmelo; did anybody come to the house that day; why would Abie Myers wish to lure Jacobo to a public place and then try to abscond with him?

‘Everything you have done links you to the abduction of Carmelo Trapani,’ says Staffe. The strip lights in the Leadengate interview room flicker and Jacobo wipes his milky eyes. Tiny triangles of creamy saliva collect in the corners of his mouth. ‘We have a warrant to search every fibre of your home.’

‘That would be very upsetting for my wife, but she is strong.’

‘Perhaps she loves you more.’

Jacobo looks away. ‘You’re not entitled to judge me.’

‘You don’t seem concerned about Carmelo, considering how long you have been together. I understand he introduced you to Appolina.’

Jacobo passes one hand through the other in looping figures of eight and chews his lip, the triangles of creamy saliva licked away. ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’

Staffe can’t tell what response might please Jacobo. ‘I know you bear a burden. I’ll be speaking to Appolina about it before you see her next. It would help your cause if the information came from you.

‘I want to speak to Martin Goldman.’

‘You can’t. He would have a conflict of interest.’

He looks up at Staffe. ‘In that case, I can’t say anything.’

‘And you’re happy to remain here in custody? I can see that.’ Staffe buzzes through to Jombaugh. ‘Sergeant, would you make up some release papers for Mister Sartori and bring them through?’

‘You can’t just let me go.’

‘If you won’t talk, what’s the point of keeping you here? You said you wanted to see Appolina. You can be there when we conduct our search.’

‘I wanted her to come here. I just want to see her.’

‘I can see why you wouldn’t want us to release you into the world of Abie Myers,’ says Staffe, going to the door, greeting Jombaugh and directing him to hand back the items on the inventory of possessions: a wallet containing an American Express card and one thousand six hundred pounds; a hunter pocket watch; a white plastic keycard for the Kings Hotel, Brighton; two tote betting slips from Brighton Greyhound Stadium. Staffe picks up the pocket watch. ‘Hmm. Smith and Sons. Very nice. Eighteenth century.’ He hands it back to Jombaugh, says, ‘Now, sergeant, you’d better get back to Mister Hennigan. I think we can release him, too. Perhaps the two of you could share a cab. You know Miles Hennigan, don’t you, Jacobo? You met in the Rendezvous
casino. From what I saw, the two of you have unfinished business.’

‘Very clever,’ says Jacobo, playing with the end of his turned-up nose. ‘I suppose I could make a statement.’

‘I think you’re going to be a great help to us, Jacobo.’ He says to Jombaugh, ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to take Mister Sartori’s statement, sergeant, whilst I tell Mister Hennigan he will need to get a cab home on his own.’

‘You can’t release him,’ says Jacobo.

‘You really don’t want to be anywhere near Abie Myers and his gang, do you, Jacobo? You either have something they want, or something they fear.’

Whilst Jacobo Sartori writes his version of everything he’s done and seen since he last left his house in Muswell Hill five days ago, Staffe makes his way down Leadengate’s musty corridors towards Miles Hennigan, stewing in Interview Room Three – except, when Staffe checks on the monitor before he goes in, Miles isn’t stewing. He stares at the camera with a contented smile. He doesn’t blink, simply exudes a professional’s calm.

When Staffe enters the room, Miles says, ‘I know what this must look like to you, inspector, but Mister Myers is very fond of Jacobo Sartori and we were only trying to save him from himself. I promise you, with all my heart, I wouldn’t harm a hair; or let anyone else. When Mister Myers heard what happened to Carmelo, and we discovered Jacobo was missing, he felt he had to do everything he could to find Jacobo.’

‘So why is Jacobo afraid at the prospect of having his liberty restored? The poor man is desperate to see his wife, yet he doesn’t want to be released. He is afraid that you and Abie are waiting for him.’

‘Some people don’t know what’s good for them.’

‘Like the Nigerians?’

Still, Miles Hennigan doesn’t bat an eye. His smile widens a little, as if out of respect for Staffe’s research. ‘You might think I am a mercenary, but I choose my causes carefully.’

‘What does Jacobo know that might hurt your cause so badly?’ Now, Miles Hennigan does blink. Just once, but it tells Staffe more than everything else he has said: Jacobo Sartori does know something. Perhaps it is what Appolina refers to as ‘his burden’. ‘I’ll come back as soon as you decide you’ve got something to say.’ He pats Miles on the shoulder.

‘I saved your neck. Remember?’

‘I’m trying to save Carmelo’s.’

‘We’re all very fond of Carmelo. Why else would he remember Mister Myers so generously in his will?’

‘What would you know? You’re just the hired hand.’

‘Never use the word “just”, inspector. I never “just” do anything. I embrace a mission with commitment and unfailing loyalty.’

‘You consider your work for Abie a mission?’

‘It is my mission to employ my skills for good causes. This cause, I assure you, is a good one.’

‘Where had you been when you were recommended to him?’

‘I won’t say.’

‘Palestine?’

‘Some would say that’s not a place,’ says Miles, his mouth pursing to deadly seriousness, which gives Staffe his answer.

‘Tell me what Jacobo knows, Miles. Tell me his burden.’

Miles stares into a distance, not blinking.

Jacobo Sartori wipes the corners of his mouth and takes the small microphone from Jombaugh.

‘
I
t was a cold day. Appolina called me back from the gate and gave me the
ushanka
hat. It was a gift from her the time we went to St Petersburg. That was twenty years ago. She asked me again why I had to stay over, and I told her again that I didn’t know, but Carmelo was insisting.

‘When I got to the house, he sent the housekeeper away and cancelled the gardener for the next day while I made risotto. My risotto takes eighteen minutes and that’s all the time we spent apart the whole night. We had two grappas each and retired early – by ten, I would say, and in the morning he was already up and about by the time I was dressed and soon after he disappeared into his room. He was there for an hour or so and he phoned down to me to say he wanted veal for lunch. The only place we trust the veal is down on Jamaica Road, so I had to go down there and it’s dreadful for buses.

‘I was gone two hours and as soon as I got back with the veal, he told me he was going out later, to see the Livorskis. I don’t know what hold they have on him,
but Bogdan Livorski was in the square when I came back with the veal. He was on a bench in the far corner of the square. I’m sure it was him but my eyes sometimes let me down. I started to cook the veal and Carmelo took a phone call.

‘He was raising his voice and when he was finished, he came into the kitchen and turned off the stove. He told me to get packed and he gave me some money, a couple of thousand, and he said to get away. He said there was nothing to worry about but I should not be in London for a day or so. He looked very concerned for me and I said I would get Appolina but he was insistent that I said nothing to anyone about where I was going. He made me promise.

‘
I have known Carmelo all my life and sometimes it seems we have shared one life not had two separate ones. I trust him absolutely. He has never acted against my interests. Not ever, so I eventually agreed to go. I told him that I would go to Brighton. It is close and I am very fond of it, and it is busy enough to go unnoticed. I stayed on the Hove side, at the Lancaster.

‘Carmelo called me a taxi for London Bridge and we left the house together. He drove the Daimler round to the Livorskis and I went to get the train and that is the last time we saw each other or spoke.’

Jombaugh takes the microphone from Jacobo and saves the audio file, emails it to the office, copying it to himself.

Back at his desk, Jombaugh logs in the contents of Jacobo Sartori’s small suitcase that has been delivered from the Lancaster Hotel. It contains everything that was in his room there. As he makes the inventory, Staffe emerges from his interview with Miles Hennigan.

Staffe looks into the open suitcase. Lying on top, in a clear plastic evidence bag, labelled ‘Found in bin, Lancaster Hotel Room 19’, is a photograph of himself. He picks it up, scrutinises it and asks Jombaugh to run Jacobo’s audio file. As he listens through headphones, every word that Jacobo says is distinct. His recollection is clear, a little too clear. Staffe squints at the photograph of himself, sees something in the background. When the audio file is played out, he says to Jombaugh, ‘I don’t really look that rough, do I, Jom?’

‘Where was it taken?’

Staffe taps the photo, just above his right shoulder. ‘This is Carmelo’s place. The morning after he disappeared.’

‘The only person who knew Carmelo was missing then, was Attilio,’ says Jombaugh. ‘And Helena.’

‘Or the person who abducted him.’ Staffe flips the photo over, sees written, in a large, meticulous hand: ‘An Inspector Calls.’

‘Which means we know precisely where they were the morning after Carmelo Trapani was taken.’

‘Let’s have one last small chat with Jacobo, then I’m going to take him home. We’ll let Hennigan stew. Keep him fed and watered and don’t let Myers anywhere near him.’

‘There’s something else for you.’ Jombaugh hands Staffe an envelope, embossed with the logo of the National Archives.

As he gets into his car, Staffe thinks about the contents of the bin at the Lancaster Hotel, and something undefined niggles him. ‘Lancaster Hotel,’ he says to himself, aloud. It sounds wrong but he doesn’t know why. He reverses the car out in a wide arc, sees Jombaugh striding towards him, waving a piece of paper, saying, ‘Lancaster Hotel.’

‘What about it?’

Jom goes into his breast pocket, pulls out a card, wrapped in an evidence bag. ‘Why would Jacobo have a key for the Kings Hotel?’