The Nothing Job (12 page)

Henry stood up and shook hands with her.

‘Hello, Henry … Bill.' She nodded and smiled at the PC, who had a glazed expression on his face. ‘May I introduce my inspector?' She stood aside and indicated the man with a gesture. ‘Inspector Tekke.' He proffered his hand and Georgia continued, ‘This is Henry and this is Bill.'

Tekke regarded the British officers through dark, ringed eyes. He reminded Henry of a lemur with a 'tache, but even so, everything about him screamed, ‘Cop!' Henry felt immediately at ease in his presence.

‘Welcome to Cyprus,' Tekke said, flashing a set of unnaturally white teeth.

‘Thank you.'

‘I hope your visit here will be worthwhile.'

‘I'm sure it will … please, sit. Can I get you a drink?'

‘Just a water for me,' Georgia said.

‘And for you?'

‘Call me Andrei, or Andrew if you like,' Tekke said easily. ‘And water will be fine for me, also.'

Henry turned to Bill and raised his eyebrows.

‘Er, I'll have another Keo, if that's OK?' Bill said, misunderstanding Henry's non-verbal signal that meant, ‘You get 'em.' Henry looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Oh, you want me to get them?' he said.

‘That's the general idea,' Henry said.

‘Mm, OK. Another beer for you?'

Henry nodded. ‘Cheers, Bill.' He indicated for the two Cypriot detectives to seat themselves at the table.

‘Have you settled in?' Georgia asked.

‘Yeah. Slight hitch with the room size, but that's sorted now.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.'

‘Not a problem,' Henry beamed.

DI Tekke leaned forward. ‘Can I say I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Christie?'

‘I'm pleased to meet you, too.'

‘I've done some research on you.'

‘Oh,' Henry said, withdrawing slightly.

‘You've had an interesting and varied career.'

‘You could say that.'

‘So how come you're acting like a bounty-hunter now?' The question stung Henry, for it was one he had asked himself. He was sure that Tekke did not mean to offend, so he took it on the chin and in the spirit in which it was intended.

‘There's a few wanted people who needed catching,' he said simply.

‘And you were chosen for the job?'

‘Yep.'

Bill returned with the drinks from the bar and distributed them, then slumped down and instantly sank half of his new Keo.

‘What about you, Andrew?' Henry took the opportunity to deflect the question.

He shrugged modestly. ‘Work hard, follow procedure, stick to the letter of the law, get results, that's me.'

It was at that point that Georgia laid a hand on Tekke's arm and Henry caught a quick glance between the two that gave him a very incisive insight into their relationship. ‘He's being modest,' Georgia said. ‘He has one of the best clear-up rates of any detective in the force.'

‘Not, you understand, that we have much crime. Not like Britain. Ours is a very low-key-crime country. Nicosia has its share of organized crime and the bigger resorts do have a drug and prostitution problem, but our main crimes are usually Brits killing Brits. Usually easy to solve.'

‘And every so often we get someone like Scartarelli in the mix,' Georgia added. ‘Which is why we'd like to get him, catch him for you and deport him, never to come back.'

‘It'll be a pleasure to take him off your hands,' Henry said. ‘But I'm presuming you'll want to have a long talk with him first? He may be implicated in a murder and the serious assault of a policewoman, I believe.'

‘Yes, when we arrest him, we will interview him,' Tekke said. ‘But the consensus is that we would rather have him off the island than on – and unless he immediately confesses his involvement in the matter you refer to, then let's get rid of him.'

‘But first things first,' Henry said.

‘Yes, we need to arrest him … which is why I suggest we talk about how we hope to achieve that before too much alcohol is imbibed. And then, when we've done that, I am going to treat you to the best Greek mezze this side of Nicosia,' Tekke said. ‘But business first – before you stay awake all night with a distended stomach.'

There was no particular theme to the mezze they consumed that evening. It was a heady combination of fish, meats and vegetables and Henry lost count of the number of dishes they ate after the eighth course. On reflection he estimated there could well have been fifteen dishes brought out to them, each one tasting wonderful. These, combined with more beer and wine, had a very stretching effect on his stomach. Bill, on the other hand, did not seem too affected by the amount of food and drink. It just seemed to disappear into a hollow container.

The meal concluded at eleven, having taken about three hours.

Bill and Tekke had fallen into a long-winded conversation about guns, whilst Henry and Georgia made very small talk.

Their bill came with a complimentary brandy for each of them that tasted like rust.

Bill and Tekke were discussing the merits of the H&K machine-pistol. Two firearms buffs together.

Henry clinked glasses with Georgia. It was her first taste of alcohol that night.

‘Can I just ask something?' he said hesitantly.

‘Of course.'

‘I got the impression that your informant was known only to yourself, from what you told me.'

‘Only Andrei knows of him.'

‘Ahh. I know what it's like to lose an informant, one who's been with you for a long time,' he said. ‘I won't patronize you to say I know how you feel, but I've been there very recently and found it hard to deal with.' Henry explained his recent experience and she listened carefully. ‘The difference is that I put my informant in a dangerous situation. You didn't.'

‘They put themselves into dangerous situations. They're usually in dangerous situations to begin with,' Georgia said philosophically. ‘Situations that can easily go wrong.'

Henry thought about it. ‘Maybe.'

Tekke picked up the bill and slapped a wodge of euros on it and waved at a passing waiter. He had not been as alcohol-free as Georgia and was slightly drunk. Bill was suddenly very drunk. Henry was just about right, but bloated by the food.

They all stood up and left the restaurant, tumbling on to Coral Bay's main street.

‘I parked outside your hotel,' Georgia said. She and Henry walked ahead.

Bill and Tekke were loudly discussing the merits of the Glock pistol. Apparently it was light, well constructed, reliable, had hardly any recoil and was therefore a good weapon for putting bullets into villains' chests.

‘Great double-tap,' Bill slurred, eight pints of Keo swishing about inside him.

‘One of the best,' Tekke concurred, two bottles of wine in him.

Henry and Georgia had put about twenty metres between them and the firearms argument. The street was fairly quiet now, many of the restaurants starting to close up for the night, all the shops having done so an hour and a half earlier. A few cars drove past.

‘Live locally?'

‘Pafos.'

‘That's why you're sober – designated driver.'

Georgia nodded.

Henry yawned. ‘Been a long day.'

‘Could be a long day tomorrow. Will Bill be all right for an early start?'

Henry laughed. ‘In the best traditions of the Lancashire Constabulary, he'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.'

They stopped at the kerb.

Forty metres away, Bill and Tekke were loudly disagreeing over the best sniper rifle available.

‘What about your inspector?'

‘I'll make sure he's up.' She glanced quickly at Henry, confirming his guess about them.

‘Good.'

‘That's my car.' She pointed diagonally across to another Terrano and took a step off the high kerb.

Henry heard the acceleration of a car, the deep growl of an engine, a crunch of gears. His head twisted quickly to the right. Headlights on main beam glared at him, four of them on a bull bar, and a huge four-wheel drive vehicle hurtled towards them. Georgia had left the kerb and was now a metre and a half into the road. She spun to face the noise, stunned momentarily in the beam. The vehicle was maybe twenty metres away to her right. Not far. Maybe two seconds away from ramming into her.

A roar emanated from Henry's throat.

He saw the vehicle, two figures in it, driver and passenger, the passenger leaning out of the window, in the hand the dark but unmistakable shape of a gun.

He saw Georgia in the road.

And he had four pints of beer slushing inside him and a huge mezze, neither, either separate or combined, designed to make him the most efficiently operating human being on the planet.

He reached out and grabbed Georgia's forearm and violently dragged her back to the footpath, the force of his strength making her go like a rag doll. The vehicle swerved in towards them, front wheels mounting the pavement. Henry yanked her as if they were in some kind of brutal dance, still twisting her away. Both of them staggered until the back of Henry's knees hit a low wall surrounding a cafe terrace and they fell over it, falling through spiky bushes and smashing into tables and chairs, landing hard on the concrete-paved floor.

Henry looked up from their embrace.

The vehicle had stopped.

The passenger was leaning out. The weapon he held was aimed at them – and he fired.

Georgia screamed.

Henry, still holding her, gripped tight and rolled them over and over across the terrace, crashing into the furniture, hearing shots fired, bullets whizzing just over them, all the while expecting to be hit. Then the vehicle accelerated away, and there were three more shots and shouting.

He had rolled on top of Georgia.

She pushed him roughly off and clambered to her feet, drawing her own weapon, which Henry didn't even know she had in her possession tonight. She scrambled back over the wall and ran into the road.

Suddenly Bill Robbins was standing over Henry.

‘You OK, boss?'

Henry picked himself up very gingerly. He'd clattered a few parts of his body – the backs of his legs, his elbows, his sore ribs and his head, but all in a minor way. Bill assisted him to his feet and they were joined by Georgia and Tekke, both now with weapons drawn.

‘I got three shot shots off at them,' Tekke said, still dangerously waving his gun in the air.

‘I thought you said you didn't have much crime on Cyprus,' Henry said accusingly.

T
he noises coming from the bathroom were awful to behold, almost inhuman, making Henry Christie feel queasy himself. He stood by the door, listening, his face a mask of horror. Then, with a guttural moan, the sounds stopped suddenly and there was a worrying silence. Henry put his ear to the door and tapped gently with his fingertips.

‘Bill, are you OK?'

There was no response.

Then immediately the noises began again, moans, retching sounds, unbelievable farts and groans, then a ‘Jesus Christ!' then the flush of the toilet, the third in about five minutes.

Henry knocked again, this time more urgently. ‘Bill – you OK?' he asked and wondered whether his claim about being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed would come back to haunt him.

The lock slid slowly back. Bill opened the bathroom door and stood there, his head peering round, looking at Henry who had not seen a human being looking much worse this side of the grave.

‘Hell fire,' said Henry, taken well aback.

‘Something I ate,' Bill explained.

‘You look bloody dreadful.'

‘You want to feel what my guts feel like.'

‘It couldn't be something to do with that local beer, could it?'

‘Prob'ly a combination of things,' Bill said, evidently not wishing to put his state down just to the beer. ‘The long flight, dehydration, that mezze, and maybe the beer … and tiredness – they all go into the mix, y'know?'

‘There was a lot of food, admittedly, but I'm not sure copious amounts of beer helped matters.'

‘Nah, definitely not just the beer,' Bill insisted. ‘Anyway, need to get dressed.' He pushed past Henry and padded towards his bedroom, Henry open-mouthed at the naked form of his new flatmate. ‘By the way,' Bill said over his shoulder, ‘it's not for the faint-hearted in there.'

A single manned patrol car had been parked up outside their hotel for the night, a paltry but well-received gesture designed to reassure Henry and Bill and dissuade anyone from trying anything further. Henry had actually argued it wasn't necessary to tie up a cop all night, but Georgia dismissed his protestations with a wave.

‘It's the least we can do,' she insisted.

‘Well, it's kind of you,' Henry relented.

The night had panned out without further incident and after the surge of police activity at the scene of the shooting, Henry had slept like a baby stuffed with Calpol. He could only guess from the loud snoring in the other room how well Bill had slept. The sleep of the drunk, the waking of the very poorly, as it happened.

The two men emerged from their ground-floor apartment into the bright sunlight of a Cypriot morning. Bill shielded his eyes and complained of a terrifying headache. Henry felt OK, glad he hadn't drunk too much and not only because of his lack of a hangover. If he had been drunk, and slower to react, he and Georgia could well have been dead.

They walked past the police car which had been on guard all night and gave the officer behind the wheel a wave of appreciation. He had been there since the shooting, hadn't been relieved even yet and looked only marginally better than Bill.

They had been told to make their way to a particular cafe on the main drag that offered a full English breakfast, starting at three euros. Georgia and Tekke would meet them there.

After finding the place, not far from the scene of last night's incident, Henry felt well enough to devour the ‘Gut-buster' but Bill contented himself with a coffee and croissant, which he nibbled like a sparrow. He had become surly and uncommunicative, his mouth twisted as though there was a bad smell coming from somewhere. Henry didn't mind the silence because as he ate he ran through the shooting, and the implications behind it, with a clear mind.