Unholy Ghost (21 page)

Chapter Forty-one

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard the man come in and he opened his eyes and looked at him. It was the same one who had pulled Warrant Card off him. He was smoking. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and held them out and said something in French.

‘Fuck off.'

The man nodded, put away the cigarettes, and left.

Jimmy closed his eyes again and went back to waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later the man was back, still smoking. There was another man with him. A non-smoker.

Non-Smoker spoke English.

‘Sit up.'

Jimmy slowly sat up.

‘You wish to make a complaint?'

‘Why, what happened?'

‘Do you wish to complain about the officer who did this to you?'

‘I cut myself shaving.'

‘Mr Costello, you have been …'

Jimmy coughed and then spat some blood onto the floor.

‘Look, sunshine, nothing happened because if I say anything did happen I would have to fill in God knows how many forms and then hang around in this pisshole of a town while you lot arrange to lose the forms and generally fuck about until, in the end, I drop the charges or you make counter charges or whatever it is you coppers do over here when one of your own fucks up. We both know this won't go to court or anywhere else so don't piss about pretending you give a shit. Just let me get cleaned up and out of this place.'

It was a pretty speech and he meant enough of it to make it almost convincing, but the man listening had heard better speeches delivered by better liars so Jimmy could see he didn't think much of it.

‘Mr Costello, you murdered a police officer. We have two witnesses and enough forensic to charge you. We do not need to, as you put it, fuck about.'

‘So charge me and when you do I'll fill in your complaint forms and we'll get on the roundabout together.'

‘No, there will be no charge, your friends have seen to that. You must have very important friends to walk away from the murder of a police officer.'

‘Yeah, well your chum with the boots made sure I didn't get away scot free, didn't he?'

‘Mr Costello, in a moment you will leave this cell and a car will take you back to your hotel. After you have cleaned yourself up the car will take you to the airport and you will leave. Those are my orders. Now I will add my own orders. When you leave, stay away, don't return to Paris. In fact don't return to France. If you do there will be consequences.'

‘Consequences?'

‘You understand perfectly well, Mr Costello.'

‘Am I being threatened?'

‘Oh yes, be clear about that. I am threatening you and my threat will be acted upon if you ever set foot again in France. Now get up and this officer will take you to the car and then go with you to the airport.'

Jimmy stood up. He felt like a standing bruise but all in all he knew he'd got off lightly. He'd killed one of their own and the bloke was right, you needed very important friends to crawl out from under that sort of thing. Who were they, these friends? And why were they watching him and keeping him going?

Non-Smoker left the cell and his companion stood to one side as Jimmy limped out. While they walked the man lit another cigarette.

‘You want to be careful, mate, those things will kill you.'

The man said something in French. From the way he said it Jimmy didn't really need an interpreter to get the gist. He didn't think it wasn't going to be a chatty journey to the airport. He was right, it wasn't.

He got a few odd looks when he bought his ticket to Rome and again as he went through Security but his companion made sure no one interfered with his departure and finally his flight taxied out onto the runway and took off. It was a clear sunny day and as the plane ascended into the blue sky Jimmy looked out of the window at the city below.

It was still April in Paris, still Paris in the spring, and he was leaving it and France for good. He didn't care, he wouldn't miss it. It was a city for locals or tourists, for ordinary people, happy people, for lovers. He wasn't any of those. He was a man with important friends, the sort of friends who got you kicked out of countries and told to stay out or else. He looked out of the window again as the great city fell away and the plane turned to head for Rome. That was that for Paris in the spring, or Paris at any other time. It wasn't that it was overrated, it just hadn't worked out. Things didn't sometimes.

Chapter Forty-two

‘Mr Costello, I can barely believe what you have told me. You seem to have gone across Europe trying to start your own private war. What on earth inspired this fit of madness?'

‘You did.'

‘Me! I have been in hospital throughout your … your …'

But words failed her. It was that bad and Jimmy knew it. He'd tried to keep going like she'd said. He'd tried to do what he thought she wanted, but all he had done was cause her pain. She sat for a moment with her eyes closed. If she had put on a black cap and pronounced his death sentence he couldn't have felt much worse.

Jimmy looked at her sitting upright in a neatly made bed in her private room in the clinic. There were no machines now nor any flowers or cards. It was a private room in a private clinic and she sat in bed with a crisp, white nightdress which emphasised the blackness of her face. She looked like she used to, straight from the laundry. Except that one sleeve was neatly folded up and pinned shut above where her elbow would be if she still had her arm.

But Jimmy could see she was tired. She was better but she wasn't anywhere near well. He'd told her everything, even about Serge Carpentier and how it might have been a misjudgement on his part. She had listened and now he waited for her verdict but she kept her eyes closed.

‘You should lie down. You're still not strong. I'll go if you like.'

She opened her eyes.

‘The aim is to get out of bed as soon as possible. People die in bed. Normal people that is, not however people who get close to you. People who are unfortunate enough to meet you seem to increase their chances of a violent death by a considerable margin.'

‘It was a misjudgement, I admit that. It had all the hallmarks of a set up and it was. How was I to know he only wanted me turned over? People were already dead when I got involved and you, as near as dammit, were one of them.'

‘But why go back to Paris in the first place?'

‘Because you sent me. You told me to carry on, to keep going.'

Jimmy could see his answer made no sense to her.

‘As I said, I was in hospital. From the time of the shooting until several days later I have no clear memories of anything and even when I became conscious of my surroundings. I have no memory of us talking. I had no visitors or phone calls. How could I have told you anything? Did I appear to you in a vision?'

Jimmy ignored the sarcasm.

‘The doctor said I had to see you, you said my name. You were hooked up to all sorts of things. It was touch and go whether you'd make it. The doctor said you were fighting the medication, that he needed you to settle and rest. You'd been asking for me and the doctor reckoned you'd calm down if we spoke so he arranged for it. You told me to keep going. That's all you said. You were in a bad way and what it cost you to tell me was, well, it could have killed you making the effort so I guessed it was bloody important, worth dying for, so I carried on. I went to Paris and did what I did.'

‘And now I know what it was you did.'

‘I did my best, but I was running last from the word go. The thing had gone too far for me to get anywhere, but I tried.'

‘Mr Costello, you were an excellent detective. I think you are still an excellent detective despite the evidence of your recent actions. But you are no medical diagnostician. Did it not occur to you to consult with anyone, with any medical person, on how reliable whatever it was I said to you would be?' Jimmy shook his head. No, he'd not thought of that. Right now he wished he had. ‘I was, as you say, in a bad way. If what I have been told is correct I was barely alive and very nearly dead. I was shot full of drugs and when I felt anything it was pain. If I did what you say I did wouldn't you think it might have been influenced by my condition?' Yes, Jimmy could see that now. ‘Why would any rational person put any reliance on what I said never mind act on it to the point of murder and general mayhem across two countries?'

‘I suppose I wasn't thinking straight. The bastards had gunned you and the chances of you making it weren't good. I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to get the bastards.'

‘I see. All this was about you, about you being upset that I had been shot, is that it?'

No, that wasn't it. But Jimmy was beginning to see it was a big a part of it.

‘I tried to get your woman in for the claim. I knew that was what you wanted so I tried to make it happen. I may have started out because I was mad but once I got going it was all about doing what you wanted and all I knew was that you wanted Veronique Colman to cop the estate.'

‘You knew what I wanted?'

‘I thought so, part of it.' She looked at him. ‘A bit of it.' She still looked at him. ‘Well, you never tell me what it is you really want. You point me at something and set me going. You'd pointed me at this thing in Paris and so I kept going. What else was I supposed to do? You weren't there to say anything, you were in intensive care, you couldn't tell me what you wanted so I had to do the best I could.'

‘And what was it that you think I wanted?'

‘To make sure that whatever came out of the Arctic got to the right people.'

‘The Arctic?'

‘Yes, it's all about getting stuff out of the Arctic, isn't it?'

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

Jimmy began to get the feeling it wasn't all about the Arctic, not for her anyway. She opened her eyes.

‘And the right people would be?'

‘Well, not whoever tried to kill you. And not the Yanks, you were setting up a claim against theirs. Look, I don't know who you wanted to win. All I knew was that you wanted the estate. When the Commander turned up I figured he might help. Then he got shot so I tried to get Joubert back on the case so he could put Veronique into the frame and that's when I got the shit kicked out if me in a Paris cell and bounced out of the country. With France and Germany closed to me it was all over so I came back to Rome and waited until you were well enough to see me. That's it. That's all of it.'

She thought it over.

‘Did you work all that out by yourself?'

‘Yes, once I'd been told what it was really all about. You told me it was all about Nazi loot, remember? Once I knew that was a load of balls one thing followed on from another. I just didn't make it to the finish, that's all.'

‘No, Mr Costello, you didn't make it to the finish. In fact you were in the wrong race.'

There it was, he'd been wrong all along. Shit.

‘Not about the Arctic then?'

‘No.'

‘So who'll get the island, the Americans, the bad guys? Who?'

‘Someone, if there is an island.'

‘You don't seem too worried.'

‘I'm not, not about any island or Arctic exploitation. It is true that when I ask you to carry out work for me I tell only you what I think you need to know, but it is also the case that what I tell you is always substantially the truth. What I told you was the truth, Mr Costello. I was not interested and am still not interested in who does or does not benefit from any future resources exploitation from the Arctic.'

‘You're not telling me that nonsense about Nazi loot was true?'

‘Yes, substantially true.'

Jimmy turned it over in his mind. It still didn't make sense.

‘But what if the wrong people get the oil and stuff?'

‘I'm sorry, I don't understand.'

‘They kill people, they're nothing but a bunch of thugs and gangsters. They may put out like billionaire businessmen but that doesn't change anything. They take what they want with guns. You can't seriously expect me to believe you want them to have the oil.'

‘Why not? It is of no interest to me or those I represent who gets what in the way of natural resources. I cannot see any greater moral good in the resources going to people in the West rather than in the East or going anywhere else. A great deal of money will go into comparatively few pockets whichever way it flows. The oil and gas and other valuable resources will be brought out, who profits from that is a matter for politicians and business to decide. It is no concern of mine and was never supposed to be any concern of yours. That scenario existed in your head alone, Mr Costello.'

‘So why send me to Paris in the first place?'

‘To confuse and misdirect. I needed a small amount of time to present Veronique Colmar's case to the Swiss authorities. While that was being done I wanted other interested parties to be looking elsewhere. You were my elsewhere. You were supposed to do as I asked, make your contacts, ask your questions, and, in your inimitable style, generally make your presence felt and provoke a response. The assault on M. Joubert was regrettable but I anticipated some such outcome. Once you had engaged their attention you were supposed to withdraw. By the time they had come to the conclusion that you were no sort of threat and resumed their efforts Veronique's case would have been presented. Unfortunately my activities were not as discreet as I had anticipated and there was an overrreaction from one of the interested parties.'

‘They tried to kill you.'

‘We all make mistakes, Mr Costello. Considering what happened to Serge Carpentier you should be more alive to that than most. At least I was the only direct victim of my error of judgement.'

Jimmy's mind circled everything he knew.

‘So you're saying that, among all the rest of it, there really was Nazi loot?'

‘No, not loot exactly. Mme Colmar was involved exactly as I described to you. Her business associates in America used her as I said. The payments she supervised were not, however, made in loot, not artefacts anyway. They were made in untraceable liquid form, gold, precious stones, anything that could be turned into cash regardless of who won the war.'

‘But there had to be something in the estate that you wanted that would hurt the Church?'

‘Yes.'

‘What?'

‘Think, Mr Costello, think like a detective. You have all the information you need. You had it all along. If you hadn't become obsessed with delusions of violent revenge and one-man justice like some comic-book hero and then blinded by all this stupid energy business you would have seen it.'

Jimmy pushed to one side anything connected with fish processing islands. What was left? Mme Colmar and her ill-gotten gains. She was all there was. Whatever it was it had been under his nose all along. Mme Colmar and the work she did for the Americans with the Nazis in Paris. Mme Colmar and her American friends …

Then he saw it. If he'd stuck to thinking like a detective sergeant instead of playing at being a bloody TV tough-guy hero he'd have seen it long ago. It was there and it was simple street stuff, detective sergeant stuff, run-of-the-mill villainy. She'd been a whore, a blackmailer, and a go-between. It was as simple as that.

‘She kept records. She kept records and accounts and all the proof she needed to make sure she stayed safe and she had it salted away where no one could get at it, in a Swiss bank. So long as they were safe, she was safe.'

‘Records, accounts, a diary, details of names, dates, transactions. Everything.'

‘She would. She was a blackmailer. She'd want to be sure she'd have a few powerful friends firmly by the balls if the allies came out on top, which after the D-Day landings looked likely. God, she was sitting on a gold mine.'

‘If she'd have chosen to use it. But she never used it, did she? It was her insurance for a trouble-free life.'

‘OK, she had all the protection she needed so that what she did in Paris would never catch up with her. But that's all ancient history now. Anyone she could finger must be dead and the companies might not even exist any more, gone out of business, taken over, merged. And even if they do exist they're not responsible now for what happened a lifetime ago. Why do you want it, this diary or records or …' And the last piece fell into place. ‘It's one of ours isn't it? Some bloody high-up Catholic whose family were involved. Some Catholic family who made a fortune by screwing their own side while their own soldiers died. What is he, a cardinal?'

‘One is. The other is a senior politician who could, conceivably, become president.'

‘My God. All you wanted was to get the evidence and bury it.'

‘Yes. Mme Colmar made no provision for what would happen to her records after her death. She didn't care what would happen to them. She would be dead so any damage they might do would not have concerned her.'

‘The sins of the fathers, is that it? Old Ma Colmar is like some sort of unholy ghost who's waiting to come back from the grave through her estate and haunt the Catholic Church in America.'

‘That is one way of putting it. The men concerned are themselves innocent of any involvement but that would not stop ill-disposed people, of whom there are many, from using what Mme Colmar kept. The damage such people could do would have been considerable. However, the matter now, thankfully, will never come to light.'

‘What?'

‘Veronique Colmar's claim is progressing and she is in the care, legally as well as physically, of people who will see to it that the matter is closed. Mme Colmar's records will never see the light of day.'

‘But, I thought …'

‘No, Mr Costello, you didn't think, you acted in a spirit of violence and revenge. A moment ago you took the trouble to think, to think carefully like a detective, and look how long it took you to see what this was really all about. You were never important in the matter, a muddier of waters, a sideshow to slow and confuse, a pawn. Unfortunately your old self, the self you have been at pains to put away from you, is still too close to the surface. Do as you are told, Mr Costello, and behave like a detective sergeant, then what you think may be of use. Anything else is dangerous and destructive. From the very beginning Veronique Colmar's case was in the hands of suitable people, people whom I could trust.'