Unholy Ghost (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

‘I work for Professor McBride.'

The young receptionist nodded.

‘I know. Is she …?'

But she couldn't say the words because she didn't want to hear the answer.

‘No. I left her in hospital about an hour ago.'

The young woman said something under her voice and made a quick sign of the cross.

‘I didn't see it. I didn't even hear it.'

‘The shooting?'

She nodded and got a small white handkerchief from somewhere. She'd had it ready. She wiped her eyes.

‘A man ran in and told me to call an ambulance. I thought there'd been an accident or something.'

‘And you called an ambulance?'

‘Yes. Then I went out to see if I could help. I am fully trained in first aid. But when I got to her …'

She stopped and got to work with the handkerchief.

Yes, thought Jimmy, one arm nearly blown off and a bullet to the chest isn't really a case for an amateur, even one fully trained in first aid. But what she said interested him, no sound of shots meant a silencer and no roaring away either to attract attention. He remembered the bike revving up to him as he sat at the café. Don't let the target know you're coming. Just cruise up, do the business, and leave. All very professional. Still, that part of it was someone's else's pigeon, he hadn't been a copper for a long time and he wasn't going back to it now, not even on an amateur basis.

He waited a moment until the girl lowered the hanky.

‘I have to go to Professor McBride's office. There's something there she wants me to get, some documents concerning work I'm doing for her.' The young woman looked at him doubtfully. She knew him, that he visited McBride, but she didn't know him well enough to let him into the office. ‘Is there someone who can take me into the professor's office? It's quite important and I'm afraid it's a little urgent.' He pushed the lie as far as it would go. ‘She asked for it, for me to get it.'

The girl gave a weak smile, made a call, and then turned to him.

‘Professor Scolari says he will be with you in a minute.'

‘Fine. I'll wait over here.'

Jimmy walked away from the reception window. He didn't want to talk any more. The girl knew nothing that could help him. He stood and waited until the lift door opened and a man in his thirties came across to him. He was good-looking and casually dressed, nothing like Jimmy's idea of a professor.

‘Professor Scolari?'

‘Yes.' He held out a hand. Jimmy took it. ‘You want to get something from Professor McBride's office?'

‘Yes.'

‘Could you tell me what it is and perhaps I could get it for you?'

‘No.'

Professor Scolari waited for more, an explanation, something. But nothing came. Jimmy just stood and looked at him.

‘You understand, Mr Costello, I cannot take you into Professor McBride's office and allow you …'

‘Let's go upstairs, shall we? You can tell me up there what you can't do.'

Scolari hesitated then gave a non-committal shrug.

They went into the elevator and up to the top floor. Scolari stood by the doors as they opened.

‘Now, Mr Costello, perhaps you could explain.'

‘I've already explained. I was sent to get something by Professor McBride.'

But this wasn't a tearful receptionist.

‘No. Professor McBride is in intensive care, we follow her progress carefully. She is not allowed visitors and would certainly not send for anything from her office.'

‘She asked to see me.' Jimmy ploughed on as the professor was about to speak. ‘The medico didn't like it either when I turned up but she'd asked for me, more than once. He didn't like going along with it but I still saw her.' But Scolari still wasn't buying it. ‘I know it sounds all wrong but there it is. She asked for me, the hospital sent for me and I saw her. I'll wait while you check with the hospital if you like.' That helped. ‘I have to get a file from her desk.'

But Scolari still shook his head.

‘No, Mr Costello, as I said, she is in intensive care. I doubt if she would even be conscious or, if she was, that she would make any kind of sense. She would certainly not send you to bring her any file.'

‘She didn't. It's not for her, it's for me. For something I'm doing for her. Something we were working on before she was shot and almost certainly related to her shooting. As you say, she's in intensive care and not allowed visitors but she still made them let me see her. Look, phone the hospital.' The professor thought about it then took out his phone and looked at it. Jimmy gave him a nudge. ‘It's important or she wouldn't have sent for me. It cost her a lot to do that, the doctor told me it might even have killed her.' Then he gave it his last shot. ‘He was the same as you, he didn't like having to make a tough decision either.'

The professor gave him a look, he didn't like the crack. Jimmy didn't think he would, that's why he'd made it.

‘What is it, this file?'

Jimmy could see he was coming round so he decided to tell him the truth.

‘It's a dossier containing information on some people.  One has already been murdered, an old man in Munich a few years back. Another, an old woman, died in Switzerland also a few years back. I have no real idea what it's about other than it involves the woman's legacy which may or may not involve crimes committed during the war. Professor McBride sent me to Paris to begin looking for the dead woman's legal heir. Then she got shot so I came back. She sent for me and told me to keep looking. To do that I need the dossier. Now you know as much as I do and if you finish up dead or in intensive care don't blame me, it will be your own fault.'

That was the clincher, Scolari didn't need any more persuading. If Professor McBride could be shot in broad daylight right outside the building then the sooner this man, whoever he was, was gone the better. Scolari put away his phone and they set off along the corridor to Professor McBride's office. At the door he stopped, pulled out a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door.

‘I will go into the office with you. You are to touch nothing. If what you want is there I shall get it for you.'

‘Sure.'

They went in and crossed to the desk.

‘It's in there, that drawer. A folder with a few pages in it and some photos.' Scolari opened the drawer then looked at Jimmy. ‘OK, my mistake, try the other one. The folder's green.'

Scolari opened the other drawer and took out the green folder. He put it on the desk and they both looked at it.

‘Well, do I get it?'

Scolari continued looking at the folder. Then looked at Jimmy.

‘No.'

It was Jimmy's turn to shrug.

‘Why bring me in here then?'

‘You may look at it but you may not take it. When you have looked at it I will return it to the desk.'

Jimmy could tell that was as far as he would get, Scolari wouldn't budge any further. A look was all he was going to get.

‘OK, open it.'

Scolari flipped the folder open.

Jimmy reached over and pulled the folder to him. The top pages were the ones he had seen before but there was one sheet that was new to him. Clipped to the top left-hand corner of the sheet was a passport photo of a woman, sad-looking, plain, with mousy hair and glasses. A face it would have been difficult for even a professional photographer to flatter and whoever had taken this photo hadn't tried. Jimmy picked up the page. There was a name, date and place of birth.
Veronique Colmar, 5
^th
February 1965, Saigon
. Jimmy looked at the face again, he could see no trace of anything oriental. He looked at the notes under the name, date, and place.

Daughter of Thèrése  Colmar. Father unknown. Present whereabouts …

Jimmy stopped reading. He didn't want to know where she was. If he knew he could be made to tell so he didn't want to know. He looked back at the photo. This was McBride's woman, the one she was going to put in the frame. This was the old whore's inheritor, or the candidate McBride was going to put forward for the job. He closed the folder and pushed it back.

‘Finished?'

Jimmy nodded.

‘I may need to see it again.'

Scolari picked it up, dropped it, into the drawer and pushed it shut. The fear had evaporated, common sense had returned.

‘That will not be up to me.'

‘Who?'

‘Professor McBride.'

‘If she lives.'

Scolari went to the door and waited.

‘If she does not live then it will be up to the governing council of the Collegio or perhaps to the Collegio's lawyers. Perhaps even the police.'

‘That sounds like it would take a long time.'

‘It would, probably a very long time. But if you know Professor McBride at all well you know that if she has survived so far then the probability is that she will live.' Jimmy wanted to believe that, but somehow he didn't share Scolari's faith. But the professor didn't care one way or the other. He was already regretting what he obviously considered to have been an error of judgement and for that error he blamed Jimmy. ‘If you want to visit this office again for any reason please bring with you written permission from Professor McBride when, of course, she is well enough to give it to you. Now you must go. I have work to do.'

They left the office and went down to the ground floor. Jimmy left the building. Scolari stood and watched him all the way out. They didn't shake hands.

Jimmy walked away from the building. McBride had given him a way in. God knows what it must have cost her to get him into the hospital and give him her message. It must have come bloody near to costing her life so it had to be enough to do more than just get in. It had to be enough to get him off and running and keep him going.

So, back to Paris to do what needed to be done. And maybe find the bastards who'd put her where she was now.

Chapter Seventeen

Jimmy's flight landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at eight fifteen in the morning. He had reported to security and asked to speak to someone, explaining that when he had last visited Paris he had been expelled by the police and didn't want any trouble on his return. He had already been waiting for over an hour and a half to see anyone who might be interested in what he wanted and who was prepared to speak English. Two French-speaking-only guys had come to see him and gone away again. Now he was parked in a room almost identical to the one the police had used when he was bounced out of the airport, although this time there were no closed blinds at the windows through which the bright morning sun poured in. Finally a tall man in a smart white shirt, blue tie, and impeccably creased trousers came into the room and sat down at the desk where he had been waiting.

‘I understand you want to speak to somebody about a friend who was deported from this airport …'

‘No.'

‘No?'

‘No. I was deported. It was me.'

‘I see.' The man was very black, spoke beautiful English and didn't seem in any hurry. Jimmy waited. ‘Or perhaps I don't see.'

‘I came to Paris on business, private business.'

‘From where?'

‘From Rome. I live in Rome.'

‘But you are English? You have an English passport.'

Good, thought Jimmy, at least he did a bit of checking before he came to see me. Now I might get somewhere.

‘I live in Rome but I'm English. As you say I have an English passport.'

‘And you came to Paris on private business?'

‘Yes.'

‘Yes. Our records show that you came to Paris from Rome.' He smiled. He had beautiful teeth and he still didn't seem to be in any hurry. ‘And you say you were deported?'

‘Yes. By the police from this airport.'

‘But now you are back and you have come from Rome.'

He waited so Jimmy tried to help him along.

‘Yes, I'm back.'

‘You previously had business?'

‘Yes.'

‘And that business is unfinished? Is that why you have returned?'

‘Yes.  Before I could finish my previous business here I was picked up by the police, brought here, interviewed by what I assumed to be a senior police officer who told me I was to leave the country and not come back.'

The man nodded and thought for a bit.

‘But here you are again. Why were you told to leave?'

‘I wasn't told.' The man's eyebrows rose in surprise, real or pretended Jimmy couldn't tell.

In fact he wasn't at all sure whether this bloke was really confused or pissing him about. He suspected the latter but he didn't want to lose his temper, so if this guy really was pissing him about he would just have to live with it. ‘I was told to leave but I wasn't told why I had to leave. OK?'

‘Ah, I see, yes now I see.' Another pause and Jimmy waited. ‘And what is it, exactly, that you would like airport security to do?'

At last, a sensible question.

‘Tell the police I'm back. Tell them that I'm staying at the same hotel …'

The man held up a hand.

‘Wait, Mr Costello. Wait, please. We are airport security, not a message service. If you want the police to know you are here I suggest you go and tell them yourself.'

‘No. I think it's best if I tell you, so I'm telling you. And I want you to remember that I told you as soon as I arrived. Remember that. I did it before I did anything else.'

‘I'm afraid what you think is not the issue. We are still not …'

Jimmy decided a little pushing would help.

‘Look. I was picked up by an unmarked police car, brought here and bounced out of this airport and out of this country just over a week ago by a senior plain-clothes copper. Maybe I'm a security risk, maybe I'm a danger to the French state, maybe I'm an undesirable alien. I don't know, I wasn't told. But now I'm back and if I get picked up by the police I shall make it very clear to them that I reported my arrival to airport security as soon as I got here and asked that they be informed. Clear?' But he didn't wait for a reply, it was clear all right. ‘And if you haven't passed on the information about my arrival then it'll be your arse in your nicely pressed trousers that will be on the line, sunshine, not mine.' Jimmy got up. The man on the other side of the desk didn't move or say anything. ‘Right, I've officially reported in, now I'll be on my way.'

Jimmy walked to the door of the small interview room and opened it. An armed, uniformed man was outside, he turned and blocked the doorway. Jimmy looked back at the man behind the desk who said something in French. The guard turned away and moved to one side. The black man looked at him for a second before he spoke and when he did there were no more smiles.

‘You are free to go, Mr Costello.'

So Jimmy went.