Kitabı oku: «The Last Exile», sayfa 2

A paved drive led to a gravelled area and what Tallis called the tradesman’s entrance but was really the indoor pool and sauna. Spotting him through the glass, Felka beamed, threw aside the magazine she was reading, and swivelled her neat, deliciously put-together body off the sun-lounger to greet him. Tallis got out of the car, glanced up and smiled for the camera, part of the state-of-the-art security system. He’d personally advised Max on it free of charge after discovering that his mate had been royally ripped off by a cowboy security firm that didn’t know the first thing about protection and was only interested in taking a sizeable wedge of the client’s money each month on a bogus maintenance contract.

“Paul,” Felka said, “I didn’t expect you.” Felka had trouble with x’s and s’s, so it sounded like ‘eshshpect’, one of the many quirky things Tallis found deeply sexy about her. She had flame-red hair, pale features and the greenest eyes imaginable. Slight in build, she was wearing a bikini displaying perfectly rounded breasts and an enviably flat stomach. He suddenly felt old.

She tipped up on her toes and planted two impossibly chaste kisses, one on either side of his cheek. Tallis inhaled her perfume of musk and roses. “Max said you had an interview.”

“Change of plan.” He shrugged.

She studied his face for a moment, her expression suddenly serious. “You are sad,” she said. “I can tell.”

That obvious, he thought. He hoped she wasn’t too much of a mind reader—she’d be appalled by what else he was thinking. “Not for long.” He broke into a grin.

“Come,” she said, grabbing his hand. “We swim.”

“No splashing,” he teased.

The pool was thirteen and a half metres by six and a half, and over two metres deep at the far end. The floor, painted turquoise, gave the impression of clear Caribbean. Tallis let her push him in but not before he’d scooped her up off her feet, making her squeal, and threatened to dump her unceremoniously into the water.

“Promise we talk in Polish,” he said laughing, dangling her squiggling body over the edge.

“I promise. I promise,” she shrieked.

“Rude words, too.”

“Yes, yes.” Yesh, yesh.

Afterwards they sprawled out and watched the warm early July sunshine pour through the smoke-tinted windows. Several statues graced the outer perimeter of the pool. They looked like snooty guests, Tallis thought, sipping the coffee Felka had made.

As far as he understood, Felka was leaving to go home for a holiday the following morning, home being Krakow—a city on the river Vistula. According to Felka, and if he’d grasped it right, Krakow had been the capital during the fifteenth century, existing now as an industrial centre producing tobacco and railway equipment. Who needs work? he thought. This way I get history, geography and a foreign language all in the space of an afternoon.

“Can you tell me how to get from Euston station to Heathrow?” She was speaking in Polish again.

Tallis took a stab at it, pretty sure he had the right vocabulary but, worried he might send Felka off in the wrong direction, lapsed back into English. “Don’t want you ending up in Scotland.” He grinned. “I’ll draw you a map.”

“Good idea,” she said, jumping to her feet. That was the thing he loved about her. She was so full of zing. As she scurried off, he took a long look at her luscious, retreating form. There was something unbeatable about a semi-clothed woman with wet hair.

Felka returned with a notepad and pen and dropped them playfully on his chest. He picked them up and lightly swiped her bottom, making her break into peals of laughter. Sketching the route, he advised her to take a cab rather than tube because she had a very poor sense of geography. She’d once managed to get lost with the kids in the city centre. Penny had spent nearly an hour walking up and down trying to locate her, and that had been with the aid of mobile phones.

Felka frowned. “Much expensive.”

“Too expensive,” he corrected her.

She stuck the tip of her tongue out, half playful, half come-on. Tallis ignored the gesture. “Believe me, it would be safest.”

“No, no, I take the tube. I like the tube,” she insisted.

“But—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Tallis sighed, advising her to take the Victoria line Euston to Green Park and change onto the Piccadilly line for Heathrow. He wrote it all down, sketched a map and handed her the notepad. “You must be looking forward to seeing your family.” He could manage that bit in Polish.

“Especially my little brother,” Felka said. “He changes so quickly. I hope he’ll still remember me.”

“‘Course he will.” How could he forget? Tallis thought.

“And you, Paul. You have a brother, too?”

Tallis flinched, wondering what was coming next. “Yes.”

“His name?”

“Dan. We don’t see so much of each other,” he added quickly, heading her off. “You know how it is.” Except she didn’t, of course. A sudden memory of Dan piling into the bedroom they’d shared, years before, flashed through his mind. Dan had had an infuriating habit of getting up in the middle of the night and switching the lights full on, often to locate his copy of Penthouse magazine. It hadn’t mattered that Tallis had been fast asleep. Usually it had ended in violence. And that had meant their dad had got stuck in. On Dan’s side.

Felka frowned. “That’s sad. Brothers should be close. Is he older or younger than you?”

“Older, but not by much—eighteen months or so.” Not that it felt like it. For as far back as he could remember, Dan had been like their father’s emissary, taking every opportunity to push him around, spy on his activities, report back to base. Because of Dan, he’d been continually in trouble—caught smoking red-handed, out after dark, consuming his first illicit pint, you name it. Because of Dan, he thought darkly, he’d often been humiliated in front of his mates. She nodded thoughtfully then spontaneously took his hand, squeezed it. “I will miss you.”

“No, you won’t. Think of all those lovely Polish lads.”

Felka pulled a face.

“You don’t like Polish boys?”

She let her viper-green eyes rest on his then slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him close. “I think I prefer English,” she whispered softly, nibbling his ear.

Tallis felt quite the gentleman as he drove home. It had been a long time since he’d so firmly rejected the charms of a lovely young woman. It wasn’t that he didn’t fancy her. He’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to, but he knew in his heart of hearts that Felka neither wanted nor needed him. She only thought she did. And she really was very young. There were too many sad bastards flaunting their younger and more malleable girlfriends to shore up their own inadequacies, and Tallis didn’t intend to join their club. Fortunately, his gentle put-down hadn’t offended Felka. He’d told her how gorgeous she was, sensitive and intuitive beyond her years, but that an affair was out of the question because of Max and Penny—they were his friends and she was their employee. It wouldn’t look good. She’d nodded solemnly then broken into a radiant smile. “Another time,” she said.

“Another place,” he agreed in a worldly way, believing he’d spotted something like relief in her young eyes.

“We’re still mates, then,” she said, slapping his arm.

“Best mates.” He laughed.

He got home shortly after six, intending to take something out of the freezer and bung it in the microwave. He’d bought some cheap Italian wine from the petrol station on the way back in honour of his considerable self-restraint and a mark of his confirmed celibate status. If it was good enough for Catholic priests, it was good enough for him.

He parked the car in the lean-to, loosely described by estate agents as a carport, and walked up the short path to the front door, expecting to encounter the same old silence. Except he didn’t. There wasn’t sound exactly, nothing you could readily identify. It was more a recognition of some disturbance, something different, the kind of feeling he’d sometimes experienced as a soldier.

Tallis put the bottle of wine down on the low wall that edged the garden, and moved forward cautiously. Since receiving death threats, he was more attuned to detail, to things not being quite right. A quick visual told him that the porch door was locked, the front door closed. All just as he’d left them. Skirting down the side of the building, he checked the back—again, door firmly locked, no telltale footprints in the overgrown borders, no sign of broken glass or break-in. Peering in through the windows, he saw no signs of disturbance in the kitchen, nobody lurking in the bedroom. Bathroom window was shut tight. At least bungalows had some advantage, he thought as he continued his tour of duty. They might be easy to break into but they were also a doddle to check and clear. Feeling the pressure ease, he glanced in through the side window at the doll-sized sitting room, and tensed. The image seemed to dance before his eyes so that he had to blink twice to take it in: an immaculately dressed blonde, classy looking, hair swept back in a ponytail, long tanned legs, sitting on his sofa, as cool as you like. To add insult to injury, she was flicking through his brand-new copy of Loaded.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHO the bloody hell are you?”

The woman glanced up as if he were an unreasonable husband demanding to know why his dinner wasn’t on the table. “You normally greet people like this?”

“Only when they break into my house.”

She arched an imperious eyebrow and transferred her gaze to the walls. Tallis felt his jaw tighten. “How did you get in?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

She smiled—nice set of white teeth—and leant towards him. “Aren’t you a tiny bit intrigued to know why I’m here?”

She sat back again, uncrossed her legs, re-crossed them. She was wearing a dark brown linen dress with a plain square neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. Her arms were slender, fingers long. Apart from a thin gold necklace, she wore no other jewellery. He estimated her as being the same age as him, possibly a little older. She was actually very beautiful, he thought, and she knew it. She had soft brown eyes displaying vulnerability she didn’t possess, small breasts, about which he had a theory. Women with small breasts were dangerous. You only had to look at Lucrezia Borgia, the illegitimate daughter of a Spanish pope with whom it was rumoured she’d had an incestuous relationship. Even by sixteenth-century standards, Lucrezia was judged to have been cruel and avaricious.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Sonia Cavall.” She extended a hand. He didn’t take it. She let it drop. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing,” Tallis said, ignoring the invitation.

“I’d have thought that was obvious.” She put the magazine away, slowly, carefully, met and held his gaze.

He blinked. This was barmy. She was so composed, so in control. Was he going mad? Or was he missing something? Horrible questions hurtled through his brain. Had they met before? Had he been drunk? Had they slept together? Christ on a crutch, was she pregnant with his child? No. He gave himself a mental shake. He was always very, very careful about stuff like that and he hadn’t slept with a woman for God knew how long. “Explain or I’ll call the police.”

Again the astringent smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.” Confident. Authoritative. He immediately thought spook. “Consider me your fairy godmother.”

Playing games, are we? Tallis thought. All right, baby, let’s play. He donned a smile. “I never read the Brothers Grimm.”

“Should have. They’re quite instructive. Full of moral fervour.”

“Can we cut the crap now?” He was still smiling but he felt fury. Whoever this woman was, she was too smart for her own good.

“What if I said you’ve been selected for a job?”

“What job?” Suspicion etched his voice.

“Finding people.”

He burst out laughing. “Come to the wrong house. It’s not what I do.”

“What do you do?” There was a scathing intonation in her voice.

He should have thrown her out on the spot yet he badly wanted to know what this was all about. “What sort of people?”

“Illegals.”

“A job for Immigration, I’d have thought.”

Cavall said nothing. Tallis tried to fill the gap. Immigration remained in rather a pickle, which was why the latest Home Secretary, like all the rest, had pledged to take a robust approach to failed asylum-seekers and illegal immigrants.

“We’re talking about people released from prison after serving their sentences,” she told him, “and mistakenly released into the community.”

“Mistakenly?” Tallis suspected some inter-agency cock-up.

“They should have been deported,” Cavall said, ice in her voice.

“Not exactly original.” Tallis shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“But these individuals are highly dangerous. It’s feared they may reoffend.”

“Ditto.” And everyone knew the recidivist rate was high. The only difference was that released British lifers were monitored. One slip, even for a relatively minor offence like drunk and disorderly, could land them back in prison. The people Cavall was alluding to had presumably dropped off the radar.

“A decision has been taken at the highest level to have them located.”

Tallis shrugged. So what? he thought. Bung them on a website or something.

Cavall’s face flashed with irritation. “You don’t seem to understand the seriousness of the threat.”

“Oh, I understand. It would be a source of great political embarrassment should it come to the attention of the public, particularly if one of them should reoffend.”

“We don’t want to spread panic and fear,” she said evenly.

“So put your finest police officers onto it.”

“We already have.”

“We?”

“I represent the Home Office.”

This time Tallis’s smile was genuine. Which bit? he wondered. “So this is an arse-covering exercise.”

“Damage limitation,” she corrected him.

To protect reputations and ease some politician’s way up the greasy ladder of success, he thought. “Britain’s finest failed, that right?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the pressure on police resources.”

Code for they’d got nowhere. Doesn’t quite square, he thought. The British live in a surveillance society. With over four million cameras tracking our every move, each time we log on, use our mobile phone or sat nav in our car, fill in a form, make a banking transaction, someone is logging it. Except, of course, the information is fragmented. It takes a measure of expertise to draw the right inferences, match the electronic footprints and plot the trail back to an identity. While the ordinary citizen might feel threatened and guilty until proven innocent by the power of technology, a determined criminal could still manipulate it and evade detection. Either he stole someone else’s identity or had no identity at all. “Why not wheel out the spooks?”

“Snowed under with the terrorist threat.”

Tallis flinched. The security service had foiled many plots since 9/11 and 7/7. They were mostly doing a fine job in difficult circumstances, but the death of Rinelle Van Sleigh was a stain on their history. Somehow, somewhere, there’d been a chronic lapse of intelligence, and for that an innocent woman had paid with her life. To a far lesser degree, so had he: life as he’d once known it was over. “So these individuals aren’t on control orders?”

“They pose no terrorist threat,” Cavall confirmed.

“What happens if and when they’re found?” He suspected a form of extraordinary rendition.

“They’re handed over and deported, like I said.”

“Handed over to whom?”

“I think you’re forgetting that these are extremely dangerous individuals.”

“They still have rights.”

“So did their victims.” Her look was so uncompromising, he wondered fleetingly whether she’d been one of them. “Rest assured, they’ll be handed over to the authorities responsible for deportation.” She smiled as if to put his mind at rest.

“How do you know these people haven’t already left the country?”

“They don’t have passports.”

Tallis blinked. Was she for real? “Heard the word ‘forgery’?”

“No evidence to suggest that’s the case.”

Tallis stroked his chin. That had not been a good answer. There was something fishy about all this. Too much cloak and dagger, smoke and mirrors. What authorities, what agencies? “You say a decision was taken at the highest level.”

“From the very top.”

“And it’s legal?”

“Yes.”

He studied her face—impassive, confident, certain, the type of woman who once would have appealed to him. He idly wondered, in a blokish way, whether she was beddable. “Why me?”

“Because you have the right qualities. We need someone who’ll follow orders, but also kick down doors. We need someone with a maverick streak, Paul.”

Tallis frowned. He didn’t recognise the man she was describing.

“At eighteen years of age, during the first Gulf War, you were part of a reconnaissance troop that came under friendly fire by the Americans. You rescued a colleague showered with shrapnel and pulled several others to safety then, still under fire, retrieved an Iraqi flag, waving it in surrender until the firing ceased. For that you received the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for Heroism. The citation ran ‘outstanding courage, decisiveness under fire’. On joining the police, you became a firearms officer, during which time you fell out with a sergeant who tagged you as a chancer.”

A stupid, dangerous bastard, Tallis remembered. So concerned with procedure, the man daily risked the lives of his men. “I was put back on the beat.”

“And swiftly caught the attention of CID, where you became rather a good undercover operative until you got your old job back and then graduated to the elite undercover team. You also speak a number of foreign languages. Your credentials are impeccable.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

A killer smile snaked across Cavall’s face. “Trust me, Paul. I forget nothing.” She glanced at her watch, an expensive Cartier. “Goes without saying there’ll be generous terms and conditions.”

“Well, thank you but, no, thank you.”

“You don’t have to decide straight away.”

“The answer’s the same.”

Her smile lost some of its light. Tight creases appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was enough, Tallis thought. She’d briefly shown her cards; she hadn’t banked on him refusing her kind invitation. “Don’t be too hasty, Paul. This could be your chance to redeem yourself.”

“Redeem myself?” Tallis scoffed. “From what?”

Cavall leant forward. He caught a whiff of opulent scent. Her eyes were so dark they looked black. “A man sleeps with his brother’s wife and he doesn’t need redemption?”

“How fucking dare you?”

“Your weakness for the opposite sex is well documented,” Cavall said in an even tone.

“Get out,” Tallis said, barely able to control the mist of anger that was fast descending on him, his desire to physically remove her crushing.

“I’ll leave my card,” Cavall said smoothly, slipping one from the pocket of her jacket and placing it on the coffee-table. Her fingernails were short and unpolished. “One more thing,” she added, rising to her feet, “in certain matters, it’s better to obey one’s conscience than obey an order.”

Tallis stared at her. He suddenly felt as if his gut had been gouged with shrapnel.

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, walking stealthily towards the door, “I won’t whisper a word to anyone about your doubts about shooting the black girl.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TALLIS burrowed deeper beneath the duvet. After finishing the wine the night before, it had seemed the obvious thing to hit the Scotch. Bad idea.

He turned over, groaned, his head throbbing with the highlights of last night’s conversation. He’d already come to the deeply unsettling conclusion that Cavall had used her Home Office contacts to get into his home. How she’d been privy to such personal and what he’d thought confidential information he was less certain, though that too seemed to point in the same direction. Clearly, someone, somewhere had talked. Not that he was denying Cavall’s obvious powers of persuasion. Hers was a rare combination of cleverness and good looks. No point having those kind of attributes if she didn’t exploit them. She’d done her homework well, using the intelligence with rapier-like precision. He was still bleeding from the final thrust.

The only person who could have betrayed him was Stu, but Tallis didn’t believe his old friend would do such a thing, not even if he were absolutely trousered. Tallis pulled a pillow over his head, thinking that this was a morning when he really didn’t want to go out to play. Budding Jimmy Paige next door wasn’t helping. Perhaps if he lay very, very still, his head would stop hurting and his mind stop racing. But they didn’t. Instead, his thoughts dragged him kicking and screaming to a period of time he didn’t want to revisit, to him and Belle, to the exposure of their affair.

They’d been seeing each other intimately for about six months. On this particular occasion, Belle had told Dan that she was letting off steam in town with some of the girls from the Forensic Science Service where she worked. In truth, the two of them were meeting at a bustling country pub eighteen miles away. Later on, when Belle had called Dan from her mobile to let him know she’d be back later than expected, making the excuse that she was going onto a restaurant with the girls for something to eat, she’d accidentally left her phone line open. Worse, she’d left the phone on the table where they’d been sitting, exchanging sweet nothings. Dan had heard her every word, every promise, every declaration. He’s also identified the man to whom she’d been making them. The fallout had been devastating.

“Don’t you ever darken my door again,” his dad had spat in the aftermath. “Know what’s going to happen to you?” he’d added with breathtaking savagery. “You’ll end up walking the streets, holes in your shoes, stinking of piss, with a carrier bag in your hand. A useless nobody. Just like you’ve always been.”

And, yes, Tallis felt remorse, guilt about the affair, about the betrayal of his brother, but there had been extenuating circumstances. In reality, had either he or Belle exposed the truth, the consequences would have been cataclysmic.

Tallis struggled out of the covers and forced himself into a cold shower. Dried and dressed, he downed a handful of painkillers with a pint of water, made strong coffee and picked up the phone. It was coming up for noon. The line rang for a considerable time before being answered. Tallis didn’t dwell too heavily on the standard hi, how are you warm-up routine. He could tell from Stu’s voice how he was—grim, sense of humour failure, depressed.

“You ever spoken to anyone about my reservations about the Liberian girl?”

“Fuck you take me for?” From sour to fury in 0.4 seconds.

“Fine,” Tallis said.

“Why?” Stu growled. There was a paranoid hitch in his voice.

“Nothing, nothing. Know how it is. Too much time on my hands, I expect.”

His poor-old-soldier act had the intended effect of softening his friend’s prickly edges. “No luck, then? Still doing the warehouse job?”

“Got one or two irons in the fire,” Tallis said, jaunty. Who was he kidding?

“Glad for you, mate. Does your heed in, not having a proper job. I should know.”

“But you’re all right,” Tallis pointed out.

“Aye, pushing bits of paper around.” His voice was corrosive.

If Tallis had been a decent sort of a mate, he’d have told Stu that he was never going to get his old job back as long as he was on the sauce. Truth was, Stu wasn’t in the mood for listening. Hadn’t been for quite some time.

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the past, Paul. Won’t do you any good.”

Tallis could have said the same. Why else was Stu drinking himself to hell in a bucket? “You’re right,” he said. “Well, you take care, now.”

“Aye, have to meet for a bevy.”

“You’re on,” Tallis said, eyes already scanning his address book for the next number on the list.

This time it was answered after the first ring.

“Christ, you’re quick off the draw.”

“Right by the phone. How you doing?” Finn Cronin’s voice was full of warmth and, for a moment, Tallis was reminded of Finn’s brother, Matt. Matt had served with Tallis way back. They’d joined the army together, trained together, got drunk and pulled birds together. Matt had been the colleague he’d rescued under friendly fire. In spite of Tallis’s best efforts to save him, Matt hadn’t made it home.

“Good,” Tallis lied. “And you?”

“Not bad. Carrie’s pregnant again.”

“Christ, how many’s that?”

“This will be our fourth. But that’s it.”

“Going for the unkindest cut of all?” The thought made his eyes water.

“Carrie’s idea. Doesn’t want to spend the rest of her days on the Pill, screws around with her body apparently, mood swings, headaches, mostly.”

“Fair enough,” Tallis said, feeling awkward. “I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”

“You want to doss down at ours for the weekend.”

“Smashing idea but no.”

“Pity. I’d hoped we could have a repeat of the Dog and Duck.”

“Only just recovered from last time.” Tallis let out a laugh. “No, it’s…” He hesitated. Was he asking too much of Finn? Would it put him in a difficult position? Oh, sod it. “I need something checked out.”

“Come to the right man. I spend my entire life checking things out.”

“Well, it’s not a thing exactly, more a person, a cool-looking blonde, actually.”

“Tell me more,” Finn said, voice throbbing with curiosity. “I can feel my journalistic streak stirring.”

That what these Southerners call it, Tallis thought drily. “Her name’s Sonia Cavall. She’s connected to the Home Office.”

“The Home Office?” Finn sounded amazed. “And you’re asking me to check her out?”

“That’s about it, yes.”

“Nice looking, you said.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Finn laughed. So what’s it really like? his voice implied.

Tallis held back. He’d known Finn for years. After Matt’s death, they’d vowed never to lose touch so that whenever Tallis was in the West Country, he made a big point of seeing him. However long the absence, they always had a blast. Tallis was also godfather to Finn’s youngest son, Tom. Tallis trusted Finn, but he was still a journalist and God knew what he might do with the information. “She’s tying up loose ends, you know, from last year,” he said elliptically.

“Right,” Finn said, his curiosity seemingly appeased. “Timescale?”

“Soon as. Don’t kill yourself for it.”

They talked a bit. Tallis sent his love to Carrie and the kids, double-checked Tom’s birthday, which happened to be the following week then signed off.

In the two hours before he went to work, Tallis tidied up, pulled on some sweats and trainers, and went for a run in the hope that it would flush the last of the alcohol from his system. A shower and cheese sandwich later, and dressed in black trousers and a bright white shirt with the company logo emblazoned on the breast pocket, he drove the short distance to the out-of-town warehouse where he worked.