The Bug House (7 page)

‘
I think he looks very nice
,’
a girl
’
s voice opines from the other side of the patio
. ‘
Very Californian
.’

‘
You would, sweetheart
,’
says Peel
.

Melody Peel, her honey-blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail, is lying on one of the sunbeds. She is eighteen years old, wearing a red bikini. She slowly raises her head so she can scrutinize her father and his associates through oversized, red-framed mirror sunglasses
.

‘
You want to get some UV lotion on, girl
,’
Peel remarks
.

‘
Maybe I
’
ll get Mr Vos to rub it on for me
,’
his daughter replies
.

‘
Mr Vos is charged with upholding standards of public decency
,’
Peel points out solemnly
. ‘
And do me a favour, will you?
’
He gestures to an iPod dock that is pumping out Kanye West
. ‘
Turn that crap down. I can
’
t hear myself think
.’

‘
Tell me about it
,’
Melody says tartly, sticking out her tongue and sliding from the lounger
. ‘
I
’
m going to check on the horses, away from you boring men
.’
She picks up her iPod dock and kisses her father on the top of his head
. ‘
Love you, Daddy
,’
she says
.

‘
Love you too, sweetheart
.’

‘
Nice to meet you, Mr Vos
,’
she says coquettishly.

‘
Likewise
,’
Vos says
.

Melody smiles, then sashays through a set of open French windows into the cool of the house
.

Peel chuckles
. ‘
Eighteen years old. Fuck me, where did the time go, eh?
’

‘
It
’
ll be boyfriends next
,’
Al says
. ‘
Then the fun really starts
.’

‘
Yeah, well, we
’
ll see about that
,’
Peel says, all trace of humour suddenly gone from his demeanour
.

There
’
s a moment of awkward silence. Then Al says
, ‘
You should think yourself lucky, Jack. My Maggie was still a bloody tearaway when she was eighteen. She never showed any respect to me or her mother
.’

Peel glances disparagingly at the razor wire jammed between Al
’
s shapeless buttocks, then winks conspiratorially at Vos
. ‘
I
’
m not fucking surprised
.’

‘
It
’
s a thong
,’
Al retorts
. ‘
And I
’
ll tell you something, they
’
re all the rage
.’

Peel snorts back
. ‘
I think I
’
ll give your Janet a call and tell her to take you back. Ever since she kicked you out, you
’
ve been under the delusion that you
’
re twenty-one again and with a waistline to match
.’

For a while they sit and watch the horses in the distant paddock. Then a figure slips out through the French windows. Kimnai Su, Jack Peel
’
s third wife, is soberly dressed in a white blouse and silk sarong. She moves towards her husband on dainty, sandalled feet, carrying three drinks on a silver tray
.

‘
Here she is
,’
Peel exclaims, reaching out his hand and placing it gently on Kimnai Su
’
s backside
. ‘
Why don
’
t you serve our guests first, sweetheart? You remember Mr Vos from our wedding, don
’
t you?
’

‘
Please to make acquaintance
,’
she says, offering Vos a chilled gin and tonic from the tray
.

‘ “
Please to make acquaintance
”,’
Peel says, chuckling
. ‘
Don
’
t you just love that? You ever been to Thailand, Mr Vos?
’

‘
Can
’
t say I have, Jack
.’

‘
You should go. Beautiful country. Beautiful people. They call it the Land of Smiles, you know that?
’

Kimnai Su is a tiny woman of around forty, with plain, almost harsh features. Vos takes the drink and thanks her, but she does not meet his gaze and there is no flicker of a smile on her face. She dutifully serves Blaylock and her husband and then dis-appears back into the house
.

‘
I know what you
’
re thinking, Mr Vos
.’

‘
What
’
s that, Jack?
’

‘
You
’
re thinking: stupid old bastard getting himself hitched to some money-grabbing Thai bride
.’

‘
Not for a minute
,’
Vos says, although he has been thinking precisely that
.

‘
Well, I used to think the same thing
,’
Peel says
. ‘
But I
’
ll tell you this: I wouldn
’
t swap Kimnai Su for a hundred of the old skanks you see wandering round Newcastle, with their fucking spray-on tans and tit jobs. She
’
s no fucking oil painting, I
’
ll grant you that, but she
’
s fucking unconditional. And she
’
s devoted. And you know something else, Mr Vos?
’

‘
What
’
s that, Jack?
’

‘
She
’
s fucking dynamite in the sack
.’

Vos exchanges a fleeting glance with Blaylock
. ‘
Then I
’
m very happy for you, Jack
,’
he says
.

For a few moments nothing is said. Then Peel swings his legs off the sunlounger and leans forward, cradling his glass in his fingers
.

‘
But that
’
s me, Mr Vos. How about you?
’

‘
I
’
m good, Jack
.’

‘
You must be wondering why I asked you here today
.’

‘
It had crossed my mind. It
’
s not about the wedding, is it?
’

Peel
’
s face momentarily clouds. Then he waves his hand, as if swatting an annoying wasp
. ‘
That
’
s ancient history
,’
he says
. ‘
Let bygones be bygones, that
’
s what I say. Life
’
s too short to bear grudges – although if you
’
d wanted an invite, all you had to do was ask
.’

‘
Glad to hear it
.’

Peel raises his glass in a toast
. ‘
I have to tell you you
’
re getting a reputation for good work, Mr Vos. For bringing the undesirables of our wonderful city to book
.’

‘
That
’
s very gratifying to hear
.’

‘
As a businessman, I find it immensely reassuring to know that there are police officers such as yourself looking after my best interests
.’

‘
I do my best
.’

‘
I know. And that
’
s why it grieves me when I think how the city rewards you for your efforts. What are you on, Theo? You don
’
t mind if I call you Theo, do you? What do they pay you?
’

‘
My old mum told me never to discuss my pay packet or who I vote for
,’
Vos says
.

Peel laughs
. ‘
Then she was a wise lady. But specifics aside, I
’
ve got a pretty good idea what your average detective chief inspector
’
s wage is. And believe me, for the job you do, Theo, it
’
s a derisory sum
.’

‘
I get by, Jack
.’

‘
I know you do. But it can
’
t be easy. I mean, there
’
s the young lad to consider. What
’
s his name? Alex? Bright boy, by all accounts. Bright boys deserve the best. A good education at a good school, for starters. But how can you possibly afford school fees on your wages? Especially when half of it goes to the ex-wife. I should know – I
’
ve got a couple myself. Fucking parasites they are. And where is she again, your ex-missus? Oh yeah. Florida. Living it up with that dentist friend of hers. Must be hard to take that, Theo. All your hard-earned going to fund some Florida dentist
’
s lifestyle. And it
’
s not as if they don
’
t earn a packet over there anyway
.’

Vos takes a sip of his gin and tonic
. ‘
You seem very well-informed about my family, Jack. And my finances
.’

‘
I
’
ve had my eye on you for a while, Theo
,’
Peel announces with a wink
.

‘
That
’
s very flattering of you. But unless I win the Lottery, I can
’
t see my circumstances changing anytime soon
.’

‘
Of course not. And they say you
’
ve got more chance of being hit by a meteorite than you have of winning the Lottery
.’

Peel waits patiently until Al Blaylock
’
s sycophantic laughter has passed. Then he leans over and tinks the base of his sweating glass against Vos
’
s
.

‘
I just want you to know, Theo, how much I appreciate the work that you
’
re doing – and if there
’
s anything, anything at all, that I can do to make life more comfortable for you and your family, you don
’
t hesitate to get in touch. Understand?
’

‘Peel was attempting to bribe you?’ Gilcrux says.

‘Bribe. Threaten. Call it what you will. To be honest, I don’t know. Listen, Mr Gilcrux, I know what you’re thinking. Jack Peel had something on me, so I pushed him off a fire escape. But you’re wrong. He was a little man who watched too many
Godfather
films. I’m sure you’ve come across dozens of them in your time. As far as I was concerned, he was a joke.’

Gilcrux shifts slightly in his chair. As he does so, a single bead of sweat emerges from his hairline and begins rolling down his temple. It is the first sign Vos has seen that his interrogator is not made out of wax.

‘Let’s go back to that day at the casino,’ he says. ‘Why were you there?’

‘We had a tip that Peel was taking delivery of a shipment of cocaine from his associates in London. But he had people who worked for him. We certainly weren’t expecting Peel to be there in person.’

‘What happened?’

‘We waited until we got the signal and then we went in.’

‘Signal from who?’

‘One of my squad was working undercover.’

‘I see. Go on.’

‘Peel saw us coming, started running.’

‘And you gave chase?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You personally?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the other members of my team were otherwise engaged with Peel’s men. Because I didn’t want him to get away.’

‘And this pursuit ended up on the fire escape?’

‘Correct.’

‘And then?’

‘Peel continued to evade arrest,’ Vos says. ‘And then he fell.’

‘How?’

‘Because he was trying to jump between two buildings. Because he was fifty-five years old and should have known better than to think he was Spider-Man.’

‘Where were you when he fell?’

‘I was about twenty feet away at the door to the stairs.’

‘Was anything said between the two of you?’

‘I advised him to give himself up,’ Vos says. ‘In fact, I believe I told him not to be such a fucking idiot.’

‘Did he respond?’

‘No. He jumped.’

‘The family claim you pushed him off.’

‘How could they possibly know that?’

‘There are no other witnesses to corroborate your story?’

‘No. DS Entwistle, my undercover officer and one of the uniforms were otherwise engaged with Peel’s associates in the casino.’

‘And it was during this engagement that DS Entwistle was shot?’

‘That’s right. Have you been to see him?’

Gilcrux does not rise to the provocation. ‘And the other uniformed officer?’

‘WPC Lake was covering the perimeter of the building to block any escape from that side.’

‘You saw DS Entwistle get shot?’

‘The reason Vic got shot was because he was doing his job.’

‘But you saw it?’

‘I didn’t see it, no.’

‘You didn’t hear it? I find that hard to believe.’

‘The gun went off in the struggle. Maybe Vic’s body muffled the sound.’

‘You were aware of what had happened, though.’

‘Only afterwards.’

‘You were already in pursuit of Jack Peel.’

‘Yes.’

Gilcrux stares at him inscrutably. ‘How long have you known DS Entwistle?’

‘Twenty years. We came up through uniform together, joined CID at the same time.’

‘So you’d say you were good friends.’

‘Extremely good friends. I was his best man and I’m his daughter’s godfather.’

‘It must be very upsetting for you – the fact he’s in hospital.’

‘Yes,’ Vos says. ‘It is.’

‘I’m going to ask you again, Detective Chief Inspector Vos,’ Gilcrux says. ‘Were you aware that DS Entwistle had been shot before you set off in pursuit of Jack Peel?’

Vos stares at him. They have been in this room for over two hours now.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I was not.’

Two photographs of Ahmed Doe – one of his face, one of his testicles – have been distributed via Interpol to every national police force in Europe. Vos is in his office when the call comes through from the Korps Landelijk Politiediensten, the Dutch national police force known as the KLPD. A polite operator with impeccable English asks him to hold for a short time while she connects him to Chief Inspector Krelis Remmelink of the Amsterdam bureau of IPOL, the police intelligence service.