The Last Exile (19 page)

T
ALLIS RETURNED TO THE
hotel, picked up his belongings and checked out. He didn’t want to shower, didn’t want to eat. There were too many crazy ideas floating round his head. He was thinking of puppetmasters and puppets. He’d taken Cavall at her word, assumed she was working with the full backing of the Home Office and the Prime Minister. Finn had confirmed her credentials, but what if they were false? What if she had another agenda? What if someone else was pulling her strings?

The journey back was horrendous, tailback after tailback on the M6. He arrived home at half past twelve. After dumping his overnight bag in the hall, he walked round the minuscule perimeters of the bungalow, examining pot plants, furniture, and light fittings. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. An electronic listening device had been placed in the handset on his phone. How very antiquated, he thought, thinking of a number of more sophisticated devices and methods of eavesdropping currently in use. He wondered how long it had been there. Taking it out, he destroyed it. For good measure, he walked outside and tossed it into next-door’s dustbin. Apart from the crudeness of the device, the easy deduction
would be that security services were watching him. To what purpose exactly, he wasn’t sure. And, in any case, they were all supposed to be caught up and focused on the terrorist threat. He believed it. The intelligence service couldn’t sustain another cock-up. But what if it was Cavall, operating quite independently, who was watching him?

Next, he checked his messages. There were four, two from Micky Crow: can you get in touch type message. The second was confrontational: “We need to talk and soon.” One from Finn, the other from his mother. Finn’s was short and to the point—call me. His mother’s was loquacious. She sounded sad, Tallis thought, reminding himself of the oath he and Belle had taken. Never say anything. Never shatter his parents’ dreams. Suddenly, he was transported back to that fateful night, almost two years ago now. Ironically, he had been visiting his brother’s house on his mother’s behalf; she’d wanted him to drop by with a gift for Dan’s birthday. With his father falling ill, transport had become a problem; his dad had always insisted on doing most of the driving to the extent that his mother was no longer confident behind the wheel. Certainly, the thought of a trip to Birmingham had been out of the question for her. So Tallis had been acting as good Samaritan. It had been pouring with rain, he remembered.

Tallis rapped at the door for a second time. Rain was sheeting down, flattening his hair against his scalp, some of the moisture trickling down inside his collar. The house was in darkness save for one sickly light shining faint in the hallway. At first, deciding that they were both out, he began to return to his car when he heard a noise, a human voice, like something muffled, a sob maybe.

“Belle?” he said. “Is that you?”

This time he heard the sound more clearly. Yes, it was definitely someone crying. “Belle, it’s me, Paul.”

“Sorry, I can’t come to the door.” Her voice was so strained and quiet, he had to put his ear up right against the wood to hear her.

“Come on, it’s pissing down out here.”

“Paul, just go away.”

Go away? What the hell was going on? “I’m not going anywhere. Come on, let me in.”

“Can’t,” she gulped, weeping again.

“Surely, whatever’s wrong, it can’t be so bad,” he said gently.

More tears. Goodness, he thought, has someone died? “Is Dan there?”

The sobbing verged on the hysterical. Christ, Tallis thought, he’s left her. It was the only conclusion that seemed to make sense. “Is this about Dan?” he asked tentatively.

This time she broke down completely.

“Belle, honey, please, open the door.” He must have pleaded for at least another five minutes before she did. When he saw the half-closed eye, the swollen lip, the cuts and bruises, it was the most shocking sight he’d ever witnessed.

“How could I ever have been seduced by him?” she howled as he put his arms around her in a simple act of kindness. And that’s how it had all begun.

He’d found it easy to lie to his father. He’d never been believed by him even when he’d been telling the truth so what did it matter? His mother had been different. She knew him too well. To protect her, he’d become distant, secretive, falling into the role of guilty son, which he
supposed he was if he were honest, letting her think the worst of him.

Taking his cellphone, he went outside and walked down the road to the little row of shops and found a bench to sit on, allowing the distorting clamour of city traffic to form a natural barrier to anyone trying to listen in. He phoned Crow.

“Ah, the elusive Mr Strong,” Crow said, her voice rasping. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Been avoiding me, by any chance?”

“Not at all. I’ve had a family emergency to deal with.” Always good for an excuse, he thought.

A brief pause indicated that Crow was not convinced. “Our mutual friend,” she began, a sarcastic note in her voice. “Agron Demarku.”

“What about him?” Tallis said, nerves stinging.

“He was found dead.”

“How?” Tallis said. He felt no shock. An ugly picture was snapping into view. Except, of course, to Crow’s eyes, it looked as if he had been part of it—the only reason she was on the blower.

“Fell out of a bedroom window onto metal railings.”

Ouch. “That was careless of him.”

“I assure you, Mr Strong, there was nothing careless about what happened to Mr Demarku. He was most definitely pushed.”

“Where?” Tallis said, feeling slightly numb.

“Place in Camden, on my patch. I’d have come through a little sooner but I’ve been on leave. As soon as I heard, I remembered our cosy conversation down the pub, remembered your interest in the man, remembered the brothel that never was and our two famous woman-hating
Croats. Oh, did I tell you, the woman they abducted died?”

His heart sank. Say as little as possible, he thought. That way she’d be less likely to trip him up.

“As I’m now handling the investigation, I’d like to interview you.”

“In what capacity?”

“In any capacity I deem fit.”

He thought about appealing to the dark side of her nature. Crow was no more a fan of Demarku than he was. She knew exactly what the man had been capable of but, like him, she was a professional. They both recognised that even bad people had rights. Demarku, care for it or not, had been a victim.

“Look, like I said, I’m simply writing about the bloke. You surely can’t think I had anything to do with his murder. It’s a matter of simple coincidence.”

Crow’s laugh was cold. “Was it also coincidence that you were seen in the area near his flat on the morning he was pushed?”

“What?”

“We have CCTV footage that proves you were there.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“You admit it?”

“There’s nothing to admit. Yes, I was there. Yes, I saw him.”

“In his flat?”

“Yes, but it’s a stretch to suggest I was responsible for giving him the grand heave-ho. I mean, why would I do something like that?”

“You tell me, but this time we’re going to do it by the book.”

“Fine,” Tallis said, thinking, Shit. “I’ll come down to
see you. Will I need a solicitor with me? I’m not under caution or anything, am I?”

“No.”

That sounded better. “Thing is, might be tricky just at the moment.”

“With your family emergency.” There was an edge to Crow’s voice that Tallis didn’t care for.

“Yes.”

“We can send a car.”

“All the way from London? I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“Think I’ll decide what’s necessary, Mr Strong, if you don’t mind.”

Oh, God, he thought, how was he going to explain about the name change, that he wasn’t really a journalist at all? “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean—”

“Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock. That all right?”

“Thing is …” Tallis swallowed.

“Yes?”

“The funeral’s tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Good, he thought, that should knock the wind out of her sails. He decided to get even more creative. “My brother was an alcoholic. Years of abuse finally caught up with him. Heavy smoker as well, you see. We’ve had a terrible time, as you can imagine.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry,” she burbled. “Sorry for your loss.”

“So, if we could do this another time?”

“Day after tomorrow, then?” The edge had crept back into her voice.

Fuck, he thought. He’d hoped to buy himself more time than that. Without a choice, he politely agreed.

Tallis got straight on the phone to Cavall. He didn’t quiz her about the bug in his sitting room. He didn’t moan about the mishap with Djorovic, or the cock-up with Hussain, or the latest information on Demarku. He laid everything on the line for her.

“You want me to pull strings to prevent you meeting with Crow?”

“Can you do it?”

“This is becoming a little repetitive,” she said icily.

“Fine. I see Crow. She’ll discover my real identity, know that I’m a liar, and have me arrested. I won’t be much use to you if I’m stuck in some prison cell.”

“True.”

“We have a deal?”

“This is the last time I bail you out.”

Tallis smiled. He liked balance and right now the scales were even on both sides. She needed him as much as he needed her. Next he contacted Finn.

“Nothing on Cavall yet,” Finn announced, “but a guy, believed to be Agron Demarku, was found dead.”

Tallis didn’t tell Finn that he already knew. He wanted to find out if Finn had different information or another angle on the murder.

“According to my source at the MET,” Finn continued, “they think he was involved in a turf war with other dealers.” Interesting, Tallis thought. Crow hadn’t mentioned that particular line of enquiry. She was clearly acting on information that only she was privy to. “Apparently the guy tried to escape by hiding in the loo, but whoever was after him smashed down the door. Whether he was pushed, hurled or jumped is unclear. What was clear he was absolutely rat-arsed.”

“You mean drunk.”
Just like Djorovic
, Tallis thought.

“That’s what that expression usually means.” Finn laughed lightly.

“Demarku was a Muslim. He didn’t drink.”

“Come on, Paul. How many times have you heard about the celibate priest having a fling with his parishioner?”

Wasn’t the same, he wanted to say. The plight of the Lithuanian girl flashed across his mind. What had they done to Elena, whoever
they
were? “How do you view the investigation?”

“Quite honestly, and this is only my take on it, I’m not sure the cops are that focused.”

That’s not the impression Crow gave, Tallis thought. Something that was clear, however, there was little communication between the police and the Home Office. Finn was still speaking. “The bloke, as you said, was here illegally and was a complete bastard by all accounts. Think they view it as one drug dealer taking out another. Happens all the time.”

Trust Micky Crow to take over and get the bit between her teeth. Just my luck, Tallis thought. “Thanks, Finn. I appreciate all that.”

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“This thing with Felka,” he said vaguely.

“Max’s au pair? Yeah, tough one.”

Neither of them spoke. Tallis broke first. “Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“This whole thing with Cavall. Tread carefully, won’t you?” Watch your back was what he meant.

Tallis made a pot of strong coffee and sat and drank and thought, trying to work out the schematic. All three
foreign nationals were dead, two by parties unknown, one by his own hand. Like it or not, it looked as if a death squad was at work. Tallis frowned. A killing machine given the full backing of the British Government? Surely not, and, more to the point, why? Killing a few illegals wasn’t exactly something you boasted about, which meant there had to be another motive, another game plan. Christ, if Cavall was working under orders, it left him with nowhere to turn. So what was the other scenario? That she was acting alone, a rogue agent? But her credentials were impeccable. No, Tallis thought, her
legend
was impeccable. It had happened before. There had always been traitors in the camp. And Cavall wouldn’t be the only one. She was probably a cog in a very large machine. Trouble was, who was fronting it and where did that leave him?

Putting his own position to one side for a moment, he returned to what lay behind the operation. He’d often thought that halfway to cracking a crossword was working out how the architect of the crossword thought. Applying that kind of logic, and working it backwards, there were certain pointers—perfect choreography, manipulation, ruthlessness, above all, power. Conclusion? The people he was charged with tracing, without doubt evil in their own right, were victims. Was there a pattern there? Were there links? Apart from the obvious common denominators, he couldn’t see any.

As for Cavall, his enquiry about Djorovic had been perfectly understandable, arising as it had from the newspaper report. If he called Cavall again, demanding to know what had gone wrong in the arrest of Demarku, she’d know he’d been digging and become alert to his suspicions. So, he concluded, if he were to find out what was
really going on, he had to play along, act the willing partner in her plan, lull her into a false sense of security. Cavall was his only contact to someone much bigger and higher up the food chain so he would use her. The last case—except he now realised there would never be a last case, would always be one more job, one little operation—provided him with the perfect opportunity. This time he wouldn’t let the target out of his sight until he could guarantee full and utter security. If that meant taking on Bill and Ben, who he was now absolutely convinced were bogus immigration officers, Cavall and her paymasters, so be it. He had no choice. They’d kill him anyway once he’d reached the extent of his usefulness. He drained his cup. He imagined the scenarios—car accident, falling into a canal, taking his own life after cracking under the strain, too much booze in his bloodstream, a mugging that went disastrously wrong.