The Last Exile (23 page)

“Fear.”

“Of being investigated?” Nowadays Health and Safety would have a field day, Tallis thought.

“Of being found out.”

Tallis met her eye. She was first to break contact. “Like to explain?” he said.

She spoke slowly, carefully. “Rasu came into the UK by lorry. It was no accident that he fetched up at Jackson’s garage in Smethwick.”

“You mean Jackson smuggled him in?”

“That’s what Rasu believed.”

“You mean he didn’t know?” Tallis said, incredulous.

“You have to understand there are many people involved in trafficking, many links in the chain. The person you pay the money to, the one you see at the beginning, in the middle and at the end, is not necessarily the same. Rasu thought Jackson was doing him a huge favour at first, offering him gainful employment. As time passed and he realised what was expected of him, the more suspicious he became. There were other lorries coming back, other people moved in the middle of the night.”

“Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because Rasu had no hard evidence, couldn’t communicate, and it was ages before he told me. You have to put it in the context of what he’d already suffered. Authority isn’t something you tangle with. He thought he wouldn’t be believed. And anyway he feared being sent back. By the time he told me, it was already too late—he’d been convicted.”

“You didn’t think to appeal?”

“On what grounds? Didn’t alter the material facts of the case.”

“All right,” Tallis said, wondering if jokey Jace was continuing the family tradition. “Going back to the accident. Rasu ignored advice and went to hospital anyway?”

“Not until a week later. He was getting terrible chest pains. When he tried to walk up the flight of steps to his bedsit, he began to cough up blood. Alarmed, he went to the nearest A and E where he was examined and it was discovered he’d had an embolism.”

“They keep him in?”

“For a week. He was given heparin to start with, to break any other clots down, then prescribed a course of warfarin.”

“Which is what Forensics found in his DNA.”

“Except they couldn’t have.”

Tallis smiled kindly. “I know there’s a current trend for discrediting DNA evidence as the be all and end all but …”

“Know how warfarin works?”

“It’s a blood thinner.”

“An anticoagulant. It works by inhibiting the action of vitamin K but the dose has to be carefully monitored. Too much and you bleed too freely. Too little and it’s not terribly effective. Mostly it’s used in the short term. Only patients, say with a history of heart or blood problems, are on it for life.”

“But Rasu. That was only for a short period?”

The hesitation was fractional, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Tallis believed he saw her decide to lie. “Yes.”

“So what are you saying exactly?”

“Warfarin stays in the bloodstream for a certain period of time, which is why if patients require an operation, or
even a tooth out, they have to come off the drug, or take a greatly reduced dose so that they don’t bleed too profusely during surgery.”

Which explained why Barzani’s nose had bled so freely when he’d only had a minor blow, Tallis realised. Sorry, Miss Constantine, he thought, you’re definitely not telling the truth. “How come you know so much about it?”

“My brother’s a GP.”

Tallis nodded for her to continue.

“At the time of the murder, Rasu had finished his course of tablets. He was only on a low preventative dose of three milligrams in any case.”

“What was the time frame?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

“Cutting it fine, surely? Maybe the guy’s got a slow metabolism.”

“He didn’t do it,” she insisted.

Tallis returned to his car and called Belle at the Forensic Science Service where she worked. “I need you to get hold of the SOCO notes on the Barzani case, forensic evidence as well, if poss.”

Belle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Paul, I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”

“My job’s important. For God’s sake, Paul, why are you still going on about that Iraqi?”

“I want to know whether he did it or not.” Not that it would help in finding him. Not that it would make any difference. Well, a moral difference maybe. “Something else.”

“Yeah?” She sounded weary.

“Warfarin—how long does it stay in the body after a patient stops taking it?”

“Don’t know. I could maybe find out.”

“It’s a rat poison, isn’t it?”

“So?”

“Maybe the site had rats on it. Maybe someone put poison down to get rid of them and it got muddled up with the blood sample.”

“I have to go,” she said tersely. “Talk to you later.” She hung up.

Tallis drove back to the bungalow via the newsagent’s. Making himself coffee, he parked himself on the sofa and started to read a report about a corrupt immigration official helping failed asylum seekers to stay in the country by exploiting a loophole in the law in exchange for cash, but Tallis’s eyes only skimmed the print. His mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of forensics, of Belle, of the familial connection. He was thinking of Jace Jones, of the illegal trade in people. Bigger picture or both unrelated threads? What if Belle was protecting Dan? he thought, stomach churning. What if—? His phone was ringing. He wandered through to the kitchen, picked up. It was Finn. He sounded worried.

“We need to talk.”

“Sounds urgent.”

“It is.”

“When?”

“Soon as.”

Tallis glanced at his watch. “Be with you by one-thirty. Come to the house?”

“No, make it the pub.”

“Dog and Duck?”

“Too local. The Catherine Wheel.”

“All right.”

“No, second thoughts,” Finn said, agitated. “I’ll meet you at Cirencester.”

“You sure?”

“One-thirty at the Wagon and Horses.”

T
HE
pub was quiet for a Friday in summer. Tallis had finished his pint of IPA and was wondering whether to order another. Finn, always so punctual, was late. Tallis told himself that it was roadworks, an accident, some lastminute hitch at home, but Finn hadn’t phoned to say he’d be late, and he hadn’t returned either of the two calls Tallis had made. It was just coming up for twenty-five minutes to three.

Tallis ordered a mineral water, took it back to his corner, nursing it, trying to work things out. The more he thought about it, the more choices he realised he had. Not great choices, admittedly, but as long as Barzani was on the run, he and Barzani were safe. The moment he tracked him down, another death would be added to the growing list, and afterwards quite possibly his own. So, at the moment, he had more control than he’d originally thought.

Half an hour later, Tallis emptied his glass. Still no sign of Finn. Leaving a message with a friendly-faced girl behind the bar, in case Finn should turn up, Tallis headed for the car park, slipped into the Rover, and drove it like he was in the Z8. If it didn’t fall to bits after this, he
thought, hairing down the A road towards the M4, he’d be amazed.

Bartholomew House, a solidly built red-brick family house next to a garden nursery, lay in the middle of the farming community of North Wraxall, eight miles outside Bath. Tallis tore up the drive, sending bits of gravel flying and disturbing a family of geese who made their displeasure known by hissing and honking loudly, wings flapping. Finn’s car, a Volvo, was nowhere to be seen, though deep ruts in the drive suggested that he’d left in a hurry. What disturbed Tallis most was the open front door. Finn and Carrie often boasted how safe they felt living where they did. Since a spate of burglaries, however, they’d started to take more security measures. They’d even had an alarm installed.

Tallis crossed the gravelled drive and rang the bell, keeping his finger full on for several seconds. Nothing. He pressed it again then stepped quietly inside, the silence as startling as the vision of chaos. One chair lay overturned, a vase of flowers upended on the floor, toys everywhere. Seized by a dark cold fear, he silently checked and cleared each room. He didn’t know if anything, other than people, was missing. On wandering through to the utility room, he found the alarm on the wall and cringed. Inky marks on the keypad, evidence of constant use, showed exactly which digits formed the combination. A determined intruder could work out the code and disable it in minutes. Had Finn been seized? Where were Carrie and the kids?

Tallis sat down, trying to think, guilt obstructing any clarity of thought. He shouldn’t have involved his friend. He’d been told to keep things secret and time and time again he’d blatantly disregarded the advice. He was a
stupid, arrogant fool. Obviously, Finn had made a discovery, hence all the cloak and dagger about rendezvous, but what exactly had been discovered? Had to be something about Cavall, Tallis thought.

The sound of a car careering up the drive got his attention. He stood up, went to the window, not recognising the silver-grey Yaris parking outside. When Finn got out, Tallis was jubilant with relief.

“Christ, am I pleased to see you,” Tallis said, clapping his old friend on the back.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Finn said, clearly agitated. He was smaller than Matt had been, although there were certain similarities so that sometimes Tallis felt as if it was the old days, and Matt was still alive. Both brothers had similar sandy-coloured hair, a complexion that burnt easily, ice-blue eyes. In character, they were quite different. Bit like him and Dan, he supposed, except Finn was a decent human being who didn’t thump his wife.

“What happened? You look as if you’ve been up all night?”

“I have, actually. It’s Maeve.”

“The baby?”

“She hasn’t been well for a couple of days, snuffly nose, bit of a temperature, you know the sort of thing.” Tallis didn’t but nodded sympathetically anyway. “Carrie took her to the doctor’s this morning after yet another dreadful night, but he couldn’t find much wrong so I never gave it a moment’s thought when I arranged to see you. Shortly after I put the phone down, Maeve had a febrile convulsion.”

“Christ. Is that serious?”

“Not as terrible as it sounds. Basically, Maeve’s temperature soared and she overheated, making her fit.
Frightened the shit out of Carrie and me. We literally dropped everything, bundled the kids into the car and drove to the hospital.”

“Poor Maeve. She all right now?”

“Seems to be. They packed her with ice to bring down her temperature, which she didn’t like terribly much. They reckon our GP missed a brewing throat infection. I’ve left Carrie with Maeve at the hospital, and dropped the kids off with Carrie’s mum. Even had to borrow her car as mine’s run out of petrol. Sorry I didn’t phone.”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, you obviously need to get back to the hospital. We can do this another time.”

“No,” Finn said, fixing his ice-blue eyes on Tallis. “There are things you should know.”

“That serious?”

“Depends. Give me five minutes to collect some stuff for Carrie and the babe. You can follow on in your car.”

They went to a pub called The Crown. It was quiet, only the odd tourist enjoying an afternoon pint and a couple of girls discussing boys. Finn suggested they sit out in the garden. Tallis got the drinks, single Scotch for Finn and yet another mineral water for himself.

“So,” he said, watching as Finn took a healthy gulp.

“Christ, that’s better. All right,” Finn said, his blue eyes lasering Tallis. “Sonia Cavall. I take it you’ve met her?”

“Several times.”

“What did she ask you to do?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Fair enough.” Finn took another gulp. “Did she tell you that she was born Sonia Carew?”

“No,” Tallis said, feeling his gut sharpen.

“Sonia Carew was the daughter of James and Josephine Carew. When Sonia was nine, her father was killed by a hit-and-run driver. Sonia, who was walking with him at the time, witnessed the entire event. Having been dragged several yards down the road, James died in her arms.” Finn picked up his glass, swilled the amber contents round the base. He was like a barrister setting the scene before working himself up to the final cross-examination, Tallis thought, remembering with anxiety his last time in court—the wigs and the robes, the rising and sitting, the drama, the deference, the pecking order. Intimidation masked as theatre. If he hadn’t been giving evidence in the dock, he’d have found it enjoyable. Finn continued.

“The man who committed the crime was driving without a licence. In fact, he shouldn’t have even been in the country. He also happened to be black, a fact that assumes later significance.”

Oh, God, Tallis thought.

“Sonia’s mother suffered a nervous breakdown and Sonia went to live with relatives for two years. When her mother finally recovered, Sonia was taken to live in Germany. While there, Josephine met Ralph Cavall. They married and Sonia took his name.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Some of it care of the Freedom of Information Act. Some of it worked out from Public Records, the rest from a source who’d prefer not to be named.”

“Be wrong to draw conclusions.”

“I agree,” Finn said, disarmingly.

Tallis took a sip of water, wishing it was whisky and nodded for his friend to continue.

“Cavall didn’t let her tragic past stand in the way of
her education. You often find children who’ve lost a parent go on to excel in their chosen field,” Finn said, more as an aside. “After glittering results, she went to Cambridge …”

“And studied political science.”

“Where she was tutored by a guy called John Darius.”

“Darius,” Tallis murmured. The name was strangely familiar to him. “Hang about. Isn’t he BFB?”

“Britain for the British,” Finn agreed. “But actually he’s better known in business circles for his chain of health spas and leisure centres. He also has a rare knack for buying up ailing companies and turning them around.”

“An entrepreneur with the Midas touch.”

“I’ll say. He’s reputed to have a personal fortune in the region of forty million. He’s also rumoured to have links with a shadowy right wing organisation calling themselves Fortress 35.”

“A reference to the thirty-five shire counties, defence of the realm and all that stuff.”

“You’ve heard of them.”

“Only because I caught the tail end of a documentary on TV.”

“They make all the official outfits and even some of the heavy-duty splinter groups like Combat 18 look like Boy Scouts.”

Tallis resisted rubbing his hands over his face. “Think Cavall was recruited to the cause?”

“You tell me. All I’ve given you is the facts.”

Tallis stared at him. Finn was smart. It wouldn’t take him long to piece things together. “What’s Darius like?”

“I’ve never met him but people say he’s a charmer. An educated man, he enjoys the good things in life. Lives in some bloody great pile in the Essex countryside.”

“Yet he appeals to uneducated people.”

Finn smiled. “That’s only your take.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I agree the supporters of the BFB aren’t what one would call liberal thinkers.”

“This new group you spoke of. What are its aims exactly?”

“To destabilise society. They want to create anarchy by stirring up hatred for anyone who doesn’t fit their particular brand of Englishness, never mind Britishness. With the current debate about immigrants, Muslims and the terrorist threat, they’ve taken every opportunity to exploit the situation. They may have the Cross of St George as their symbol, but there’s nothing terribly chivalrous about their methods. If you hear a black man’s been found dead with an ice-pick in his head, don’t be surprised if the perpetrator hasn’t had some link, however tenuous, with the group. They work in exactly the same way as al-Qaeda, tiny cells all over the country, motivating the faithful.”

“To kill?”

“Yes.” Finn downed his whisky and looked at his watch.

“Another?” Tallis said.

“I should say no, but, yes. I’ll get them.”

Tallis sat quietly. This was one of those
oh, my God
moments when everything was supposed to snap into sharp focus. Except it didn’t. He suddenly realised that all the things that had attracted him to the mission, the fact that he’d been his own boss with no rules to be obeyed, no notebooks required for police evidence so that a smartarse defence lawyer couldn’t crucify him in court, had cruelly exposed his vulnerability. Finn returned with the drinks. “Got you a Scotch. Look like you need it.” Tallis
flashed a grateful smile, held Finn’s eyes with his gaze. “Want to know what this is all about?”

“You asking me, a journalist?” Finn grinned. “I’m dying to know.”

“Swear to keep it secret? Swear not to investigate?”

Finn’s face creased into a frown.

“Swear!”

“All right.”

Tallis let out a hesitant sigh. “If I tell you, it may compromise your safety.”

“Think I already worked that one out.” Finn laughed.

“Cool with this?”

“Icy.”

Tallis began at the beginning, starting with Cavall’s visit, her proposition, his instant refusal then change of heart following Felka’s murder. He told Finn about each of the targets, the way he’d traced them, the handover, reminding Finn of the way in which Demarku and Djorovic had died, what had happened in Hussain’s case.

“Not all of this may be linked. Some of this could be sheer bad luck,” Finn pointed out reasonably.

“Not something I believe in, especially with what you’ve told me about Cavall.”

Lastly, he told Finn about Barzani, his suspicions of a miscarriage of justice, the odd coincidence of Dan’s involvement. He told Finn that he believed the Iraqi to be innocent.

“And in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Know where he is?”

“I’ve a shrewd idea how to find him.”

“Then you should warn him.”

“Easy enough.”

“But what about Cavall?”

Tallis felt a sudden, grim inevitability about the path he’d chosen. “Can’t fail to win.”

“But this is legalised murder,” Finn protested.

“And I’m an accomplice,” Tallis said with a wry smile. “Who am I going to complain to?”

“She’s not above the law.”

“She works for the British government, a government who had this great idea of tracking down the very people they released.”

“That’s only what she told you. She could have been making it up.”

“She could, but how do you think the great British public would react if this got out?”

“Rioting and worse in the streets,” Finn said glumly.

“Exactly,” Tallis said. “Out of the law-abiding, there’s a large proportion of people who believe we should never have got into Iraq or Afghanistan, that we went to war on a lie. They think dossiers were sexed up, whistleblowers silenced, even that a weapons scientist was bumped off. I’m not saying it’s true,” Tallis said, in answer to Finn’s exasperated look, “but nobody would believe the government line. It’s a matter of trust and, rightly or wrongly, they lost that some time ago.”

“So, if you went to the top, they’d say thanks very much and bury it?”

“And Cavall would deny everything.” She’d made that perfectly clear from the outset. “Probably have me killed.”

Finn gave an involuntary shudder. “These people you talk about, Bill and Ben.”

“A bloke and a woman, actually.”

“Where do they fit in?”

“Obviously part of the conspiracy. If they’re truly immigration
officials then I’m the President of the United States.”

“So, let me get this straight. Cavall is using you to track these people down for her thugs—”

“Or Darius’s thugs,” Tallis chipped in.

“To eliminate them.”

“Correct. But there has to be more to it, some greater political motive.”

“To discredit the government, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Tallis shrugged. He took a pull of his drink. “The BFB. They hold rallies and meetings, don’t they?”

“Yup. Next one’s in Barking.”