Cold Kill (11 page)

‘I run,’ he said.

‘You know what I mean. Socialise.’

‘You’re not asking me out, are you?’ said Shepherd, with a grin.

Gift’s cheeks reddened, but she laughed. ‘There’s your defence mechanism kicking in again,’ she said.

Shepherd held open the door for her. ‘What if I did ask you out?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Dinner. Or a movie.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure. We never have a problem finding something to talk about, do we?’

Gift frowned, evidently trying to work out if he was serious or not. ‘It’s against protocol,’ she said eventually.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Okay.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Pity.’

Her frown deepened. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

Shepherd watched her walk down the path, high heels pecking at the flagstones. As she reached the car she dropped her keys and bent down hurriedly to retrieve them. She glanced over her shoulder as she straightened, then looked away quickly when she saw that Shepherd was watching her.

Shepherd smiled to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. He’d been joking at first, but once he saw that she was considering his offer he’d wanted her to say yes. She was right, of course: there was no way that a police psychologist could go out with a man she was monitoring. She had to be impartial and independent: a date would be a clear conflict of interest.

And she was right that it had been a long time since he’d gone out with a woman for anything other than professional reasons. The last time he’d seen a movie it had been with Sue. The last time he’d eaten Chinese food it had been with Sue. He hadn’t been on holiday since Sue’s death.

He made himself a fresh cup of coffee. As he put away the milk and closed the fridge, he gazed at a photograph of his wife and son stuck to the door with a magnet in the shape of an apple. Liam was in fancy dress, wearing a pirate’s outfit and brandishing a plastic cutlass. Sue had her arm round him and she was smiling proudly at the camera. They’d taken the picture using a timer because Shepherd had been away on a job in the West Country. He had been away so much when Liam was growing up, always on some job or other. If he’d known then how little time he had left with Sue he’d have spent every minute with her. Now it was too late. She was gone and he and Liam had each other.

He took his mug of coffee out into the garden and sat down at the wooden table by the hedge. Sue had chosen it and the two wooden bench seats at the local garden centre, but the instructions for putting them together had been in Chinese or Japanese so it had taken him several attempts. The benches still weren’t right and he had to stick pieces of folded cardboard under the legs to stop them wobbling. Sue had been pregnant with Liam and she’d used it as an excuse to avoid the heavy work, standing behind him with one hand on her swelling belly as she laughed at his D-I-Y efforts.

‘Oh, Sue, I miss you,’ Shepherd whispered. He remembered the last time he’d seen her as vividly as if it had been yesterday. He’d been undercover in a high-security prison, posing as an armed robber on remand so that he could get close to a drugs baron. Sue had come in with Liam for a visit, but to stay in character it had been vital to make it look as if they were having marital problems. As she left, she’d yelled at him, her voice loaded with venom, ‘I hate you! I hope I never see you again, ever! You can rot in here for all I care!’ They had been the last words she had ever said to him. Tears stung his eyes. He knew she had been playing a role, which he’d asked her to play, and he knew, too, that she had loved him and he loved her, and that she hadn’t meant what she’d said, but it was so damned unfair that it was his last memory of her. He hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye properly, to tell her how much he loved her and how important she was to him . . .

It was futile to accuse life of being unfair. Life wasn’t fair or unfair, it was just life. You played the hand you were dealt, and that was it.

Shepherd looked around the garden. The grass had to be cut and the fruit trees pruned, while the rockeries that Sue had tended so lovingly needed weeding. The garden had always been Sue’s province, and he hadn’t touched it since her death. Katra had planted a few herbs by the kitchen and she’d told Shepherd that she’d mow the lawn but he’d said he’d take care of it. He would, too, as soon as he had time.

He looked at the unkempt lawn where Liam had taken his first steps, where he’d taught him to kick a football, where they’d played cowboys and Indians until Sue had said she didn’t want Liam messing around with guns, even make-believe ones. Shepherd couldn’t remember the last time he’d played with his son. Really played, the way they had when Sue was alive. He promised himself he’d spend more time with his boy. Quality time, as the TV psychologists put it.
And
he’d cut the grass. He sipped his coffee. Tomorrow.

He heard a mobile phone ring and hurried back into the kitchen. It was Hargrove.

‘I’ve bad news, Spider,’ said Hargrove. ‘Rudi Pernaska’s dead.’

‘How?’

‘He killed himself.’

‘Why the hell did they let that happen?’

‘They couldn’t have stopped him. He bit his wrist open. Gnawed through a vein.’

Shepherd cursed under his breath.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Spider.’

‘Like hell it wasn’t,’ hissed Shepherd. ‘I told him we’d found the cans.’

‘We’re not sure that’s why he did it.’

‘What? You think he just got depressed and decided to top himself? He did it because he knew we were on to him. Which means he was more scared of them than he was of us.’ Shepherd slammed his hand on the counter.

‘We couldn’t have known he’d react like that,’ said Hargrove. ‘And whether or not we told him we’d found the money, it would have come out eventually. It wasn’t our fault. The moment the Pernaskas paid for passage on Pepper’s boat, that money was going to turn up.’

Shepherd bit his lower lip. The superintendent was right. Shepherd had just been the bearer of the bad news. If Rudi hadn’t heard it from him, he’d have heard it from someone else. But that didn’t make the man’s suicide any easier to accept. He remembered how grateful he had been when he came to see Shepherd in the hospital ward. And how the man’s wife had kissed his hand. And how they’d promised that their daughter Jessica would never forget the name of the man who’d saved her life. Except that the name Shepherd had given them had been a lie. It had all been a lie.

‘What’s next?’ he asked.

‘We’ll talk to the wife,’ said Hargrove.

‘Widow,’ said Shepherd.

‘What?’

‘She’s a widow now. You’ll talk to the widow.’

Hargrove sighed. ‘I know you’re upset, Spider.’

‘I’m sorry. They were nice people, that’s all. They just wanted a better life and now he’s dead and the kid’s lost her father.’

‘There’s nothing we can do to change that. All we can do now is go after the guys he was afraid of. Chances are that he was coerced into carrying the money. The way you tell it, he might not have known there was cash in those cans. It’s not a problem. I’ll get a female officer to talk to the wife, find out what she knows.’

‘She doesn’t speak English,’ said Shepherd.

‘We’ll fix up an interpreter,’ said Hargrove.

Shepherd sighed. ‘Maybe I should be the one to talk to her,’ he said.

‘It’s not your problem.’

‘She might respond to me. She’s grateful because I saved her daughter. And I doubt that she thinks I’m anything to do with her husband’s suicide.’

‘We haven’t told her yet,’ said Hargrove.

‘What?’

‘As soon as she knows he’s dead, she’ll shut down,’ said Hargrove. ‘We’ll get nothing out of her. We’ll interview her first, then tell her. It has to be that way.’

‘It’s one hell of a world, isn’t it?’ said Shepherd.

‘We don’t make the rules,’ said Hargrove. ‘We just play by them. There’s nothing we can do to bring him back, but we can go after the men who put the family in harm’s way.’

‘And what happens then? She and her kid get sent back?’

‘If she helps us, we can fast-track her to a residency visa,’ said Hargrove.

‘And if she can’t?’

‘Then we’ll do what we can. If she’s a genuine Kosovan, there’s a good chance she’ll get refugee status anyway.’

‘We owe her,’ said Shepherd. ‘However this pans out, we owe her.’

‘Agreed,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll do what I can, I promise.’

‘When do we do it?’

‘The sooner the better,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll get Sharpe to pick you up. She’s still at the hospital so we can do the interview there. I’ll find a room and an interpreter.’

Shepherd did the calculations. It was a four-hour run up to Newcastle, even if the traffic was good. An hour for the interview. Maybe two. Four hours back. With the best will in the world he wouldn’t be home before midnight. He’d have to take a raincheck with the major. ‘I’ll be ready,’ he said. ‘How do I play it?’

‘Dead straight,’ said Hargrove. ‘Short of telling her that you’re an undercover cop, of course. Tell her you’re co-operating with the police, tell her we’ll help her stay in the country if she helps us.’

‘Okay,’ agreed Shepherd. ‘Will you be there?’

‘Your call.’

‘I guess I don’t need back-up,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not as if she’s likely to turn nasty. By the way, the lovely Doctor Gift dropped by this morning.’

‘Must be that time of the year again.’

‘Nothing to do with you?’

‘You’re due your biannual check, aren’t you?’

‘Just so long as that’s all it is,’ said Shepherd. ‘I thought maybe you’d sent her to see if I was suicidal after my dip in the sea.’

‘You’re not, are you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘There you are, then. How did it go?’

‘She thinks I should get out more.’

‘She might be right. Call me when you’ve done the interview.’

Shepherd cut the connection and called the major. He asked if they could reschedule their meeting for the following evening and Gannon agreed. Then Shepherd went upstairs and changed back into his Tony Corke clothes.

The interpreter was waiting for them outside the hospital, sitting behind the wheel of a six-year-old Ford Ka. She was a middle-aged woman, with permed hair and thick-lensed glasses, and introduced herself as Lyn. She didn’t offer a surname and Shepherd didn’t ask. He and Sharpe shook hands with her.

‘You speak Kosovan?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I speak seven languages fluently,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘and I can get by in another four.’

Shepherd was impressed. His trick memory was good for facts and faces, but it was of little help when it came to languages. He could memorise vocabulary without any problems but speaking a foreign language was more about comprehension and grammar. ‘We need to talk to a woman called Edita about some items that were found in her belongings.’

‘Edita?’ Lyn took a packet of Silk Cut from her coat pocket and lit a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Shepherd.

Lyn shrugged. ‘It is not a usual Kosovan name,’ she said, ‘but never mind. She’s an illegal?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘That’s usually why I’m called in,’ she said. ‘Immigration cases, mainly. Asylum-seekers.’

Shepherd had been trying to place her accent, but without success. She spoke English with the same clarity as a BBC newsreader but he had the feeling she was from somewhere in Central or Eastern Europe. ‘She was trying to get into the country, but our interest is purely in what she had with her.’

Lyn took a long pull on her cigarette. ‘Let me finish this first,’ she said. ‘They don’t let you smoke in hospitals.’

Shepherd and Sharpe waited until she had stubbed out the cigarette, then walked into the hospital. Sharpe showed his warrant card at Reception and went back to Shepherd and Lyn. ‘The little girl’s out of Intensive Care,’ he said. ‘Her mother’s with her, on the third floor.’

They took the lift and Sharpe led the way to the room. It was similar to the one Shepherd had been kept in, but there was no uniformed policeman standing guard.

Edita was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her daughter’s hand. She smiled when she saw Shepherd, who smiled back.

Jessica was lying on her back, asleep, her arms on top of the blankets. There were no monitoring instruments, no drips, just a little girl asleep in bed.

‘Pretty girl,’ said Lyn. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She nearly drowned,’ said Sharpe, closing the door and standing with his back to it. ‘The doctors say she’ll be fine.’

Lyn spoke to Edita, but she turned away and brushed a lock of hair away from her daughter’s face.

‘Tell her we need to talk to her about some money that was found among her belongings,’ said Shepherd.

Lyn translated. Edita didn’t reply.

‘Edita, please, if you co-operate with the police they’ll do everything they can to let you stay in the country,’ said Shepherd.

Again, Lyn translated. Once again, the woman refused even to acknowledge her presence.

Shepherd exhaled deeply. ‘Ask her what’s wrong.’

Lyn spoke again, but was ignored. She frowned and went to stand next to Edita. She put a hand gently on the woman’s shoulder and spoke softly. Edita flinched, then shook her head. Lyn said something else and this time the woman replied.

Lyn walked back to Shepherd. ‘I know what the problem is,’ she said. ‘She’s not from Kosovo. She’s Albanian.’

‘Do you speak Albanian?’

‘Enough to get by,’ said Lyn. ‘Probably enough for what you need.’

Shepherd nodded. The family had Kosovan passports: if they were Albanian their travel documents must be forgeries. Or stolen. ‘Tell her we need to talk to her now. I’m happy to do it here so that she can be near her daughter, but if she doesn’t start talking we’ll take her to an office.’ He forced a smile. ‘Don’t make it sound as threatening as that.’