We Are Death (31 page)

‘We are to assume that eleven people will die today?’ said Badstuber. ‘That is a lot of killing.’

‘You’d think,’ said Haynes, who was still edgy and uncomfortable. ‘But we’ve had two cards in the last week and three deaths, so who knows? These bastards... they’re just fucking with us, just fucking around.’

Jericho glanced up at Haynes, his eyebrow slightly raised, and Haynes returned a slight look of apology.

Death was the same in every card. The horse was the same in every card. The wooded background was the same in every card.

Behind Death, in each card, a single figure hung from the branches of a tree. These were different. Ten men, one woman. Each body had been disfigured or maimed in a slightly different way. Blood had been spilled, although the drawings were artistic rather than grotesque.

Death seemed to be enjoying himself.

‘Do you suppose,’ said Badstuber, ‘that the female figure is me, or your professor, or some other so-far-unidentified woman?’

Haynes had his lips tight, his face set. Had decided that he’d probably best keep his mouth shut. He felt like he was going nowhere, contributing nothing, too wrapped up in worry to be of use to anyone.

Jericho shook his head.

‘Doesn’t look like either of you,’ he said, ‘but then, there seems no consistency with the way in which they apply these cards. They send them out, they...’ and he indicated the cards, and let the sentence run out. Where exactly was he going with it, anyway? ‘None of these cards look like anyone we’ve seen.’

‘Maybe we could get them blown up again,’ she said, then glanced at her watch. ‘I could take them to my contact at the Swiss Embassy.’

‘Yes,’ said Haynes, getting a quick glance from Jericho. ‘We’re just sitting here, waiting for them. And I know, if we actually learn anything from them, we’re learning something they want us to know, but for G– ’

Footsteps, and the desk clerk appeared beside them, a small piece of paper in his hand which he referred to as he spoke, Haynes letting his thoughts go at his arrival.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Jericho?’ asked the desk clerk, looking around the three of them.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a message from a Superintendent Dylan, requesting that you speak to her immediately. A matter of the utmost urgency.’

‘That’s what she said?’

‘Yes.’

He took the note from him, glanced at it, placed it in his pocket and did not move.

‘Thank you. I’ll call her.’

The desk clerk did not move either, and finally Jericho turned and looked at him.

‘What?’

‘She is on the phone, Detective Chief Inspector.’

Jericho looked angrily at him, then turned and glanced over at the desk, where a phone was lying, clearly off the hook.

‘Damn,’ he muttered, looked at Badstuber, said, ‘Excuse me,’ and walked over to the counter.

The desk clerk nodded formally to the others, and followed Jericho.

Haynes looked over, wondering if they were about to be summoned back to Somerset. What great emergency could possibly be unfolding? A traffic jam at the bottom end of High Street? An overturned white van on the Portway? Another fifteen year-old caught dealing crack to the sixth formers at the Blue?

None of which would require the services of a detective.

‘You have heard nothing from Professor Leighton?’ asked Badstuber.

Haynes shook his head. For some reason he felt slightly awkward talking to her without Jericho there.

‘That is not good,’ said Badstuber.

‘No,’ said Haynes, remembering that Jericho had previously mentioned Badstuber’s bluntness. And she was right. It wasn’t good.

Jericho walked back, looked down on them both.

‘Time to go. Harrow just took a bullet in the head in Geyerson’s hotel room.’

‘Jesus,’ said Haynes, getting to his feet.

‘Was Geyerson present?’ asked Badstuber. ‘Is he a suspect?’

‘He was present, but the bullet came from outside. Harrow was standing at the window on the twenty-fourth floor.’

They started to move off, then Jericho stopped and held up his hand.

‘Sorry, Stuart. It’s already going to be crawling with police up there. We don’t want to turn up too heavy-handed, like we don’t trust them to do the job.’

Haynes nodded, the frustration and the anger rising inside him again.

‘Yep, fine,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll hang on to the cards, try to make something of them.’

Jericho surprised him by squeezing the top of his arm, and then he was off, Badstuber a pace behind, to view the latest murder.

*

D
evelin was sitting at a booth in a small bar at the bottom end of Hausmanns Gate when Morlock slid into the seat opposite, placing his drink on the table as he sat down. Develin was drinking a Ringnes, Morlock still spring water.

‘Nice job,’ said Develin.

He had a small bowl of cashew nuts at his right hand, which were almost done. He knew there was no point in offering them to Morlock.

Morlock nodded, took a sip of water.

‘Are we done?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. You can leave after tonight, if you want, although it might be better for you to wait a day or two. Tonight they’re going to be watching the airports and the stations.’

Shouldn’t
you
have people watching the airports and the stations, Morlock thought, but it wasn’t for him to say. Usually they had people watching everything.

‘What happens tonight?’

‘Everybody dies.’

Morlock took another sip of water. He enjoyed it when everybody died.

‘You’re going to be more specific?’ he asked.

Develin placed a tiny memory stick on the tabletop. Morlock lifted it, quite sure that no one was watching them, and fitted it into the side of his phone.

‘The train to Bergen is nice this time of year,’ said Develin.

Morlock nodded, lifted his drink and drained the remainder of the glass, then he brought up the file on his phone and quickly flicked through it.

Geyerson. The Russian. The Chinese. The American. The Israeli. The Indian. The Brazilian. Jericho. Haynes. Badstuber.

He looked up at Develin as he slipped the phone into his pocket.

‘There’s no mention of bodyguards,’ said Morlock.

‘You will likely have to kill many of them too,’ said Develin. ‘You will be paid your usual rate.’

‘Will they all be in one place at the same time?’

‘All the details are there. You’re likely to have to improvise.’

Morlock nodded and got to his feet.

‘I’ll send my bill from the train,’ he said.

Morlock walked from the bar in his usual measured way. He had been given his list of targets, the job would be done, and perhaps then it would be time for a break.

*

J
ericho and Badstuber stood at the window of Geyerson’s hotel room, looking down below, trying to work out where the shooter might have been. They could see three teams of armed police officers working in the general area, trying to establish the same thing.

‘This assassin is a perfect illustration of how a good, well-organised killer can carry out his business,’ said Jericho. ‘Unless you have CCTV on every corner, and someone watching every one of those cameras every minute of the day, a professional is going to be able to act almost with impunity.’

Badstuber indicated a building across the other side of the street, not the highest in the vicinity, but one of several with a clear view.

‘The angle suggests that one,’ she said. ‘And not necessarily the top floor.’

None of the three teams was currently looking at the building, and when they did, they would undoubtedly start at the top. If the killer had left any trail it was going colder as they stood and watched.

There was little chance, they thought, that he had left one in any case.

They lurched into a silence that was more comfortable than it would have been a few days previously. Both of them out of their jurisdiction, both of them observers, just waiting to see how everything was going to play out. Neither of them able to do what they normally would in this situation: take charge, throw themselves into the crime.

‘What were you looking at?’ asked Jericho.

She caught his eye in the reflection in the window.

‘In Morocco?’ he said. ‘You got up in the middle of the night, and looked up into the stars.’

‘The ISS,’ she said.

Jericho shrugged the question.

‘International Space Station.’

‘I didn’t realise you could see it,’ he said. ‘I mean, I think I saw what you were looking at, but I didn’t realise that’s what it was.’

‘Third brightest object in the night sky,’ she said.

‘How do...’ began Jericho, then he just let the sentence go. Didn’t want to sound as ignorant as he felt.

‘There’s a web page, lets you know where and when you’ll be able to see the station overhead, anywhere in the world.’

Jericho nodded. Caught her eye again, then looked back at the search teams across the road.

‘My cousin is on the space station,’ said Badstuber. ‘So far away, so isolated. I think the least I can do is look up when I can and say hello.’

‘Your cousin’s an astronaut?’

‘Yes, she is.’

Jericho found himself looking skyward, up at the grey day and the clouds. There was nothing like space to make you feel small, he thought. Or rather, he suddenly felt small, without thinking about the reason for it.

‘Has he followed you to Oslo?’ asked Badstuber, the words out of the blue, the conversation quickly changing tack, as though the discussion of her cousin had really been about her, and she didn’t want to talk about herself anymore.

Jericho stared down at the building across the road, the one Badstuber had indicated. Mind on the job. He could try anyway.

He didn’t answer immediately, but he knew, of course, to whom she was referring.

‘Can I take your silence as a yes?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Jericho. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him. He was...’

The sentence ran out, aware that he was about to start opening up.

‘You’ve seen him since Morocco though?’ she asked.

He caught her eye in the reflection in the window. Behind, he could see the Norwegian CSI officers, and had the thought that it was about time they went to speak to Geyerson. Again. For all the good it would do them.

‘He was at the station last night. Late, when everyone else had gone home.’

When she finally said what she needed to say, when the words that had been on her lips since Morocco finally emerged, they came quickly and abruptly.

‘It’s not really Durrant, though, is it? You know it’s not Durrant.’

‘My fellow officers in crime,’ said a voice behind.

They turned quickly, Jericho torn from the moment. A young man, blond, sunglasses in his hair, jeans and an open-necked shirt not tucked in at the waist.

‘Inspector Markussen.’

He held out his hand, first to Badstuber then Jericho.

‘This is very international,’ he said. ‘I take it we’ll be carrying out our discussions in the language of the Empire?’

He smiled at Jericho who, as ever at the arrival of youth, found himself slightly nonplussed, and he immediately wished he’d brought Haynes along.

‘I’m afraid my Norwegian needs something of a brush-up,’ said Badstuber.

‘German?’ said Markussen.

‘English will be fine,’ said Badstuber, before any attention was turned on Jericho’s lack of linguistic skills.

‘Cool.’

Markussen came up beside them and stood at the window. Only one of the teams across the road was currently visible, and they watched them at work for a moment.

‘Your men are looking in the wrong place, Inspector,’ said Badstuber.

‘You think we should be looking in that building there,’ said Markussen, indicating the one that Badstuber had first pointed out to Jericho. ‘We did that one first, before you got here. We’ll go back, for sure, but this man is a ghost. No one saw a thing. And this is his fourth time, yes?’

Jericho nodded.

‘The fourth in connection to the current investigation,’ said Badstuber.

Markussen smiled, head shaking.

‘As a police officer, with this kind of hit, you have to think two things. Firstly, it’s really good work. I mean, this man has skills. Secondly, you hope he leaves town and you never hear from him again.’

He glanced back and forth between them, smiling, looking for some agreement from his fellow officers.

‘He likely killed a man who was sitting across a table from us,’ said Badstuber. ‘I don’t find myself filled with much admiration.’

Markussen shrugged.

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s going to alter the dynamic slightly.’

‘And I don’t know that you’re going to get your wish,’ said Jericho.

‘Which one?’ asked Markussen, still smiling. ‘If it’s the one about me and the three women behind the bar at the Starbucks around the corner from the station, you’re probably right.’

‘I don’t think that’s appropriate,’ said Badstuber.

‘Sorry,’ said Markussen. ‘I have filter problems. You were saying, Chief Inspector?’

‘Geyerson has been travelling around,’ said Jericho.

‘The guy who didn’t get shot?’

‘Yes. The four who were killed were all on a climbing expedition with him. Since then Geyerson’s been on the move, but everywhere he’s gone has been for climbing. Scratching the itch. Harrow, too, has been on the move. As far as we can make out, their paths never crossed over the summer. Geyerson was climbing, Harrow was doing something else altogether. My guess, at this point, is that he was selling something on behalf of Geyerson, or on behalf of everyone from that expedition.’

He stopped for a moment, as though the effort of speaking was getting too much for him, like a consumptive struggling for his last words. Except, of course, that Jericho’s breathing was fine and words only struggled to emerge because he did not like to give up too many of them. As though there was only a finite supply in his head.

He was still watching the team across the road, his eyes never so much as meeting the others’ in the reflection.

‘And now they’re in the same place,’ said Badstuber, taking up the story on Jericho’s behalf, ‘and they’re meeting in a hotel room. This is clearly coming to some sort of climax, because why else would they start killing people now, when they could have done it months ago? Geyerson took something off that mountain that someone did not want him to take. Our information suggests that it is an organisation known as The Pavilion. They waited to see how it would play out, and when it started to go a way that they did not like, people started dying.’