Finn had been in police stations and police cells before, and there was nothing particularly horrifying about the brightly lit – albeit depressingly plain space – that he had been shoved into and where he remained waiting for what felt like several hours.
Felt like, because he had no way of knowing with his phone, his watch, all of his belongings confiscated.
But at least it was a normal police cell, not some off-the-grid gulag or torture chamber. Were there even any such places in England? Certainly not officially.
He looked from the barred window to the door when he heard the hefty locks releasing. He braced himself, unsure what to expect when the doors opened.
A uniformed officer. ‘This way,’ he said, beckoning Finn to his feet.
He followed the officer’s instructions as he was handcuffed, then followed the officer along the corridor, through two secured doors and to an empty interview room where he was cuffed to the desk before the officer left him alone.
He stared at the mirror taking up most of one wall and wondered who was watching on the other side.
Before long the door opened again and two plain-clothed police officers walked in – one man, one woman. In their thirties, Finn thought, and as ordinary-looking as the room, in both their clothing and their features. The woman introduced them. She was DI Klein; the man, DS Palmer.
‘I want a lawyer,’ Finn said.
‘We’ll get to that,’ Klein replied. ‘Let’s just have a talk first. Yeah?’
He noted there was no tape recorder, or anything like that. He glanced at the mirror again.
‘Tell me why I’m here.’
‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of money laundering. And it’s a helluva lot of money.’
Palmer whistled.
‘It’s a very serious crime,’ Klein continued. ‘You need to tell us what you know about—’
Finn shook his head. ‘No. I’m not saying a word about anything. I need a phone call, and I need a lawyer.’
No response from either of them.
‘I want to make a phone call!’ Finn shouted. ‘I want a lawyer!’
The officers looked angered by his forceful demand and Klein started a diatribe, practically hissing her words at him. He zoned out as his mind whirred.
‘This is because of Gert Henning, isn’t it?’ Finn said.
No tell on their faces.
‘Henning set me up. You tell him… I’ll make him pay for this. When I get out of here, I’ll screw his son over, then I’ll come back to screw him.’
‘Nice,’ Palmer said. ‘Perhaps we should add these threats to your list of charges?’
‘Whatever,’ Finn said. ‘I’m done here. Give me a goddamn bastard motherfucking piece of shit telephone call, will you!’
They both glowered at him. Palmer whispered into Klein’s ear and the two of them got up from the table and left the room, the door slamming shut after them.
How long passed? An hour? Longer? Finally another uniformed officer arrived to take Finn away.
But it wasn’t to his cell; it was to a phone.
‘One call,’ the officer said to him.
‘All my contacts are stored on my phone.’
The man said nothing, just glared at Finn like he was scum.
‘I. Need. My. Phone.’
‘That. Is. A. Phone,’ the officer said, indicating the receiver in Finn’s hand. ‘One call.’
How was he supposed to remember Victor’s phone number? And he had no lawyer’s number memorized either. Mariana. One of a few numbers he did have in his head.
He felt so reluctant but… what other choice did he have?
He tapped the numbers and waited.
* * *
Finn languished in his cell, replaying the embarrassing conversation with Mariana over and over, dozing off to sleep several times from sheer boredom as much as exhaustion. He’d sounded so desperate, so pleading, sheer relief coming through that he’d actually managed to reach someone on the outside. Her own reaction seemed to go from shock to confusion to something close to disappointment. But she’d resolutely agreed to find help.
Or, at least, she’d agreed to ask Victor to help. But the way Finn saw it, he was in this mess because of Victor. Well, perhaps indirectly, but still…
He only knew morning had arrived because of the light coming through the tiny window. A plate of slop arrived soon after but no sign of anyone coming to his aid, or even any other attempt at interviewing him. He had no clue how long they could keep him locked up for – twenty-four, forty-eight hours? – but surely something had to happen sooner or later?
Sooner.
He heard their voices first, followed by the clunking of the locks. The door opened. A uniformed officer stood with a smartly dressed woman.
‘Finn?’ the woman said, stepping into the room, her stern face turning to sympathy. ‘Are you OK?’
An American accent.
‘I’ve been better.’
‘Well, good news – you’re getting out of here.’
Minutes later she escorted Finn out of the station and into the rain.
‘I’m Helen Morton,’ she said, as she unfurled an umbrella which she held above both of their heads. ‘Victor sent me.’
‘Thank you,’ he said to her.
‘I’m just doing my job,’ she said, a moment before a large, black Mercedes pulled up alongside them. ‘Come on, get in.’
They both climbed into the back and the driver set off.
‘Wait!’ Finn said, and the driver pulled the car to an abrupt stop. ‘My things.’
‘What things?’ Helen said.
‘My bags. Clothes. My passport, wallet, watch.’ The present he’d bought Mariana.
Helen fished in her suit jacket and pulled out his wallet and passport. ‘This is all they gave me.’
He took them from her and checked them over. Passport – good. Wallet – all his cash was gone, but he still had his driving license, his cards.
‘Did you have something else when they arrested you?’
‘I’d just checked out of the hotel. I had everything else.’
‘Give me a minute.’
She stepped back out into the rain and scuttled away and back into the station. The inside of the car fell silent. Finn watched the driver for a few moments, caught his eye in the rearview mirror. Neither of them said a word. Did he work for Helen, Victor, or was he just a taxi?
Finn flinched a little when the door reopened and Helen jumped back in, dripping wet and out of breath.
‘Sorry, Finn, they told me they have nothing else. That you must have left it at the hotel.’
‘That’s bullshit! I had a fucking ten-grand watch on my wrist when they took me in. A thirty-grand necklace in my luggage. They’ve stolen my things!’
‘Why would the police do that?’
‘I… I don’t know!’
‘We’ll go past the hotel. Just to check. But we don’t have much time.’
She tapped the driver’s shoulder and they got moving again.
‘Time? For what?’
‘Before your flight.’
‘Flight? To where? Can you please explain what is happening!’
‘You asked for Victor’s help. This is it.’
‘You need to give me more than that.’
‘You were arrested on suspicion of money laundering. The charge sheet I’ve seen… You’d be looking at a long, long stretch if—’
‘Gert Henning set me up,’ Finn said through gritted teeth. He thought for a moment. Well, yeah, he did think Henning had probably caused this, betrayed him. But the reality? The deal was money laundering, wasn’t it? Or maybe simple fraud. It’d been specifically designed to line Victor’s pockets. That was beside the point though. Finn had been screwed. ‘The police had waited for me all day. They were holding off until the transaction cleared.’
‘I don’t know anything about what transactions it relates to,’ Helen said. ‘All I’ve done is to make sure the police here can’t touch you. At least not for now. But the longer we wait, the more chance there is of them pulling enough evidence together to keep you here.’
‘There is no evidence. Not without Henning incriminating himself in a crime too.’
‘Maybe it isn’t this Henning person who’s responsible.’
If not, then who else?
‘The fact is, Finn, whatever you think you have or haven’t done, it’s best for you to leave England while you still have the chance. We can fight whatever comes next much more robustly from afar, if we need to at all.’ They arrived at the hotel. ‘Wait there.’
Helen stepped out again and Finn wanted to chase inside after her. If his belongings weren’t in the hotel then surely it was because the police had taken them? And there’d be CCTV covering the entrance. That’d clear up who’d picked up his bags, though not who’d taken his watch.
Helen returned empty handed. ‘Nothing here.’
‘Thieving bastards.’
But perhaps his missing things were just another dark play by Henning?
The driver got going.
‘But… there’s a camera right up there,’ Finn said, pointing to the canopy roof. ‘We can prove who took my bags. Stop the damn car!’
‘Finn!’ Helen shouted, putting her hand to his arm to grab his attention. He slumped. She relaxed and let go. ‘Not now. I’m getting you on the plane. If you want to lodge a formal complaint later, then do it. Right now it’s not the priority.’
He was far from satisfied, but perhaps she was right. Undoubtedly, his position now was a lot better than it had been half an hour ago – he certainly didn’t want to go back to jail.
They continued in silence for a while, Finn’s mind on fire.
‘You don’t even care if I did anything wrong or not, do you?’ he said to Helen.
‘Finn, if you don’t have anything useful to say, don’t say anything at all.’
‘How did you get them to release me?’ he asked. ‘A bung?’
She shot him a scathing look. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to take that tone with her, but he was tired and confused and angry.
‘Bail,’ she said. ‘As simple as that. Ten thousand pounds.’
‘Bail? So I’m skipping bail. Isn’t that—’
‘It is what it is. I’m sure you can pay Victor back the money if we haven’t already cleared you when – if – it becomes an issue.’
He didn’t say anything to that, and not long after they arrived at the private airstrip.
‘I don’t think that thing will get me back to Mexico,’ Finn said, noting the lone, small aircraft ready and waiting.
‘You’d be surprised. But you’re not going back to Mexico anyway.’
Of course not. Because Victor didn’t want Finn anywhere near his home and his girlfriend.
‘Then where am I going?’ he asked.
Helen smiled. The first time he’d seen that look. It didn’t suit her. Made her look a little ghoulish.
‘You’re going home, Finn. To America.’