13

No sleep. Jack was on the couch under a blanket, the corner lamp like a small moon through fog. Long black, grappa and cigarettes lined up within easy reach on the coffee table. Three o’clock in the morning with a few problems was like having a microscope on your brain, all the details blown up and spinning in on themselves. Lois had left him and was curled up in the armchair. Jack tried a book but reading did not cut it, so he slipped on a DVD: and for one hundred and five glorious minutes it worked. Ava Gardner in The Killers, sending Burt Lancaster and every other guy on the planet nuts. Then it was Rita Hayworth’s turn in The Lady from Shanghai, and Orson Welles’ poor little Irishman flipping all the way for the blonde. Guys losing all sense of proportion and taking everything they had to the limit — for the girl, for the goddess made flesh. All it took was just one taste, the shock and heat of it, like nothing before or ever after. Then everything coming on fast and, Christ, no way to stop the descent into the fire, the flames licking and burning. But you wanted it, yes. All of it. And nobody ever went looking for it, searching, that was the thing. It always came looking for you. Lust. Love. Forgetting.

At some point he closed his eyes: then a knock at the door woke him. Jack struggled off the couch, feeling like an old tea towel about to go to rag. The TV screen hummed, frozen on a black-and-white hall of mirrors. The place smelt like a bar. The curtains were drawn and his senses bleary; he had no idea what time it was. Another knock. He whispered Jesus and ran his hand through his hair and thought about taking the day off to sleep. But when he opened the front door it was like stepping into a waterfall. Fully awake in two nanoseconds.

‘Astrid sent me. You must come.’

‘If you say so.’

She looked very warm: knee-length sheepskin coat, matching snow-bunny hat with tasselled earflaps. Long blonde hair spilling out all over a high woolly collar. Loose pale-grey track pants tucked into floppy sheepskin boots. Everything perfectly careless. Her blue eyes looked tired. She stifled a yawn. Maybe they had woken up together? But then what was she doing outside the door? Jack hoped he was not still asleep on the couch.

‘She cannot pick you up this morning,’ said the woman in a thick accent. Early thirties with a Brigitte Bardot mouth. ‘You must come with me.’

‘Sure.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Jack.’

‘Yes, yes …’ she said. ‘This I know. Can we go now?’

‘Quick shower and some clothes?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I will be in the car.’

‘Where are we supposed to —?’

A mobile phone started ringing. The woman said Fuck and it sounded good. She struggled with a big woolly pocket and found her phone. Answered — ‘What?’ — listened, then held it out for Jack. She walked off to go and wait outside.

‘Hello?’

‘So Uta made it?’ It was Astrid. ‘Don’t take it personally if she’s grumpy. She’s always like that until about four p.m.’

‘Her name’s Uta?’

‘Lundevall. She lives with me.’

‘Can I live with you, too?’

She ignored him. ‘Jack, listen. Something’s happened.’

‘I know. Now I’m in love with both of you and I don’t know what to do. Help me, Astrid.’

‘Duncan tried to shoot Ziggy last night.’

Jack frowned. ‘What?’

‘In the car park, just as he came out of the lift.’

‘Jesus.’

‘He missed but Ziggy’s a little shook up.’

Jack grabbed a cigarette from his pack on the coffee table, scratched a flame out of a lighter. He had no doubt the shock would not last. Ziggy would be organising his wrath just about now. ‘Goes with the territory,’ he said. ‘Nothing new for the big Zee. Police get him?’ Jack was thinking he was out of this mess. Brandt and the Beaumont assault charge, null and void. Thinking about Claudia, too.

‘No. I was in the car and managed to chase him on foot for a bit, but he got outside and away.’

‘Oh well.’

‘I’m handling the cops and the media. Uta can drop you off —’

‘Excuse me? Drop me off for what?’

‘The cops want to speak to you.’

Christ. ‘What for? I don’t know shit about it.’

‘Well, they want to see you. And Ziggy doesn’t want you mentioning the arrangement you had with him, yeah?’

Jack smoked, said, ‘Right,’ breathed out with weariness.

‘Hey, you hit him. They were going to want to talk to you no matter what.’

‘You could have told them I was in Sierra Leone, visiting my sponsor child.’

‘Maybe write it down for me next time.’

‘Like you need a script.’ Jack rubbed the emptiness in his stomach and thought of his bare cupboards. ‘So what if I come round for dinner tonight? Just you, me and Uta. And then, you know, you could go to the flicks.’

‘So cruel, Jack. I thought I was the one.’

‘Of course, darling.’

‘See you soon, Susko.’

Uta Lundevall drove him in the Porsche to a familiar building in Kent Street. She handled the car with disdain, as though it was there to make her life difficult, like a supermarket trolley with a dicky wheel. She hardly said a word the whole way, just the odd minimum-lip-movement yes or no to Jack’s attempts at making conversation. All he managed to find out was that she was an actress and model from Sweden. Mostly it was just eye-rolling and an expression of unabating annoyance. She was definitely not a morning person. Not that Jack could see it bothering anybody.

‘Thanks for the ride,’ he said. ‘And enjoy the rest of your day.’

Uta leaned over the passenger seat. ‘Tell Astrid not to call me before noon. Yes? Okay?’

The Porsche sped away. Jack walked down the driveway of the underground car park. His old front door to work, though minus wheels this time. He looked around for cops gathering evidence behind tape or interviewing people, but could not see any. Probably swept the scene last night. He made his way across the concrete. It was a strange feeling, weaving through the cars and the smell of rubber and oil, and the cop-show squeal of tyres as drivers swung around the tight corners. The bleakness of cloudy fluorescent light over dirty grey, the ominous sound of an unseen door slammed in the underground emptiness. It reminded him that the world was round and there was only so far you could go before treading an old path.

Elevator up to level twenty-seven. Out into a chic white foyer, then down a corridor to reception. Someone came up behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Hey babe. Down this way.’

Astrid was in uniform again, minus the hat. All-Leather Ex-Cop Driving Services. We Drive Even Better Than We Look. She strode the marble like a catwalk model and turned into a door on her left. Jack followed. It was a meeting room with a long oval table and executive leather office chairs all around. Detective Sergeant Keith Glendenning sat in one of them, grinning like a guy who had slipped past the door without a ticket.

‘Mr Susko Books. Nice to see you again.’

Jack ignored him and turned to Astrid. ‘Uta said not to call her before twelve.’

She winked at him and left the boardroom.

‘In person after all this time, huh?’

‘I see you’re still wearing the same suit,’ said Jack.

The cop frowned, but checked himself. ‘Take a seat, Jack. How have you been? Back with the old boss, I see.’

‘I’ve always thought your investigative skills to be finely honed. Best of the best.’

Glendenning smiled. ‘What’s up, then? You the new muscle?’

‘Just visiting, as a matter of fact.’

‘I didn’t know you guys had remained friends. I mean, after what happened. You know, Brandt trying to set you up for murder and all that. What, only four or five years ago?’

‘My fiancée, Detective Sergeant.’ Jack thumbed the door. ‘Astrid and I are getting married.’

‘Former police constable Astrid Thornson? You’re kidding.’

‘What can I say?’

‘So you turned a dyke, huh? Wow. Good work, Susko Books.’

Jack closed his eyes and thought of the lovely Uta. Then shook his head in defeat. ‘In my next life, I want to come back as a woman.’

‘Only if the gods are kind. You been leading a good and moral life lately?’

‘The Dalai Lama won’t stop ringing me up for advice.’

‘I hope you’re charging him.’

‘Look, Glendenning. I’ve got nothing to do with Brandt, okay? Nothing with him and nothing with the bullets aimed at him. Do you need to write that down somewhere?’

The detective sergeant stood up and stretched. Yawned. His face was older and darker, though not in a tanned way, and his nose still took up most of the available real estate. Jowls hanging a little lower over a neck that had thickened. Eyes tight-skinned and buried, yet always like they were looking right through you. Brown hair thinner. He looked like a crumpled suit from a Salvos store, but Jack knew better than to underestimate the man.

‘How’s Claudia?’

Jack blinked and hoped Glendenning did not notice.

‘I hear she’s engaged,’ he said. ‘That right?’

‘You investigating attempted murder or attempted marriage, Detective?’

‘Sometimes they’re the same thing.’ Glendenning looked away, thoughts rising into his face and turning it grim. ‘Both can kill you.’

Jack saw the detective give his wedding ring a twist. Then his hands went into his pant pockets and whatever was ailing the cop’s home life was shelved. Back on the job again.

‘Astrid tells me Ziggy ain’t a big fan of the new beau?’ he said.

‘And?’

‘Thought maybe he told you something, too.’

‘Why would he?’

‘You tell me. You’re the guy beat Beaumont up.’

Jack now thought maybe he should have hit the prick harder.

‘Well?’ said the detective.

Jack massaged the back of his neck then flopped into one of the executive chairs. ‘The guy gets jealous easily, thinks I’m still interested in his girl or something, I don’t know. What else can I say? Since he’s taking pot shots at his future father-in-law, I’d say the guy’s got more problems than me.’ Jack looked the copper in the eye. ‘I’m just incidental to this, Detective.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘You should be talking to Brandt, not me.’

‘Mr Brandt had a sudden, extremely convenient business meeting in Malaysia.’

‘You must hate it when that happens.’

‘I’m a patient man, Jack.’ The detective sergeant sucked his teeth. Held the silence just enough to bring it up to the boil. Then: ‘What do you know about Allan Kippax?’

‘Who?’

The copper sighed. He came around the glass-topped boardroom table and stood in front of Jack in the chair. ‘I could use your help, you know?’

‘Oh yeah. And what would that entail?’

‘Telling me the truth.’

Jack smiled. ‘That’s the business you’re in now, huh? Keith’s Cop Shop Honesty House.’

‘What worries me about you, Susko Books, is that you never seem to mind being nudged into trouble. Always get in the middle of things, don’t you? Not really here, not really there, but hanging around. Why is that? See, in my experience, it’s the fence-sitters who get the sore arses. And they always fall, eventually. What they’ve got to worry about is which side of the fence.’

‘And the choice is so obvious, isn’t it, Detective Sergeant? Crocodile-infested swamp on one side, thick jungle prowling with hungry panthers on the other.’ Jack had reached his threshold of street philosophy. ‘Either way, I’ve got nothing to tell you.’

Glendenning shook his head. ‘Sorry, Jack. You’re not going anywhere until you talk. Everything you know about Duncan Beaumont, and don’t worry about the prose or punctuation. Starting now.’

Jack knew the copper could not hold him, but relented and leaned back in the chair. If he stood up and left he had nothing to gain but Glendenning’s heat. And besides, maybe the detective sergeant might tell him something about the whole thing, too.

‘Be good. Just like your mother taught you.’

‘You never met my mother.’ Jack rubbed his face and yawned. ‘Can we get a coffee?’

‘Sure,’ said Glendenning. ‘My shout.’ Tone as soft as a tough cop could manage: like the sound of rope slipping through the coil of a noose.

Half an hour later, Jack looked for Astrid in the main corridor. Instead, he found Claudia. She stepped out of a door further down and began walking towards him, heels click-clacking, each step the sound of poise and plenty: black pencil skirt over the pins and a white silk blouse giving good shape, reminding Jack of the femme-fatale bodies he had watched not too many hours ago. He sensed Glendenning standing behind him. Nobody moved, eyes on the girl.

She walked straight past. Just a blank look down the hall, no words. Jack waited, glad there was nothing in her eyes because Glendenning was there — but disappointed, too. He wanted some small acknowledgement. A little split-second sparkle, just for him. Anything. The least she could do after asking for his help.

‘You have a good day, Susko Books,’ said the detective sergeant. Jack did not turn around but could hear the grinning all over the words.