Broken Faith (6 page)

‘Got things to do, Harry. We can't all be successful writers, can we?'

‘Go on, stay and have another drink.'

‘Harry, you didn't like me in London and I didn't like you. Now I'm out of it and you're out of it so I'll stick to what I'm doing and you stick to what you're doing and we'll leave it at that. We met again by accident but we still wouldn't like each other. Thanks for the drink. I'll see myself out.'

Jimmy turned and left. Mercer watched him go. When he heard the front door slam he pulled out a mobile and made a call. Suddenly he wasn't maudlin any more, he was stone-cold sober and serious.

‘Hello. Some woman inspector's just been to see me and she had a bloke called Costello in tow. Oh, they did, did they? Well after you, they came to me. Never mind who he is, he's going to be trouble. Why? Because the bastard was always trouble. We'll need to talk.' He listened for a moment. ‘OK, three, at the usual place.'

Mercer put the mobile away. Outside the living room door Jimmy moved quietly away and silently let himself out of the front door. He walked quickly down the drive noting the number plate of the silver Mercedes parked there as he passed it. Once out onto the road he phoned Suarez.

‘I think we've got a live one. He's set up a meet with someone at three, sounds like Henderson, he phoned as soon as he thought I'd left. He drives a silver Mercedes, licence plate –' and he gave her the number. ‘Where are you now? Thanks, I don't have the number for any taxis. I'll wait on Mercer's road. I'll walk down from his place and wait.'

Jimmy put his phone away and walked down the road the way he and Suarez had come. After a few minutes when he was well away from Mercer's villa he stopped and waited for the black SEAT to arrive.

So, Harry, you're still at it are you? Writing not enough for you after all. Well, why not? Why change the habits of a life-time?

And Jimmy waited, remembering Harry Mercer and the old days when, like Harry had said, Jimmy had been one of them.

Chapter Eight

Harry's silver Mercedes was parked outside a bar-restaurant in an unlovely street of assorted commercial buildings. The bar-restaurant overlooked the parking area for the ferry terminal and the sign above the entrance showed a bull's head with big horns, a ring in its nose and a grin on its face. Next to the bull, in large red letters was
El Toro Restaurant Bar
. Inside it was big, clean, and functional, with plastic-topped tables and plain wooden chairs. In the UK it would have been a fish and chip restaurant on a sea-front promenade set out to deal quickly and efficiently with a sudden rush of customers when the summer rain pelted down at lunchtime.  Here it wasn't the weather that produced the crowds, it was the ferries. The café got busy as the cars rolled up to await a ferry, and when a ferry unloaded there were always plenty of people who wanted to eat before setting off to wherever they were headed. The local British ex-pats were scrupulous in avoiding places like El Toro, always careful to guard their status as residents not visitors. The loss was theirs because, in spite of the façade, the interior décor and inevitable burger and chips on the menu, the food was mostly well-cooked dishes using local produce and gave excellent value for money.

Mercer and Henderson sat at a table well inside the café away from the main window and the entrance. There was no ferry due in or out and only two other tables were in use by what looked like port workers. Mercer was sitting facing Henderson and had his back to the bar where a solitary barman was reading a paper. Had he been facing the other way he certainly would have noticed when a man slipped out of the staff door behind the bar and joined the barman. The new arrival spoke quietly to the barman then picked up a towel and began to wipe a glass that was already clean. Henderson was too preoccupied to notice anything except Harry, what he was saying and the way he was saying it. There was a bottle of red wine on the table between them. Henderson's glass was half-full, Mercer's was empty and hadn't been used. While Harry did the talking Henderson did the drinking, his role limited to listening, looking worried and fiddling with his glass between drinks.

‘I'm not a happy person, Henderson, and the way things are going I'm getting unhappier by the day. Do you know what I do when I feel unhappy? I hurt people. I used to use these,' he held his hands out and turned them over, looking at them, ‘but they're not up to it any more. Now I have to use something else, an iron bar maybe, or a chisel.' Henderson looked more worried and fiddled harder. ‘I know it's irrational, deviant even, but what can you do? You see, with me, old habits don't die hard, they don't fucking die at all so if I get much more bad news someone is sure to get hurt and it's usually whoever comes to hand. How about you cheer me up and tell me why Jimmy Costello is here?'

Henderson's voice was a nice blend of fear and panic but he managed to keep it low.

‘I don't know, how would I know?'

‘Because you said Costello and that woman Inspector came to see you before they came to me. I knew Costello from London, years back, so I started chatting about old times and she pissed off without saying what the visit was all about. I got nothing out of Costello except, did I know Jarvis? I told him no, so I never got to find out
what
about Jarvis. That means I'll have to ask you what has them doing a second round of visits, won't I? What was it they wanted?'

Henderson took a drink.

‘It was something to do with Dorothy being a Catholic and which church she went to.'

‘What else?'

‘Nothing else. Just Dorothy being a Catholic and which church she went to.'

Harry sat and thought for a moment and then spoke quietly, more to himself than to Henderson.

‘No, there's nothing for them to find. We've been careful, Jarvis didn't use the same church to meet me as the one he used for you. Nobody knows anything, nobody except us and we're not likely to talk, are we?'

But Henderson had finished his wine and was pouring another glass so he missed Harry's question and after a drink asked one of his own.

‘What's going on, Mercer? Why was Jarvis killed? Is it anything to do with us, did you do it?'

Mercer almost laughed.

‘No, you stupid bastard, I didn't do it and I didn't have it done. Why would I do it? I needed Jarvis alive, he's no good to me dead is he?'

‘Then who? Somebody shot him.'

But this time it was Mercer who wasn't listening. Something was niggling him. They'd been careful but –

‘Which church does your old woman use?'

‘What?'

‘If the cops asked the question it must mean something. Which church?'

‘The Jesuits' one. It's that big old one down by the –'

‘I know where it is. What did they say when she told them?'

‘Nothing. They didn't seem interested.' Then he remembered. ‘I think they were more interested in the other one.'

‘What other one?'

‘You know which one, Mater Dei, where Jarvis and I used to meet.' Something clicked in Henderson's brain. He reached across the table and took hold of Mercer's arm. ‘Do you think they've connected me with Jarvis?' His worried look moved up a gear and he began to sweat. Mercer brushed off his hand and looked at him. He would need to be sorted or he'd fall apart. Luckily he wasn't just weak he was also stupid.

‘No. They probably want to trace Jarvis's movements since he arrived, background stuff. Nothing to worry about.' The simple lie seemed to calm Henderson. He emptied his glass and poured himself another and drank half of it at one go.  Mercer watched him. ‘Are you driving?'

‘No, I came by taxi. I knew after your call I'd need a drink and I'm not stupid.'

Mercer didn't bother to disagree.

‘What else did they ask?'

‘Nothing.'

Mercer reached across and pulled Henderson's arm back to the table as he was about to take another drink. The glass hit the surface and some of the wine bounced out.

‘Think, you stupid bastard. What else did they ask?'

The menace in Mercer's voice brought on more sweat but Henderson did as he had been told and thought.

‘The priest. They asked if the priest was there.'

‘What priest? Where?'

‘The priest at Mater Dei. They asked if he was there when Dorothy used the church.'

‘Which priest?'

Henderson thought hard again but this time drew a blank.

‘I can't remember. I never knew him. I only went with Dorothy enough times so it would look natural when Jarvis and I met up. I'm not interested in her damn mumbo-jumbo. Once Jarvis and I had made contact and set things up I stopped going. How do you expect me to remember a name? It was three years ago for God's sake.'

Henderson picked up the bottle and poured, but the wine stopped almost straight away. Henderson put the bottle down and motioned to the bar. The new arrival was still busy but with a different clean glass. He watched as the barman went across to the table. Henderson pushed the empty towards him.

‘Another bottle.'

‘Certainly, sir.'

The barman picked up the empty bottle, gave the spilt wine a wipe with the cloth he was carrying and left. Henderson waited until he was back at the bar before he spoke again.

‘Why did the woman policeman have that Costello with her? What's a policeman from England doing here?'

But Mercer wasn't listening. He was slightly turned looking over his shoulder at the bar. He turned round and his attention went back to Henderson.

‘Did you tell anyone we were going to meet?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Not that witch of a wife of yours?'

‘Certainly not. I don't want her to know about you. It's bad enough that I have to know you.'

‘Well someone knew we were going to meet because we've got company. There was only one barman when we came in, now there's two. Look around the place, it's not exactly rush-hour is it? Why the second barman?'

The original barman came out from behind the bar and brought the new bottle of wine to the table. Mercer nodded towards the bar.

‘A bit quiet for extra staff isn't it?'

‘He's new, a trainee, I show him what to do when it's quiet.'

‘I see.'

The barman left.

‘See, Mercer, he's no one, just a trainee.'

‘Trainee my arse, he's a copper.'

Henderson looked at the bar. The spare barman was intently studying the glass he was cleaning making it abundantly clear he was not at all interested in what was happening in the bar.

Henderson looked around. Mercer was right, the place didn't need a second barman and he didn't look like he was being trained except at cleaning glasses. But Henderson didn't want Mercer to be right.

‘Maybe a ferry is due.'

‘No it isn't, that's why we came here. If number two isn't a copper I'll eat my –' But if Henderson wanted to know what Mercer would eat he was disappointed because now something had clicked in Mercer's brain. ‘Fuck. It's Costello. The bastard must have had me followed and that means he knows something. All the drinking together and talking about old times was just pissing about. His turning up was no accident, he's here to stick his nose in. Well, I think we can make sure Jimmy fucking Costello gets fixed all right.' He sat back and smiled at Henderson. ‘Maybe there should be an accident, and I think I know how to arrange one.'

Henderson's alarm grew.

‘No. No violence, Mercer. You always said there would be no violence, but now Jarvis is dead and you're talking about accidents.'

‘I lied.'

Henderson's hand shook as he refilled his glass from the fresh bottle. His sweat glands were now on double-time. After he had taken a drink he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

‘But if that man is really from the police then they know we've met and they –'

‘Shut up. All they know is that we met. And that's all they know for certain. If they knew more we'd both be sitting in an interrogation room or a cell by now.'

‘But –'

‘Shut it and keep it shut.' Henderson shut it quickly and kept it shut while Mercer thought. ‘I called you, I asked to meet you. I wanted to ask you if you might do a bit of accountant work for me. We met here because we knew it would be quiet and a bar made it friendly. We talked about it but you decided you couldn't help so we drank some wine and you asked me about my books. After we'd had a few drinks I left. You decided to have another bottle and stayed on. All right, you got it?'

Henderson had got it but he didn't like it.

‘It sounds a bit thin to me.'

‘I don't give a Chinese shit what it sounds like to you, it's what we'll both say when they ask. If we both stick to it and say nothing else we're clear. There's fuck-all they can do. Understand?'

Henderson nodded. His was not a violent nature, but it had been patently obvious ever since they had first met that Mercer's was. Besides which he couldn't think of anything better.

Mercer poured a tiny amount of wine into his glass, swilled it around then stood up with a big smile on his face, big enough for the new barman to see from across the room. When he spoke it was loud enough for the barman to hear, for everyone to hear.

‘Well, thanks anyway, Mr Henderson, sorry we can't do business together. It was nice to meet you, goodbye.'

Henderson smiled weakly and it took him a moment to realise Mercer was holding out his hand. He took the hand but said nothing. Mercer took his glass to the bar and put it in front of the new barman.

‘Good luck with the training, mate.'

The barman didn't reply. Mercer turned and walked out of the bar. Henderson watched him get into his car and drive away. The place where the Mercedes had been parked was immediately filled by a black SEAT. A man and a woman got out and headed into the bar. Henderson recognised them as the woman Inspector and the man Costello. He quickly poured himself a glass of wine and drank it at one go, desperately rehearsing the story Mercer had given him. Jimmy and Suarez came to his table and sat down. Suarez asked the questions.

‘How do you do, Mr Henderson. We seem to have just missed your friend, Mr Mercer. Please, could you tell us why you two met? What was your business together?'

Henderson clumsily poured another glass, drank some, consigned his soul to God and began to tell her the story Mercer had given him. As he spoke he knew he had been right. It sounded thin.