sThe Quiet Wart (10 page)

Both Sean and Liz had decided to leave it a week before travelling to Brussels, as they had a few things to follow up on the Walsh piece, and anyway, they wanted to allow some time for the hype around Anna to die down.

Travelling ahead with Terry to set up camp and establish a pattern for Anna's movements, Clive was glad to be back on the case, as he felt the death of Phil was still unresolved, his efforts with the Belgian police having fallen upon deaf ears.

‘She's not in the same apartment anymore. She keeps a large house on Avenue de Lothier in the Woluwe St Pierre district, and either she's won the lottery recently, or she's living above her means. When I say a large house I mean a 16,000 square foot mansion, in the best district in Brussels,' Clive said, nursing a beer in the same café in Place Jourdan where they'd met previously.

‘Can we get any background checks done on her: family money etc.? She wouldn't get a place like that on an MEP's salary.' Sean frowned.

‘Already onto it. We should have some information tomorrow,' Clive answered.

‘What's she been up to?' Sean asked.

‘Working mostly. She's been at her offices until dinner each evening, then she dines with a steady stream of politicians, both national and EU. We've got pictures of everybody she's met with outside of work and home, but nobody out of the ordinary,' Terry reported.

‘How about the house?' Sean asked.

‘Ten foot high walls with barbed wire on top, permanent security on the gate, flat land… There's no way we can find out what's going on inside. Some cars come and go, but they all have privacy glass so we don't know who's in them, and unfortunately, my contacts don't stretch into the Belgian police, so we can't find out who owns them,' Clive said.

‘How does she get to work?' Liz asked.

‘This is where I think there's a chance: she runs,' Clive smiled.

‘Perfect. Why just a chance?' Sean queried.

‘Firstly, she's fast, and can probably outrun you if she wants to.'

Memories of the clumsy way she'd run away from the car in Place Jourdan crossed Sean's mind. Even though she was wearing heels it hadn't been the gait of somebody used to running, especially not somebody Clive considered
fast.
‘Are you sure? She seemed rather awkward on her feet before.'

‘There are a lot of things about this Anna Faustein that don't compute with the timid woman who showed up in London. The second reason that the running route might not work is that she has her car follow her and can get in and leave at any sign of a problem,' Clive said.

‘That's odd. I thought she was a bit chameleon-like before, changing from the lost girl to the independent businesswoman in minutes. But why the act?'

‘I don't know, but I'm telling you that the lost girl is long gone and she's now a woman who's in charge. It's in her walk, in the way she speaks to people. She's a formidable woman,' Clive said.

*

Before he left the hotel the next morning, Liz held onto him tightly. ‘You know I don't like you being around her, Sean. She tried to steal you from me before and didn't even have the courtesy to hide it.'

‘I know, but she's got no chance. I have the two most beautiful women in the world already. Why would I need another?' he said.

The journey from the hotel to the interception point only took ten minutes before Sean had to climb out of the warm car. He waited by a hedge, outside the park on the Avenue de Marquis Villalobar, in the faint light that emitted over the high walls from the mansions lining one side of the street. From his position, it was just possible to see the corner where Terry was hiding, ready to signal Anna's arrival. Banging his feet on the gravel path, trying to keep the blood flowing in the subzero temperature, he rubbed his arms up and down his sides in the heavy tracksuit, worn with a beanie hat, so that Anna wouldn't recognise him from behind when she approached.

In a weird way he was excited about seeing Anna again. He'd rekindled his relationship with Liz, partly as a result of her flirting, but that wasn't what it was: he knew the sensation; it was the thrill of the story; the chase for the elusive information that made the difference between a great story and a hollow report. And with Anna Faustein, Allsop and Blom
et al.,
he knew he had unfinished business. Now, Anna's sudden rise to fame gave him the perfect opportunity to re-open his enquiries.

Two quick flashes of a torch indicated that Anna was approaching, so Sean started to run at a steady pace along the gravel path that ran adjacent to the park. He was glad to be running, letting the feeling come back into his extremities as the blood flowed to them, and it wasn't long before he could hear Anna's footsteps approaching, then the lights of her car lit up the footpath in front of him. Three other runners had passed while he waited, so the sight of another person wouldn't be anything of concern for Anna, or her security.

Her controlled breathing suddenly came into earshot, as she moved up quickly behind him and her steps were fast and light on the gravel. Then, in no time, she passed him, striding away quickly.

‘Anna,' he called out.

She spun around quickly and instinctively moved towards her car, then squinted. ‘Sean?' she said. ‘Is that you beneath that stupid hat? Have you been following me?' she smiled and leant against the car.

‘Hi, Anna, I was hoping that I could ask you a few questions?' Sean said, suddenly feeling a little silly.

‘You can if you can keep up with me. I have an early meeting,' she said, as she started to run again.

Sean quickly scrambled to catch up.

‘You do know that the normal way to get in touch with me is to arrange a meeting through my office? Jumping out of the bushes near my house is a little weird,' she called out over her shoulder.

When he finally drew level with her, he was panting. ‘Sorry. I didn't think I'd be able to get in to see you,' he said, lying to cover his embarrassment.

‘Are you writing a piece on me, Sean?' Anna said, grinning.

‘Maybe. It depends whether there's anything worth saying.'

‘Oh well, I'd hate to be considered boring. Maybe I'll just make up some juicy bits for your readers.' She raised her eyebrows suggestively at him.

For some reason, Sean had expected Anna to be hostile towards him, but he was now unable to fathom why. They'd parted on good terms and agreed on an approach to the translation issues. Then it dawned on him: it was Liz. Because
she
held Anna in such contempt, Sean had somehow translated that into Anna thinking the same about him. Something that was obviously wrong, given her friendly reaction to his approach. He wondered whether she'd feel the same when he started to ask her questions.

‘How did you go from an anti-federalist backbencher, to the head of the largest federalist party in Europe, in just five months?' he asked, between breaths.

‘It's just politics, Sean. A woman has to do what she has to do,' Anna laughed, still breathing comfortably.

‘What about your loyalty to Nick?'

‘That was a sad episode, but I've moved on.'

‘That doesn't sound like the caring Anna I met five months ago,' Sean said, surprised by the remark.

‘Well, maybe I'm not that Anna anymore,' she said.

‘What happened to your apartment? How can you afford such a grand house?' Sean switched tack quickly as Anna quickened her pace.

‘My divorce settlement came through and I decided to treat myself. Besides, I live in Brussels full-time now, following my promotion, so a small apartment just wasn't suitable.'

‘Do you ever think about who might have killed Nick?' Sean asked.

Slowing her pace a little, she turned to look at Sean. ‘The coroner said it was suicide, didn't you hear?'

‘I did, but I still don't believe it. Do you?'

‘I don't know,' she said, slowing to a walk. ‘I just don't have time to think about it anymore. Things are going well for me now and I want to make sure it stays that way. Raking over old memories won't help.'

Standing still on the footpath with her hands on her hips, she looked up and down Sean's body. ‘You're in good shape considering your injuries,' she said.

‘The physio regime was pretty brutal.'

‘I see that your career is blossoming too. Congratulations on the award,' she smiled.

‘How do you know about that?' Sean asked.

‘I like to know what my friends are up to. That's what you are, a friend, aren't you? I'm assuming that you didn't come to Brussels to dig up dirt on me?'

‘No, of course not, and yes, we're friends. I just wanted to ask how you had suddenly become so successful, that's all.' Sean forced out a fake laugh, feeling as if he'd somehow let her down by doubting her.

‘I'm just lucky, I guess: only in work though, not in love. Are you still with Liz?' Anna shrugged.

‘Yes,' Sean said, too quickly.

Suddenly, Anna stepped forward until she was only a few inches from him and looked up, her eyes searching into his. ‘That's a pity. We could do great things together, you and I. Look me up if it all falls apart,' she said and kissed him on the lips.

When Sean moved back instinctively, Anna laughed, before turning away and running down to her car. ‘Sorry. I've got a meeting. Next time, just call me and we'll meet for dinner,' she said, as she climbed into the rear seat of the black limousine and it sped away in the direction of the EU Quarter.

‘So that's it? A complete waste of time?' Liz said in a satisfied tone.

‘I'm afraid so. Everything she said seemed perfectly legit,' Sean said, sipping on a cappuccino in the small café, back in Place Jourdan.

‘The sudden money?' Clive asked.

‘Divorce settlement,' Sean replied.

‘That's not surprising,' Liz added.

‘How about the sudden change of political stance? Did she mention that?' Clive asked.

‘Yes, she just said it was politics. She openly acknowledges that she's ambitious and that she did it to get ahead. To be honest, I don't think any of them have really deeply held views. It's all about their own careers, and they just say what makes them popular,' Sean said.

‘Was she annoyed about being doorstepped?' Liz asked.

‘No. In fact, she made a joke of it and said that in future I should just call,' Sean said, shaking his head. ‘To be honest, it was embarrassing.'

‘So, she wasn't angry at all?' Clive asked.

‘No, she was anything but,' Sean said, avoiding eye contact with Liz.

‘I think we're barking up the wrong tree. If she was hiding something, she wouldn't be so open,' Clive said.

‘I agree. Much as I'd like to think that she's a fire-breathing witch, hell-bent on world domination, I think you're right: she's just an overly ambitious bitch. Perhaps that's what makes her so dislikeable,' Liz said.

‘Okay, I guess we should find somebody else to write about then,' Sean conceded, frustrated by the lack of progress on his unfinished piece.

‘How about Blom?' Clive suggested.

Both Liz and Sean looked quizzically at Clive. ‘He quit and went back to Sweden,' Liz said.

‘I still think he had something to do with Phil's murder,' Clive said. ‘Losing his job wasn't quite the punishment I had in mind for him, if we can prove that he was involved, that is.'

Glancing at Liz, Sean tilted his head to one side, silently asking her what she thought. Liz shrugged her shoulders back in an equally silent reply.

‘Okay, what do you suggest?' Sean asked Clive.

‘I think we should visit him in Sweden and ask him a few questions,' Clive answered.

‘You're not a policeman anymore, Clive. He doesn't have to cooperate, you know?' Liz said.

‘I know. That's why I'm taking Sean. It's better cover,' Clive responded.

‘Okay, what the hell. I've never been to Sweden. But you owe us for the flights if he just slams the door in your face,' Liz laughed.

‘Done,' Clive agreed.

When the plane broke through the clouds on its descent into Stockholm's Arlanda airport, a sea of fresh white snow blanketed the city, making it look like some kind of fairy tale kingdom. Sean held Liz's hand as they landed and drew up to the terminal. It was 11 a.m. and they were due to fly back to London at 5 p.m. the same day, giving them very little time to find Blom and interview him.

Once again, Sean had chosen not to call ahead, in case it sent the corrupt Swede underground, or worse, brought out a welcome party of his Nazi friends. Walking out of the airport, they rented a car and made straight for the apartment that Liz's research had identified as Blom's current home.

Just over an hour later they crossed a bridge onto an urban island close to the centre of the city. The faded concrete block on Tantogaten, in the Södermalm district of Stockholm, had a smattering of poorly stocked shops underneath, and looked as if it was well overdue for demolition. At least half of the small windows overlooking the busy railway line were boarded up with plywood. As Terry pulled up by a group of teenage children with their hoods up, Clive and Sean climbed out onto the pavement.

‘It looks like somebody's had a rapid fall from grace,' Clive said.

When they entered the apartment building, the smell of urine permeated the concrete stairwell and Sean held his nose trying to block out the foul stench, as they climbed to the tenth floor.

‘1045, right?' Sean said, as they walked along the dimly lit corridor, with litter strewn all around it.

When they reached apartment 1045, other than the fact that there was a light on inside, a person could be forgiven for thinking that it was empty; abandoned by a group of squatters. Paint was peeling from the wooden door in large strands, and the small window looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in years. Clive quickly stepped forward and pushed the bell twice, then moved back, keeping Sean behind him.

‘I hope he doesn't recognise you. I don't fancy having a tussle with a guy his size,' Clive said.

It had crossed Sean's mind that Blom might have researched him as the journalist who ruined his career. But that was something they'd just have to deal with if he had.

It took two more rings before Blom finally appeared in the hallway. Sean could see his lumbering frame moving slowly towards the door, through the opaque glass panel. When he finally opened it, he seemed to move in slow motion.

‘Ja?'
Blom said, stooping to look through the doorframe. He was wearing an old blue towelling robe wrapped around a vest, with dirty slippers and he hadn't shaved for days.

‘Mr Blom, could I ask you a few questions?' Sean said, stepping out from behind Clive.

‘Who are you and why do you come here?' Blom said in English, showing no emotion on his face, the rancid stench of freshly drunk vodka emitting from his mouth.

‘I'm a journalist writing a piece on some people at the EU and I wondered if you could give me some background.'

‘I don't work at the EU anymore and I don't like journalists. Go away,' Blom said, still without a trace of emotion.

‘We're looking into the death of a man in Brussels. He got knocked down near Place Jourdan,' Clive said.

‘I already spoke to the Belgian police. I had nothing to do with it. Ask them.'

‘Do you know Anna Faustein well?' Sean asked.

‘No. Why?' Blom replied.

‘Because we think that whoever killed the man in Place Jourdan, was really trying to kill her,' Sean answered.

‘Probably a jealous boyfriend, I heard that she's a slut. What's it to you anyway?'

‘The man that died was a good friend of mine and I'd like to know why he died,' Clive said, leaning forward and staring at Blom.

Suddenly Blom seemed to soften and he looked closely at Clive's face, obviously considering his next move. ‘I'm sorry. Come in,' he said, showing them to a threadbare couch in his living room, while he dropped his mammoth body into a decrepit armchair. A half-drunk bottle of vodka sat on the side table next to him. ‘How can I help you?' he folded his arms.

‘This murder happened the day after you met with Wagner and it was very close to where you met. We think the two things might be related,' Clive carried on.

‘If they are related, it's not via me. I didn't even know Wagner before I met him in the car.' An ironic expression crossed Blom's face.

‘Then why meet him?' Sean said, somewhat puzzled.

‘You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' Blom replied.

‘Try me,' Sean countered.

‘I met Wagner because I was doing a favour for somebody.'

‘Okay, who?' Sean asked.

‘Hans Glas, the fucking Austrian prick!' Blom seethed.

‘I'm sorry. I don't follow,' Sean said.

‘I had dinner with Glas and some other spineless MEPs earlier that evening, and Glas asked me to take some documents for a house he was selling to a car in the car park.' He looked up at the ceiling, clearly cursing something.

‘The car that Wagner was in?' Sean asked.

‘Yes, but I didn't know it was Wagner. Glas said it was his daughter's ex-husband and he didn't want to see him, that's why he asked me to take the papers.'

‘Didn't you think that it was strange to meet in a car like that?' Clive asked.

‘Yes, but he said it was urgent and, well, I didn't really have a choice. I owe Glas money; a lot of money. I did look at the papers before I delivered them and they were just as he said, house transfer documents, so I decided what harm could it do. And I've regretted that stupid decision every moment for the last five months.'

‘What did you do when you saw Wagner?' Sean asked, still sceptical about Blom's version of events.

‘Nothing. I didn't know who he was and he claimed to be Glas' daughter's ex-husband, just as Glas had said. He had a German accent; it made sense.'

‘Why did you get in the car then? You could have just passed the document through the window,' Clive queried.

‘Because he asked me to and offered me a shot of single malt. Unfortunately, I have a weakness for alcohol,' Blom admitted.

Surprisingly, Blom's story was starting to stack up, and Sean felt a welling of self-doubt building inside him.
Did I destroy a man's life in error?
he thought. ‘Why did you owe Glas money?' he asked, fighting the growing sense of panic.

Again Blom shook his head ruefully. ‘I have a gambling problem and I owed other, more dangerous people, money. Glas, I thought, had helped me out. Obviously I was wrong.'

‘Why didn't you tell people this when the story broke about Wagner?' Sean asked.

‘Because somebody made some very nasty threats against my family if I said anything, so I just left as quietly as possible.'

‘Who made the threats?' Clive asked.

‘I don't know. He was German and I assumed he worked for Wagner, so I thought the threat was credible. As you can see, my family left me anyway after what happened. My wife said she couldn't live with a Nazi, it would put too much shame on the children. The only thing left for me now is to make sure Glas doesn't get the family house.'

‘You mean you still owe him money?' Sean asked.

‘Yes, when I left the Commission I lost all of my income and the loan from Glas was secured against my house,' Blom replied.

‘But he hasn't tried to repossess it?'

‘No, he uses it to punish me. I receive a small unemployment benefit from the Swedish Government, three quarters of which I pay to Glas. It doesn't even cover the interest on the loan, so Glas holds the threat of taking the house from my wife and children over me.'

‘Does your wife know?' Clive asked.

‘No.' Blom shook his head.

Now beginning to feel sorry for the huge Swede, Sean was starting to think everything he'd said was believable and studying his current surroundings, he had little reason to lie. ‘Why would Glas want you out?' he asked.

‘I don't know, but the German representative took my post in the Commission, so maybe it was something to do with that.'

‘Could it be anything to do with this?' Sean opened his laptop and showed Blom the excerpt from the bill that Allsop had given him, pointing to the sentence that mentioned Article 7 of the TFEU, and then the Swedish translation that Anna had pointed out.

‘What is this?' Blom's face contorted with confusion.

‘It's an excerpt from a bill that went through the European Parliament in September, before you left,' Sean said.

Pushing his rimless glasses up his nose, Blom studied the text more carefully. ‘I recognise the bill, but this translation, no. I don't understand. It wasn't like this the last time I saw it.'

‘Could it have slipped through without you noticing,' Sean continued.

‘Possibly. I wasn't across everything. But this is dangerous,' he said.

‘Anna Faustein said the same,' Clive added.

‘What would she know? She probably never read a bill in her life. None of them do.' Blom raised his hands dismissively.

‘What's dangerous about it?' Clive asked.

‘If a member state is suspended, they can't vote in any of the forums until the suspension is lifted.'

‘Rightly so,' Sean said.

‘Yes, but if all of the power to suspend them rests with the Commission President, it could be misused.' Blom seemed less of the drunken wastrel now and was genuinely concerned about the bill.

‘How so?' Clive asked.

‘The majority of the members have long wanted to remove the unanimous vote of the European Council required for a treaty change. If they can somehow suspend the dissenting members for long enough to pass a unanimous vote of those left, to change the voting laws to simple majority, then European federalization could march forward without the brakes applied,' Blom responded, his eyes conveying the seriousness with which he spoke.

‘I'm not a politician. If federalization does move ahead quickly, where would that leave the UK?' Clive asked.

‘Like Idaho,' Sean said in a glib tone. ‘We'd have no more say in the running of our country than Idaho does in the US. The British Government would be relegated to managing garbage collections.'

‘It's true,' Blom added. ‘In a federal Europe, the British vote would only be 8.4% of the total. It's too small to have any impact.'

‘The British people won't surrender their sovereignty that easily. We'll leave the EU,' Clive said indignantly.

The impromptu outburst made Sean chuckle. He'd never seen Clive as the patriotic type; he was too clever and too considered.

‘I'm sorry. Forgive me for being rude, but the United Kingdom gave away its sovereignty in 2008, when it ratified the Treaty of Lisbon. All that's left now is to tidy up the details,' Blom said.

‘We can still leave,' Clive said, clearly still agitated.

‘Yes, that's true, and Lisbon makes a member's right to leave the union clear.'

‘Good,' Clive added for effect, as if he could personally invoke the UK's exit from the EU.

Thanking Blom for his openness, Sean stood to leave, but Blom didn't stand.

‘You're Sean McManus, aren't you?' he said, staring at Sean's face.

The words temporarily paralysed Sean, but Blom didn't look angry, he seemed to be just asking a simple question. ‘Yes,' he said, wondering whether he should have lied.

Standing quickly Clive positioned himself between Sean and Blom, but the enormous Swede didn't stand to cause trouble.

‘Why did you hide in the car park and take photos of me that night?' Blom asked.

In the circumstances it was a very relevant question and Blom deserved an honest answer. Blom had been targeted because of the excerpt given to him by Allsop.
Was Allsop somehow involved with Glas? And was that why he'd been killed?

‘Nick Allsop gave us the excerpt I showed you and we assumed that you were involved in the changes, so we followed you,' Sean said truthfully.

‘Allsop? But he killed himself before I finished?' Blom frowned.

‘We think he was murdered,' Clive butted in.

‘And you think I was involved in that also? I actually liked Nick. He was a difficult man, but he had integrity, something which is rare in the halls of power at the EU.' Blom raised his eyebrows.

‘I did, but I don't anymore. Who do you think would want both Allsop and Faustein dead? Assuming the two are related that is,' Clive asked.

Deep in thought, Blom again shook his head. ‘Glas seems to be the obvious choice if everything is related. He was certainly the person that finished my career, but I don't know why,' he said.

Sean thanked Blom for his time and shook his hand firmly. Then, just as he was leaving, Blom said. ‘Keep me informed. I'd like to know how this turns out. Despite what you see, I would like some vestige of my life back. And if I can be of any help, please contact me.' He handed Sean a slip of paper with his phone number and email address scribbled on it.

*

In the car on the way back to the airport, Sean explained the conversation to Liz and Terry, and asked Clive whether he still believed Blom was involved in the deaths.

‘No, I don't think so. He seemed genuine enough to me and his reasons for dropping off the letter were plausible. Besides, he has nothing left to lie for,' Clive responded.

‘Where does that leave us?' Liz asked.

‘Hans Glas would seem the obvious target,' Sean said.

‘Agreed,' Clive commented.

Quickly searching her phone, Liz scrolled through a number of screens. ‘He lives in Braunau-am-Inn, in Austria.'

‘That rings a bell, but I'm not sure why,' Sean said.

‘I think we should go there,' Clive suggested.

‘Why?' Sean replied.

‘To get some background on Glas. I doubt he's the same person at home that he is in Brussels.'