We Are Death (23 page)

‘Couldn’t possibly tell you.’

‘Did you go all the way to the summit?’ asked Badstuber.

‘What?’ said Geyerson sharply, although he did not look at her.

‘There is a convention to stop short of the summit, a convention some ignore. Did you go all the way to the top?’

‘Ha!’ he barked, his head shaking. ‘Any other questions, Chief Inspector, or will you allow us to get on our way?’

Like Haynes had felt in Paris, Jericho was regretting not being on his home patch. Unused to interviewing in these circumstances, he felt completely emasculated. Nothing he could say would carry any threat. In order to get anywhere, his only hope had been that Geyerson would prove cooperative.

‘I need you to tell me if you have any idea why this is happening,’ said Jericho.

‘Jesus,’ muttered Geyerson again. ‘Can we end this now? Seriously, I have nothing to tell you. You go and investigate Carter and Connolly’s deaths, and when you find something, keep it to yourself, because I don’t give a shit.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Badstuber.

Geyerson gave her a quick glance, looked back at Jericho, shaking his head.

‘We really are finished,’ he said.

‘We’re not accusing you,’ said Jericho.

Geyerson barked out a laugh.

‘Well, thank fuck for that. I mean, seriously, most fucking cops would probably think I was capable of killing someone from three feet while they’re in England and I’m in Morocco. But sure, I’m grateful to you, buddy. Jesus.’

‘Therefore, there’s an extremely high chance that you could be on the hit list.’

‘Jesus,’ he muttered again.

‘We recommend that you get yourself, and Mr Emerick and Mr Harrow, twenty-four-hour protection.’

Geyerson shook his head, started smiling ruefully.

‘Jesus, you people...

‘If someone wants you all dead, then you’re not going to be able to protect yourself. You need at least one bodyguard, probably more.’

‘Are you fellas paying for it?’

‘No, we’re not,’ said Badstuber, ‘but don’t pretend you don’t have the capacity to pay for it yourself.’

‘One bodyguard each for you two, twenty-four hours,’ said Jericho. ‘At the very least.’

‘Jesus,’ said Geyerson, but it was more exasperation this time, rather than annoyance. Generally everything that came out his mouth sounded like annoyance. However, in this instance, he rather liked the sound of a bodyguard. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had one in the past, and he’d been contemplating it ever since the expedition had ended.

Despite everything, it seemed as though he had underestimated the powers of his opponents. In fact, it had not been until the death of Connolly that he’d truly realised that they had opponents. Now they were showing their hand, and it did not take much to realise that this business would likely play out quickly and decisively. He had ignored it, walking in the high mountains of North Africa, but the arrival of the police was at last focusing his mind.

One bodyguard? He was going to get a team. Not, however, that he was going to give the police any credit for his decision.

‘Emerick and I spend every day together,’ said Geyerson, dismissively, ‘I think one bodyguard between us will do it.’

‘You don’t sleep together, do you?’ snapped Jericho.

Finally Emerick looked over, then his eyes dropped again quickly. Geyerson held Jericho’s gaze across the table. The look told him that yes, that was exactly what they did, but Jericho didn’t know whether to believe it. Geyerson could say absolutely anything, and Emerick appeared so supine that he would never contradict him.

As assistants go, he seemed like he might be completely useless. That they were sleeping together at least made some sense of them being together all the time.

‘Don’t judge me, Chief Inspector.’

‘We need to speak at much greater length,’ said Jericho, and Geyerson bristled. ‘I don’t care where it is, but we’re investigating a double murder, and you know a lot more about this case than we do and I’m not–’

‘Fuck. You.’

Jericho clenched his teeth, aware that the tone of conversation had started to rise, and that there had been a corresponding dip in noise at the nearest table, as the walkers realised there was an uncomfortable confrontation nearby.

‘We need you to accompany us back to Zurich,’ said Jericho. ‘We need to return to Marrakech thi–’

Geyerson’s hand slammed down onto the table. Jericho stopped talking, but his look held firm, as Geyerson’s face hardened, spittle on his lips.

‘Chief Inspector, this is none of your fucking business. My life is none of your fucking business. Why don’t you take your pointless little German bitch here back home, fuck her or whatever you’re going to do, and get the fuck out of my fu–’

Emerick’s body fell forward, his head thudding onto the table. An instant later there was the sound of the gunshot from high up the other side of the valley. A moment, then a scream from the next table and a flurry of action. Jericho grabbed Badstuber, pushing her down onto his lap, below the level of the table. Geyerson leapt to the ground, crawling quickly behind the table and Jericho. The nearby table started to scatter, a slight tumult arising, the crowd further away looking over curiously.

Jericho was a sitting duck, his body used entirely to protect Badstuber. A moment passed. All he could do was look over, high up the side of the valley, to see if there was any sign of the shooter. The sun was still high in the sky. The entire side of the mountain was bathed in light, yet there was nothing to see in amongst the rocks.

A few seconds and he knew there was no second bullet coming. Not for him, anyway. There might be for Geyerson, but even that he doubted. This sniper was brilliant. The shot that had killed Connolly had been brilliant, and so too was this one. If he’d intended killing Geyerson, he would have had the bullet off before the sound of the first one reached the resting station.

Jericho finally looked at Emerick. He had seemed so feckless, so insignificant. Now he was dead, and it was as though the number of people on the planet had not been reduced.

Blood was running from the small entry hole in the back of his head, pooling on the tabletop and dripping in between the slats. There was no need to check for signs of life. In fact, if he’d done that before Emerick had been shot, he doubted he would have found any either.

‘Can you see anything?’ barked Geyerson from just behind Jericho.

He looked back up the mountain. The sniper was invisible, but that was the person they knew they were dealing with. A ghost.

He felt Badstuber push slightly against his hand, and he let her sit up. She looked worriedly at Emerick’s body, and then at Jericho, then got out the seat to stare up the mountain.

The noise of the crowd was beginning to pick up, curiosity beginning to get the better of them, as they began to close in to see the corpse.

Geyerson still lay on the ground, cursing as Jericho moved away from the bench and once more partially opened the line of sight back up the hill.

––––––––

‘T
here is some record around this time of an organisation known as
Le Pavillon
. You may have heard of it, but I think most likely not.’

Leighton shook her head, Haynes raised an ever-sceptical eyebrow.

‘The Pavilion, of course, as it is generally taken.’

Jesus. This doesn’t really move the narrative any closer back to the real world.

‘There is mention of there being a link between a man named Trelawny and The Pavilion. Trelawny, many believe, was the reborn and still youthful Featherstone, now come to make his fortune in London and the wider world. And make his fortune he did. Jacob Trelawny died in 1913, quite possibly the richest man in Great Britain.’

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Leighton.

‘No, of course not. He sought neither public name nor infamy. He conducted his business in the utmost privacy, but it is said by some that within ten years of his appearance in London, he had turned The Pavilion into the most powerful organisation of its kind in the whole of the Empire, and by default the entire world.’

‘Who were they?’ asked Haynes.

Perhaps there will be a second course. Pancakes and bacon, with maple syrup.

The old man answered with a slight wave of the hand, then took another mouthful. Leighton and Haynes shared a rare conspiratorial glance, and for a moment he felt he had her back on his side.

There are no sides!

‘Businessmen, politicians, statesmen, industrialists, diplomats. It is said that they did not become part of the establishment, but that they were the establishment. It was also said that they held some great source of power, and then... and then it all goes quiet, and little is heard again of The Pavilion.’

‘When was this?’

‘In the late 1840s. I have been able to find nothing of them, other than a couple of obscure mentions coming out of Paris, no less. It seems perhaps they moved their operation there, or maybe they opened a new headquarters. How can we tell?’

He indicated the file lying on the sideboard behind Haynes.

‘Your book there does not reveal much, but it does, at least, provide a definite link between Trelawny’s Pavilion and the underlying power in France and its colonies. Rare, very rare, to have anything at all written about the Pavilion, so it does give unique, if meagre insight. That it exists at all, and indeed, that someone allowed it to come into your hands is, I think, more significant than anything you will find in the translation.’

Leighton glanced over Haynes’s shoulder at the file, then turned back to the old man. Haynes took some coffee, then leant forward, his elbows on the table.

‘What we’re looking for here,’ he said, ‘is some clue as to who’s been sending tarot cards to my boss, and then to me a few days ago; who’s able to manipulate the boss and all these people related to him, to have him declared the heir to a multi-million pound estate; who could be in complete control of what we’re doing in this investigation. You’re saying there’s some link with this Pavilion from the 1840s?’

The old man smiled. He took another sip of coffee, which had long gone cold, then dabbed once again at his lips with the napkin.

‘It certainly sounds like them, doesn’t it? And wouldn’t it be fascinating, when one considers they have been quiet all this time. All this time... And now this.’

‘People are dying,’ said Haynes.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Drummond.

He picked up the small bell that lay on the table beside him and rang it once, short and sharp and loud. They waited to see if his wife really would come running, and then a few moments later the door opened, and she entered, smiling.

‘Anne, darling, be a good girl and bring us a fresh pot of coffee. And perhaps our guests would like some toast. Obviously I won’t have any myself.’

She smiled.

‘Yes, dear.’

Haynes noticed she had a small envelope in her hand, and as she saw him looking, she suddenly seemed to remember it.

‘Sorry, Sergeant, what am I thinking? This came for you a short while ago. Hand delivered to the front door. I presume you told your office where you were? I didn’t like to bring it in earlier. Didn’t want to disturb you.’

She placed the envelope on the table beside him. He looked at it for a few moments, then lifted it, slit it open and took out a tarot card.

A similar card to the last one, Death on his horse before a forest, the five men hanging in the background.

Three down, two to go.

*

‘Y
ou going to arrest me, Chief Inspector? You have the authority for that? I’m interested to know. Are the Moroccan authorities aware that two European police officers are in their country, acting as though they have some mandate to harass and interrogate innocent members of the public?’

Badstuber and Jericho were well aware of their situation, now that they were witnesses to a murder and the victim was someone they had come to question. They had not contacted the Moroccans at any stage. They’d spoken to the Swiss embassy in Rabat, and a decision had been taken.

It would have been better for them if Emerick had been killed twenty minutes earlier. The timing of the assassination, however, had put them right there, at the table.

In the hurricane of phone calls that had been made back down the mountain in the immediate aftermath of the murder, one had been from Badstuber to her contact in Rabat. The local police were still some time from arriving, but already it was time to start smoothing things over.

‘There have been three murders now...’ Jericho began, although he was close to stopping himself from making the effort. He knew it was useless, and short of rugby tackling Geyerson and pinning him down, there was nothing he could do. Not here. They really did need to get him back to Switzerland.

‘Only one of which, as I understand,’ said Geyerson, ‘is your responsibility. I suggest you go home and investigate it. I’m sure that’s what the British taxpayer would expect of you.’

Geyerson had collected his larger backpack from the hut, and he now threw it onto his back and arranged the straps over his shoulders.

‘If you need to speak to me again, you can get hold of me through my office. I presume that was how you found me here. Now, Chief Inspector, will you please just fuck off.’

Jericho was standing in his way, in the middle of the path. Obviously it was going to be easy enough for Geyerson to walk round him, but it wasn’t about that. It was about getting Jericho to back down.

Jericho had lost, but he knew you didn’t go giving the likes of Thomas Geyerson an inch.

‘I’d like to formally request that you accompany the Detective Inspector and me back to Zurich,’ he said. ‘You won’t be charged wi–’

‘Charged? Jesus!’

Geyerson walked round Jericho, quickly to the edge of the small area of flat ground, and then he was heading downhill on the start of the path to Imlil.

Badstuber came and stood beside Jericho as they watched him go.

‘You could not stop him,’ she said.

Jericho shook his head. He wanted to be heading down after him, but he felt a sense of duty to wait until the local authorities had arrived. Someone had to stay beside Emerick’s body. They couldn’t all just leave.