Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

It was almost seven o’clock when he heard footsteps, then the rattle of a key. The door was pushed open and Rudi stood on the threshold. Shepherd grinned at him. ‘Hello again,’ he said.

A uniformed constable gave Rudi a nudge and he stepped inside the cell. The door clanged shut behind him. ‘You are not still in the hospital?’ he asked.

‘They said I’m okay,’ said Shepherd, standing up. ‘How’s Jessica?’

‘She’s good. Not in danger any more.’

‘Why didn’t they let you stay in the hospital?’ asked Shepherd.

‘My wife is with her,’ said Rudi. He sat down on the plastic chair. ‘Everything will be okay. I have asked for asylum already. Now they have to get me a lawyer. Soon they will find us a place to live and then I can work.’

Shepherd smiled, but he knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that. Even without the million euros of counterfeit currency in Rudi’s bags, life as an asylum-seeker wasn’t as rosy as Rudi seemed to imagine. ‘Have they given you anything to eat?’ he asked.

‘Last night, but nothing today,’ he said.

‘You should tell them you want food,’ said Shepherd, and sat on the bunk. ‘They have to feed you. These people, they won’t do anything for you unless you stand up for your rights.’

Rudi wiped his face with his hands. ‘I want to be with my wife and daughter,’ he said.

‘You can ask your lawyer,’ said Shepherd. ‘They should at least let you see your daughter.’

‘What about you?’ asked Rudi. ‘Have they said what will happen to you?’

‘Prison,’ said Shepherd.

‘But you are a good man,’ said Rudi. ‘You saved my daughter.’

‘I was smuggling people,’ said Shepherd. ‘They will send me to prison for that.’

‘You have a wife?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘But we are not together any more.’

‘And you have children?’

‘A boy.’

‘It will not be easy for them if you go to prison.’

‘It won’t be for long,’ said Shepherd. ‘Two years, maybe three.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I decided to break the law so I have to take the consequences.’

‘It makes no sense,’ said Rudi. ‘I broke the law but your government will find me a place to live and take care of my family. You broke the law and you will go to prison.’

‘Shit happens,’ said Shepherd.

Rudi frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Sometimes bad things happen. No matter what you do, no matter how carefully you make plans, things go wrong.’

‘Shit happens,’ Rudi repeated. ‘It is true.’

Shepherd lay back on the bunk. Rudi was about to discover how true it was. Shepherd would take no pleasure in what he was about to do, but Rudi was a means to an end. ‘I heard the police talking about you,’ said Shepherd, quietly.

Rudi stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They found something on the boat,’ said Shepherd. ‘They think it belongs to you.’

The legs of the chair scraped along the floor as Rudi got up. ‘What did they find?’ he said. ‘What did they say?’

Shepherd sat up again slowly and swung his feet to the floor. He shrugged. ‘I just overheard two cops talking, that’s all. About some cans in your luggage.’

‘Cans? They said cans?’

‘Cans of oil. Did you have some with you?’

Rudi had paled. ‘Did they open them?’ he said.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was in the corridor and there were two policemen talking. Detectives, I think.’

‘Detectives?’

‘They weren’t wearing uniforms. Why?’

Rudi began to pace up and down, his hands bunched into fists.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Nothing,’ said Rudi.

‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ said Shepherd.

Rudi stopped pacing. ‘Did they say anything else?’

‘The detectives? No. But one of the cops was asking me about the bags.’

‘Asking what?’

‘He showed me photographs of all the baggage in the hold and asked me if I knew who they belonged to.’

‘Why did they want to know that?’

‘I guess they wanted to see who owned which bags.’

‘And what did you tell them?’

‘I didn’t tell them anything. I’m waiting for my lawyer to get here.’

Rudi was pacing again.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd.

‘They have no right to go through my bags,’ said Rudi. ‘My bags are private.’

‘They can do what they want when you come into the country,’ said Shepherd. ‘Customs have the right to search you and all your possessions.’ He paused. ‘What was in the cans?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Rudi.

‘How can you not know?’

‘I don’t know!’

Shepherd held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘I was trying to help, that’s all.’

Rudi walked over to the door and banged his forehead against the metal.

Shepherd went over to him. ‘That won’t help,’ he said.

Rudi continued to bang his head.

‘Rudi, they’ll just come to see what you’re doing, and if they think you’re hurting yourself, they’ll restrain you.’

Rudi stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ll handcuff you. They won’t want you to hurt yourself.’ He put a hand on Rudi’s shoulder. ‘Sit down. Let’s talk about it.’ He guided the other man to the chair. ‘Look, if you don’t know what was in the cans, you can’t be in trouble. The police will believe you.’

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’

Shepherd sat on the bunk, facing him. ‘So why did you have them in your luggage?’

Rudi shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Maybe I can help.’

Rudi looked up fearfully. ‘How can you? You’re going to prison.’

‘I’ll get bail,’ Shepherd said. ‘I have money. My lawyer will get me released until I go to trial.’

‘Will they release me?’

‘It depends on what was in the cans,’ said Shepherd. ‘If it was drugs-’

‘I told you, I don’t know what was in them!’

‘Yes – but if it was drugs they could send you to prison for a long time and you wouldn’t be able to take care of your family.’

‘They didn’t tell me what was in the cans,’ said Rudi. He propped his elbows on his knees and put his head into his hands.

‘You were carrying them for someone else, then?’ said Shepherd. ‘Who?’

Rudi leaped to his feet. ‘Why are you asking so many questions?’

‘I just want to help you,’ said Shepherd.

‘No one can help me.’ He began to bang his head on the door again. ‘No one.’

It was just before ten when Sharpe and Joyce came to collect Shepherd. They handcuffed him and led him out to the Vectra. They showed their warrant cards to the guard at the gate, who made a note on his clipboard.

Sharpe drove out of the police car park and accelerated down the road.

‘Home, James,’ joked Shepherd, from the back seat.

‘I’m dropping you in north London,’ said Sharpe. ‘The boss said he’ll run you home. Joycie and I’ve got work to do – real work, as opposed to chauffeuring heroes.’

There was little traffic on the motorway and Sharpe kept the car in the outside lane at a steady 90 m.p.h. They left Shepherd at a service station on the outskirts of London where Hargrove was sitting in the back of his official Rover. The driver was already out of the car, holding the door open, as Shepherd walked over and climbed into the back. The superintendent was wearing a dinner jacket, with a scarlet cummerbund and a hand-tied black bow-tie.

‘Been conjuring?’ asked Shepherd, laconically.

‘Awards ceremony,’ said Hargrove. ‘Bravery above and beyond, all that jazz. There wasn’t a guy there who’d done a tenth of what you have over the past couple of years.’