Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

They were driven to Fulham Road nick. ‘How’s your head?’ Diamond asked in a moment of concern before they went through the front door to meet the desk sergeant.

‘Okay,’ Andriy said. ‘How’s yours?’

‘Right now it feels like Piccadilly Circus.’

‘Maybe you need a drink. Maybe we both do.’

‘Not here we don’t.’

They went through to the computer room where Louis presided. This evening he was working overtime and most of his team had gone home.

‘Any more news?’ Diamond asked.

‘From the hospital?’ Louis shook his head.

‘This is Andriy.’

‘I know all about Andriy,’ Louis said. ‘I sent you to him in the first place.’ He then asked slowly, to confirm his suspicion, ‘Is he your interpreter?’

‘Fluent in Ukrainian.’

Louis rolled his eyes.

‘And English,’ Diamond added. ‘So careful what you say. Where’s the prisoner?’

Louis hesitated, no doubt thinking what the official line should be on Andriy, and then pointed the way downstairs to the cells. ‘On consideration,’ he said, ‘I’d better come with you.’

Someone must have alerted DCI Gledhill to what was going on, because he rattled down the stairs in pursuit of them, a dapper man with a pencil-thin moustache. ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked in a tone that promised more obstruction than help.

Louis turned and explained who the visitors were, stressing Diamond’s senior rank in Bath CID.

‘We’re about to take a look at the man your boys arrested,’ Diamond said, ‘and then we’ll have him out for an interview. Which cell is it?’

‘He’s not speaking,’ Gledhill said.

‘He’ll speak to us. Andriy talks his language.’

‘I don’t think so. I’m the SIO here.’

‘Fine. You’re welcome to sit in when I interview him.’

‘You’re out of order, superintendent. This is the Met, not Bath police. We do our own interviewing.’

‘I hope I didn’t hear right,’ Diamond said in a tone that managed to be both subdued and menacing. ‘One of my officers, DI Halliwell, is in a critical condition in Charing Cross Hospital, apparently shot by this man, and you’re telling me to go to hell.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Gledhill said. ‘I didn’t say any such thing.’

‘That was the gist of it. You don’t have to tell me about pro-cedures in the Met. I served in this nick for five years. If a brother officer came to me from another force enquiring into the shooting of a colleague I wouldn’t just offer him full co-operation, I’d shake him by the hand and lead him straight to the perpetrator.’

‘It’s not about co-operation.’

‘Yes, it is, my friend. Here in the Met, of all places, you have to be aware of what’s going on across the nation, the inter-force consultation at every level. I’d hate to think Fulham Road has pulled up the drawbridge and refused interviewing facilities to a senior officer in an emergency.’

‘That isn’t the case.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Which cell?’

Gledhill sighed, defeated. ‘The second on your right.’

Diamond slid aside the cover to the Judas window. The man seated on the bed inside was about forty, sallow, with dark, deep-set eyes. His striped shirt looked expensive and his trousers were tailored, evidently part of a suit. The laces had been removed from his shoes, scuffed and muddy from the chase. A long look didn’t help Diamond recognise him, so he closed the window. ‘Are we to be allowed an interview room?’

‘I’ll have him brought up,’ Gledhill said. ‘This may be a waste of everyone’s time. There’s no guarantee that he’ll talk.’

Diamond grinned faintly and glanced at Louis. In the bad old days, the big man from Bath had more than once been put on report for persuading prisoners to co-operate.

Interview Room 1 was made ready, fresh tapes inserted. ‘You can read him his rights, the caution, all that stuff, when he’s brought in,’ Diamond told Gledhill in a show of altruism. The reality was that he always relied on others to go through the formalities. ‘Andriy, we’ll have you seated opposite us, next to the prisoner, to do your interpreting. Are you still okay?’

‘Thirsty.’

‘There’s water in front of you,’ Gledhill said.

‘I can wait,’ Andriy said, rolling his eyes.

‘We’re in shape, then. Let’s have him in.’

The custody sergeant brought in the unnamed prisoner, a shorter man than he’d appeared in the cell, with some swelling to his face and left eye. Everything about his demeanour suggested he wouldn’t co-operate. He slumped in the chair he was offered and stared at the ceiling.

Gledhill spoke the words for the tape and gave the official caution. Then the focus shifted to Andriy, who appeared as uninterested as the prisoner, probably because he was suffering from alcohol deprivation.

‘Over to you,’ Gledhill said.

‘Andriy,’ Diamond said in a sharp tone. He would have kicked him under the table if the space hadn’t been boarded in.

It dawned on Andriy finally that he was supposed to do something to earn his next drink. He blinked and turned towards the prisoner. Then he started laughing. He shook with amusement. ‘I know this man,’ he said. ‘What, are you playing a trick on me? Very funny. He’s no more Ukrainian than you are. He’s English and his name is Jim Jenkins.’

‘Is this a fact?’

The prisoner reacted with a quick nod. He looked alarmed to be unmasked.

‘ English? We went to all the trouble and expense of getting an interpreter and it turns out you’re English?’

And now the Englishman Jim Jenkins found his voice. ‘I didn’t say I was a foreigner.’

‘You didn’t say diddley-squat.’ Diamond turned to Andriy. ‘What can you tell us about him?’

Andriy was looking pensive, with some caginess mixed in. ‘Hold on. You hired me to be an interpreter. Two bottles, right? Now you’re asking me to be an informer.’

‘But you haven’t done any interpreting.’

‘For informing, the fee goes up. Four bottles.’

DCI Gledhill gave a twitch and said, ‘What’s this about bottles? I don’t understand.’

‘It’s how he measures his worth,’ Diamond said. ‘All right, Andriy. Four bottles it is.’

Gledhill was outraged. ‘You’ve no right to make him offers of any sort.’

‘I was speaking for you,’ Diamond said.

‘What? I can’t authorise payments off the cuff. There’s a procedure.’

‘The Met pays two million a year to snouts. We’re not going to quibble over two extra bottles.’

‘Bottles of what?’ the beleaguered Gledhill demanded.

‘Never mind. Do you want to talk here, Andriy, or in private?’

‘Better in private, I think.’

At this, Jenkins decided to wade in. ‘That’s out of order. You can’t let him make up stuff about me without telling me what it is. I have some legal rights here.’

‘Shut your face, Jenkins. I’ll tell you every bad thing he says,’ Diamond said. ‘We’ll stop the tape here and adjourn for a bit unless you want to make a full confession. Take him down, sergeant.’

Loudly protesting, Jenkins was removed.

‘Now, Andriy,’ Diamond said. ‘Give us the dirt on that man.’

‘James Jenkins? He is a whoremaster, a pimp. You must know this. He is on your files, right?’

Diamond turned to Gledhill with eyebrows raised, and was told, ‘I don’t personally know every piece of scum in west London. If what you say is true, we probably have him on file, yes.’

‘He runs a whorehouse in Barnes,’ Andriy went on. ‘Before that, for six or seven years, it was managed by a Ukrainian guy called Sergey.’