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.’
‘It’s not about being brave,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s about getting the job done.’
The driver got behind the wheel and edged the car towards the M25.
‘Be nice if you could step up and take a bow some time, though,’ said Hargrove.
‘I’ve got half a dozen photographs of me shaking hands with various police commissioners,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just not allowed to show them to anybody.’
‘You know what I mean, Spider.’
‘I’m not in this for the glory,’ said Shepherd. He smiled ruefully. ‘Or the money.’
‘How did it go with your man?’ asked Hargrove.
Shepherd shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t play ball. I’m not even sure he knows he was carrying money.’
‘I’m sorry you were in there for so long. There was a manpower shortage. Local cops didn’t have anyone to bring him over until the evening shift.’
‘I figured something had gone wrong.’ He stretched and groaned. He needed a shower.
‘Wasn’t as if we could call and tell you,’ said Hargrove. ‘So, you reckon he didn’t know what was in the cans.’
‘He says he didn’t. I didn’t tell him – thought that might be pushing it too far. I planted the idea that it might have been drugs and he didn’t argue. We could use that as leverage, maybe. If he thinks he’s facing ten years for bringing in a class-A drug, he might talk.’
‘Did he say what he was supposed to do with the cans?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Clammed up, pretty much. That was when he started the head-banging routine. I couldn’t put him under pressure without stepping out of character.’
‘How do you read him?’
‘Just a guy trying to do the best for his family. Figured they’d have a better life in the UK. Probably thought the streets were paved with gold. Sad bastard.’
‘No one forced him to come,’ said Hargrove. ‘Everyone on that boat was there by choice. They’d all paid for their passage.’
Shepherd sighed. The superintendent was right. But it was easy to talk about choice when you’d been born in England with the safety-net of a welfare state and a health system that might have its faults but was head and shoulders above what was on offer in the third world. He wondered how he’d feel if he had been born in a country with no prospects, no health care, no free education, no pension provision, no future, just a lifetime of toil with no prospect of anything better for his children. Would he grin and bear it? Shepherd was pretty sure he wouldn’t stay put. He’d save whatever money he could, then take his family to a country where a man was paid a decent wage for his labour. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ he said. He didn’t want to argue politics with Hargrove. ‘What happens next?’
‘I’ll get Immigration to speak with him and run through his options. He won’t be able to claim asylum without giving us an explanation for the cash.’
‘So, if he doesn’t talk he gets sent back?’
‘That’s the way it works,’ said Hargrove.
‘And if he does talk, what’ll his life be worth? Whoever gave him those cans isn’t going to stand by and let a million euros go without repercussions.’
‘If he helps us with the money, and gives evidence against Pepper, we can arrange witness protection for him,’ said Hargrove, patiently. ‘He’s already opted for a new life so he might as well live it under a new name.’