Wolf told me that after “the garage incident,” he and Val had worked on boats in the South of France. Val had also worked in casinos. They had found that everyone there was rich, or wanted to be; it was expensive. The place was awash with criminals full of large ideas.
“We needed a big coup. Then we put all our money together. I went to Syria. I’m driving the car, it’s full of hash-the pure stuff-which I’m going to smuggle into Europe in tins of pineapple-I know how to do that-when I’m arrested. When they say they think I’m an Israeli spy, I know I’m fucked, and I am.”
“Why would they think you were a spy?”
“I had cameras and a citizens band radio. Jamal, I can tell you, three years in a Syrian jail doesn’t make anyone feel attractive.”
Sometimes he was kept in a hole in the ground, as well as in a small box. He was beaten and given electric shocks. He began to believe in God. He thought about grass and birds. He had a heart attack, murdered a Syrian in a fight over food (this, it turned out, was his only other murder) and, following pressure from the German government, was eventually released.
He went back to Germany, broken. During his rehabilitation he had taken up with different women. He said his one gift was to tell his story and induce sympathy. He had made the most of it.
Wolf and I had been talking for ninety minutes.
“Wolf,” I said, tapping my watch, “I have to go and see my son.”
“London’s the most expensive city in the world,” he said.
“Blame the government.”
He made no move to leave. He was restive. He wanted to stay. He said he’d sleep on the floor, he only needed a blanket, the car was cold and he had nowhere else to go. I said it wasn’t possible. I didn’t want to spend a night with him in the flat, not being convinced he’d leave the next day.
He was watching me. I couldn’t help thinking: the present drags us back into the past, where all the trouble began, and which returns with its debt, wanting to be repaid. But who owes what to whom?
“Okay, my friend, if that’s how you feel,” he said and, at last, got up. “It’s been good to see you again.”
As he was almost at the door, he put his hand on my arm and asked me for 50,000 pounds. I couldn’t stop myself snorting loudly and saying, “I wish I had that kind of money myself.” Then I asked, “Why is it you want money so much?” He seemed confused by the question. “Not that I’m trying to put you off.”
Suddenly he became angry and held my arm tightly, which was more painful than I’d have imagined. He said that if I didn’t make at least a decent instalment-around 10,000 pounds would be “courteous”-he would see that “the right people” learned about my murdering.
He emphasised that the amount wasn’t random. He was intending to buy a derelict house, decorate it himself and rent out rooms. If I could only give him “a start,” he wouldn’t ask for more, in fact he would then help me. Wolf may have had a strange mind, but he knew the housing market was where the money was.
I didn’t know what to do or say, apart from, “But that’s ridiculous. Anyway, you won’t get a house for 50,000 pounds. You’d be lucky to get a front door.”
“It will be a deposit. You know I’m not afraid to work. I could build a house from the dirt up if need be. All I ask is for that initial start.”
I shoved him away. I thought he was going to come back at me, but he stood there watching me.
I said, “I haven’t got any more time to discuss it. Never touch me again.”
“You’re going to have to make time. This is important.” At the door he said, “Why didn’t you ask about Val?”
“Why, is he outside too, waiting to come in and ask for money?”
“You really want to know?”
“All right.”
He said, “He did himself in.”
“He did?”
“While I was in jail. I found out about it from one of his women.”
“Was he depressed?”
“Always. The killing made him more so. He dwelled on it. He was more sensitive than us, and not so strong. He didn’t blame you, but he might as well have. It was his turning point, sending him into hell.”
I said, “I liked him. Lots of women liked him.”
“They couldn’t save him.” Wolf was looking at me. “The whole murder-I feel like my soul has been dyed black by it. Don’t you?”
I realised I was whispering, though no one could overhear us. “It was an accident. We wanted to scare him. We might have been young fools, but we were on the side of the angels.”
“The Hells Angels?” He laughed bitterly. “It doesn’t matter. It comes back. No one told me that. I was naive, but made into a fool. Jamal, I need to get it out, you know. Better in than out.”
“Why invite punishment? You’ve been in jail. You liked it enough to go back?”
“What do they say over here? You can do the time if you’ve done the crime.”
I asked, “Who have you told?”
My phone rang. It was Rafi. Wolf looked at me and smiled. “You’re afraid. I must have scared you. You’re shaking.”
I could hear Rafi saying, “Dad, Dad, you’re coming, aren’t you?”
I was watching Wolf while saying to my son, “Yes, of course. I’m on my way.”
Rafi said, “We’ve been working all day on this thing for you. I was thinking about it all night.”
“Rafi, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” I turned off the phone and said to Wolf, “What we’ve been talking about-it’s not something I’d want my son to know. It wouldn’t help him to think of me that way.”
“As a murderer?”
“You see that, don’t you?”
“You’re lying to him.”
I said, “He’s not entitled to know everything about me. I don’t consider myself to be a murderer.”
“In your heart you wanted to kill that man and you dragged me into it. You hated him and wanted him out of the way so you could have the daughter for yourself.”
I repeated, “Who have you told?”
“Not many. Don’t worry so much. A few women. You?”
“I have no desire to confess.”
“Not even to the mother of your son? What is her name?”
“Josephine.”
“You were with her more than ten years.”
I said, “I’ve told her nothing.”
“Was that difficult?”
“Honesty is always a temptation. But no.”
“You must have thought you’d covered your tracks. Then I turn up, bringing it all back.” He said forcefully, “Where’s the girl now? Have you seen her? The Indian one?”
“Ajita?”
“Where does she live? Is she still alive? What does she think of it all?”
I was shaking my head. “I haven’t seen her since then. She went to India. I lost all of you. It was terrible for me. My mind wasn’t my own for some time.”
He interrupted. “But if you did see her, would you tell Ajita the truth, would you confess?”
“No.”
“But surely you believe you should, that it will release you?” He went on: “We were a tight group, a little gang of four. In prison I thought about it often, to keep myself alive, reliving the good times in West London, the meals, the laughter, the drinks, the card games, the cinema, with everything ahead of us. Jamal, I want to see her again.”
“Why?”
“I tried to spend time with her alone, away from you. She came with me, twice. Don’t worry, I didn’t sleep with her. You were too young for her, and immature. You didn’t understand how much she wanted you. You seemed to turn away. But she refused me. She loved you.”
I’d walked him to the door, but now he was back in the room, striding about as though looking for someone else to tell the story to. I picked up a pair of jeans from a pile on the floor; I found some money in my pocket, pulled it out and went to the front door with it, knowing he’d follow me.