‘I am not sure that would be wise,’ said Beauchamp doubtfully.
‘I won’t lay a finger on him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Honest!’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ll just try a different angle. Something he might respond to better.’
Kit also appeared unconvinced. ‘It isn’t exactly standard procedure . . .’
‘It isn’t exactly a standard case, either. Come on, let me try. Worst that can happen is that he tells me to piss off.’
The two Interpol officers exchanged looks, then Kit nodded. ‘All right. But we’ll be watching from here.’
‘I’ll try not to block your view with all the blood on the glass. Kidding!’ Eddie added as he opened the door.
He went into the neighbouring room. Fernandez looked up at him with a flash of recognition, then concern.
‘Yeah, it’s me again,’ said Eddie with a cold grin. ‘Thought I’d pop in for a chat. Maybe finish what I started in San Francisco.’ He slapped a fist into his open palm, then sat facing the Spaniard across the table.
Fernandez glanced at the mirror. ‘Not quite standard Interpol procedure.’
‘I don’t work for Interpol.’
‘So who do you work for?’
‘Doesn’t really matter. What I’m interested in is, who do you work for? See, when someone tries to kill me and my wife, I take it personally. Not very professional, I know, but I’m an emotional sort of bloke. And you really don’t want me to be pissed off at you.’
‘Professional?’ said Fernandez, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a cop, and you don’t seem the intelligence type, so . . . a mercenary?’
‘Ex. Settled down now.’
A faint smile. ‘You never really leave. However hard you try, if you are a natural fighter, you always get pulled back in. And I can tell you are a natural fighter. What is your name, by the way? I prefer to know who I am being threatened by.’
‘Chase. Eddie Chase.’
Another flick of an eyebrow, this time at a memory. ‘Chase . . . Algeria, yes? About seven years ago? You blew up the warehouse of Fekkesh, the arms dealer.’
‘Might have done.’
‘And Fekkesh himself did not fare much better. I heard that he lost his—’
‘I’m not here to talk about me,’ Eddie interrupted sharply, deciding Interpol didn’t need to hear the details of a mission that, while justified, had not been entirely legal. ‘Let’s talk about you. And your dead mates. Especially Gennadi Sklar. Used to work out of Zimbabwe, didn’t he?’
The tiniest twitch of Fernandez’s eyes revealed his unease that Eddie knew the background of his late associate. ‘He worked from many places,’ he said dismissively, trying to cover the fact. ‘It is part of the job, as you know.’
‘But he mostly worked from Zimbabwe. Which means he would have been getting jobs through Strutter. Been a while since I’ve seen him, but I’m sure he’d remember me. Now, I don’t like Harare, it’s a shithole, and Strutter’s a scumbag, but if I had a couple of drinks with him I bet I could catch up on the grapevine very quickly. Who’s where, doing what . . . and for who.’
Fernandez’s discomfort was now far more evident. ‘Everybody knows something,’ Eddie pressed on, ‘and they’ll tell me stuff that a cop’d never find out. I might have been out of it for a while, but I’m still part of that world - and it’s a small world. Lots of little bits of information floating about . . . all I’ve got to do is put them together, and I’ll know who hired you.’
‘Nobody will ever tell you that,’ Fernandez insisted, but perspiration had started to bead on his thin moustache.
‘I dunno, I can be pretty persuasive.’ He leaned forward, gaze hard. ‘If I find out who your boss is, then any deal Interpol’s offering you goes straight out of the window. They won’t need you any more. And then you, mate, will be fucked. You want to go on trial in China? Or Saudi Arabia? Hell, you killed two cops in California - they’ve still got the death penalty there.’ He stood. ‘If I were you, I’d think about it. But do it quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.’
He left, returning to the observation room. The two investigators were waiting for him, both seeming impressed. ‘Could you really find out who hired Sklar in Zimbabwe?’ Kit asked.
‘In theory,’ said Eddie awkwardly. ‘Only I wouldn’t be the best person to send, ’cause, er . . . I’ve got a death sentence on me there.’
‘What?’ said Beauchamp, shocked.
‘Yeah. A while back I helped some people who were high on the government’s shit-list get out of the country. Only problem was, it got me added to the list as well. So I don’t really want to go back there.’
‘I can see why,’ Kit said. ‘But hopefully, you won’t need to.’ He gestured towards the prisoner. ‘Fernandez definitely seems to be considering what you said.’
‘Then we should let him sweat for a while,’ Beauchamp said.
‘Very good work, Mr Chase.’ She turned to Kit. ‘I will brief the director. You look tired - both of you do. You should get some rest.’
‘It’s been a long day,’ Eddie agreed. He checked his watch, finding that it was after nine o’clock at night. He stifled a yawn. ‘Think I’d better get to the hotel.’
‘I’ll show you out,’ said Kit. All three exited the observation room, then the two men made their farewells to Beauchamp and headed for the elevators.
As they approached the security gate, their attention was caught by a uniformed female officer on the other side. Eddie guessed she was Indian, her black hair held up in a severe bun. She seemed to be having trouble, inserting her ID card twice before the system recognised it. The guard opened the gate and she marched through, not giving Eddie or Kit the slightest look. The reverse wasn’t true, both men turning their heads to track the attractive, if stone-faced, officer as she passed.
‘Hey,’ said Kit, ‘you’re married.’
Eddie shrugged jokingly. ‘Can’t be sued for looking.’
‘Would you say that if Nina were here?’
‘Yeah, probably. It’s fun winding her up.’ They went through the gate. ‘Oh, I left my jacket in your office.’
‘No problem.’ Kit pushed a button to summon the elevator.
Fernandez looked up as the door opened, concealing his surprise at the sight of the new arrival. ‘I didn’t expect you so soon.’
Madirakshi Dagdu regarded him impassively with her one good eye, its artificial counterpart cold and glassy. ‘Have you told them anything?’
He snorted. ‘Of course not! They’ve said nothing worth replying to. Asking the same questions over and over, offering their pathetic little deals for my co-operation.’
‘Which you turned down.’
‘Obviously. Or I would not be sitting here chained to a chair, would I? Now get me out.’
She nodded and moved behind him. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘before I came in, I checked the next room to make sure it was empty. I saw a video camera.’
Disquiet entered his voice. ‘You switched it off, I hope?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ A faint wet, sucking noise behind him. ‘And then . . . I watched the recording.’
Fernandez suddenly remembered the sound from the apartment in Florence. ‘No, wait, I only—’
The garrotte wire lashed round his throat and pulled tight.
Eddie retrieved his leather jacket. ‘What hotel’ve you booked me into?’
‘The de Ville, across the river. You should see the Festival of Lights while you’re here, by the way - there’s a big show in the Place des Terreaux. It’s only a few minutes from the hotel. Very impressive.’
‘I’ll see how knackered I feel when I get there.’ He pulled on the jacket, grimacing as his stiff muscles protested at the movement.