The Last Exile

A killer smile snaked across Cavall’s face. “Trust me, Paul. I forget nothing.” She glanced at her watch, an expensive Cartier. “Goes without saying there’ll be generous terms and conditions.”

“Well, thank you but, no, thank you.”

“You don’t have to decide straight away.”

“The answer’s the same.”

Her smile lost some of its light. Tight creases appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was enough, Tallis thought. She’d briefly shown her cards; she hadn’t banked on him refusing her kind invitation. “Don’t be too hasty, Paul. This could be your chance to redeem yourself.”

“Redeem myself?” Tallis scoffed. “From what?”

Cavall leant forward. He caught a whiff of opulent scent. Her eyes were so dark they looked black. “A man sleeps with his brother’s wife and he doesn’t need redemption?”

“How fucking dare you?”

“Your weakness for the opposite sex is well documented,” Cavall said in an even tone.

“Get out,” Tallis said, barely able to control the mist of anger that was fast descending on him, his desire to physically remove her crushing.

“I’ll leave my card,” Cavall said smoothly, slipping one from the pocket of her jacket and placing it on the coffee-table. Her fingernails were short and unpolished. “One more thing,” she added, rising to her feet, “in certain matters, it’s better to obey one’s conscience than obey an order.”

Tallis stared at her. He suddenly felt as if his gut had been gouged with shrapnel.

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, walking stealthily towards the door, “I won’t whisper a word to anyone about your doubts about shooting the black girl.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TALLIS burrowed deeper beneath the duvet. After finishing the wine the night before, it had seemed the obvious thing to hit the Scotch. Bad idea.

He turned over, groaned, his head throbbing with the highlights of last night’s conversation. He’d already come to the deeply unsettling conclusion that Cavall had used her Home Office contacts to get into his home. How she’d been privy to such personal and what he’d thought confidential information he was less certain, though that too seemed to point in the same direction. Clearly, someone, somewhere had talked. Not that he was denying Cavall’s obvious powers of persuasion. Hers was a rare combination of cleverness and good looks. No point having those kind of attributes if she didn’t exploit them. She’d done her homework well, using the intelligence with rapier-like precision. He was still bleeding from the final thrust.

The only person who could have betrayed him was Stu, but Tallis didn’t believe his old friend would do such a thing, not even if he were absolutely trousered. Tallis pulled a pillow over his head, thinking that this was a morning when he really didn’t want to go out to play. Budding Jimmy Paige next door wasn’t helping. Perhaps if he lay very, very still, his head would stop hurting and his mind stop racing. But they didn’t. Instead, his thoughts dragged him kicking and screaming to a period of time he didn’t want to revisit, to him and Belle, to the exposure of their affair.

They’d been seeing each other intimately for about six months. On this particular occasion, Belle had told Dan that she was letting off steam in town with some of the girls from the Forensic Science Service where she worked. In truth, the two of them were meeting at a bustling country pub eighteen miles away. Later on, when Belle had called Dan from her mobile to let him know she’d be back later than expected, making the excuse that she was going onto a restaurant with the girls for something to eat, she’d accidentally left her phone line open. Worse, she’d left the phone on the table where they’d been sitting, exchanging sweet nothings. Dan had heard her every word, every promise, every declaration. He’s also identified the man to whom she’d been making them. The fallout had been devastating.

“Don’t you ever darken my door again,” his dad had spat in the aftermath. “Know what’s going to happen to you?” he’d added with breathtaking savagery. “You’ll end up walking the streets, holes in your shoes, stinking of piss, with a carrier bag in your hand. A useless nobody. Just like you’ve always been.”

And, yes, Tallis felt remorse, guilt about the affair, about the betrayal of his brother, but there had been extenuating circumstances. In reality, had either he or Belle exposed the truth, the consequences would have been cataclysmic.

Tallis struggled out of the covers and forced himself into a cold shower. Dried and dressed, he downed a handful of painkillers with a pint of water, made strong coffee and picked up the phone. It was coming up for noon. The line rang for a considerable time before being answered. Tallis didn’t dwell too heavily on the standard hi, how are you warm-up routine. He could tell from Stu’s voice how he was—grim, sense of humour failure, depressed.

“You ever spoken to anyone about my reservations about the Liberian girl?”

“Fuck you take me for?” From sour to fury in 0.4 seconds.

“Fine,” Tallis said.

“Why?” Stu growled. There was a paranoid hitch in his voice.

“Nothing, nothing. Know how it is. Too much time on my hands, I expect.”

His poor-old-soldier act had the intended effect of softening his friend’s prickly edges. “No luck, then? Still doing the warehouse job?”

“Got one or two irons in the fire,” Tallis said, jaunty. Who was he kidding?

“Glad for you, mate. Does your heed in, not having a proper job. I should know.”

“But you’re all right,” Tallis pointed out.

“Aye, pushing bits of paper around.” His voice was corrosive.

If Tallis had been a decent sort of a mate, he’d have told Stu that he was never going to get his old job back as long as he was on the sauce. Truth was, Stu wasn’t in the mood for listening. Hadn’t been for quite some time.

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the past, Paul. Won’t do you any good.”

Tallis could have said the same. Why else was Stu drinking himself to hell in a bucket? “You’re right,” he said. “Well, you take care, now.”

“Aye, have to meet for a bevy.”

“You’re on,” Tallis said, eyes already scanning his address book for the next number on the list.

This time it was answered after the first ring.

“Christ, you’re quick off the draw.”

“Right by the phone. How you doing?” Finn Cronin’s voice was full of warmth and, for a moment, Tallis was reminded of Finn’s brother, Matt. Matt had served with Tallis way back. They’d joined the army together, trained together, got drunk and pulled birds together. Matt had been the colleague he’d rescued under friendly fire. In spite of Tallis’s best efforts to save him, Matt hadn’t made it home.

“Good,” Tallis lied. “And you?”

“Not bad. Carrie’s pregnant again.”

“Christ, how many’s that?”

“This will be our fourth. But that’s it.”

“Going for the unkindest cut of all?” The thought made his eyes water.

“Carrie’s idea. Doesn’t want to spend the rest of her days on the Pill, screws around with her body apparently, mood swings, headaches, mostly.”

“Fair enough,” Tallis said, feeling awkward. “I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”

“You want to doss down at ours for the weekend.”

“Smashing idea but no.”

“Pity. I’d hoped we could have a repeat of the Dog and Duck.”

“Only just recovered from last time.” Tallis let out a laugh. “No, it’s…” He hesitated. Was he asking too much of Finn? Would it put him in a difficult position? Oh, sod it. “I need something checked out.”

“Come to the right man. I spend my entire life checking things out.”

“Well, it’s not a thing exactly, more a person, a cool-looking blonde, actually.”

“Tell me more,” Finn said, voice throbbing with curiosity. “I can feel my journalistic streak stirring.”

That what these Southerners call it, Tallis thought drily. “Her name’s Sonia Cavall. She’s connected to the Home Office.”

“The Home Office?” Finn sounded amazed. “And you’re asking me to check her out?”

“That’s about it, yes.”

“Nice looking, you said.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Finn laughed. So what’s it really like? his voice implied.

Tallis held back. He’d known Finn for years. After Matt’s death, they’d vowed never to lose touch so that whenever Tallis was in the West Country, he made a big point of seeing him. However long the absence, they always had a blast. Tallis was also godfather to Finn’s youngest son, Tom. Tallis trusted Finn, but he was still a journalist and God knew what he might do with the information. “She’s tying up loose ends, you know, from last year,” he said elliptically.

“Right,” Finn said, his curiosity seemingly appeased. “Timescale?”

“Soon as. Don’t kill yourself for it.”

They talked a bit. Tallis sent his love to Carrie and the kids, double-checked Tom’s birthday, which happened to be the following week then signed off.

In the two hours before he went to work, Tallis tidied up, pulled on some sweats and trainers, and went for a run in the hope that it would flush the last of the alcohol from his system. A shower and cheese sandwich later, and dressed in black trousers and a bright white shirt with the company logo emblazoned on the breast pocket, he drove the short distance to the out-of-town warehouse where he worked.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE job mainly consisted of looking important and acting as a glorified car-parking attendant. His working environment was a sentry box complete with barrier to allow staff in and out. Tallis spent much of his time studying grainy images captured on the archaic CCTV system. The only highlights were the odd spot check, usually in the run-up to Christmas when theft was considered a good little earner, and the occasional request by one of the ops managers to frisk a member of staff suspected of stealing. If said suspect was found guilty, it was down to Tallis to liaise with police and escort the culprit, usually swearing and protesting innocence, off the premises. Big deal. Lately, if there was more than one security man manning the fort, he’d taken to hiving himself off and reading one of the many cookery books distributed through the company at knock-off prices. There wasn’t much he didn’t know about how to feed a family of four healthily, or the various types of power foods reputed to keep the aging process in check. There was no literature for sad, lonely bastards on a tight budget.

The shift, which finished at nine-thirty at night, seemed to drag more than usual. Fortunately, Archie, one of the other security blokes, broke the boredom by sneaking out to the fish and chip bar up the road and smuggling enough booty back for both of them.

When Tallis returned home he half expected Cavall to be there. She wasn’t. All that lingered was the faint smell of her perfume, a pleasant contrast to salt and vinegar. He changed out of his work clothes and took a beer from the fridge, flipping off the top and drinking straight from the bottle. He’d barely sat down when the phone began to ring. He glanced at his watch. This time he felt no anxiety. There was only one person it could be: his mother.

She spoke softly so as not to wake his dad. Tallis asked after him.

“Not so good. Had another session of chemo yesterday. Always knocks him about.”

Tallis bit his lip. How long could his dad go on like this? he wondered. Did stubborn men take longer to die? “And you, how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, stoic as usual. Only Tallis could detect the false note in her voice. Early on, when the cancer had been diagnosed, he’d thought her nursing experience would help. Now he believed it a curse. She was far too aware of the medical implications. However viewed, his dad’s condition was terminal, and his mother was in bits about it.

“Shall I come over?” he asked. “To visit you?” he added nervously. His father had refused to see him since the blow-up with Dan and Belle. With his dad being so ill, Tallis didn’t feel he could challenge the old man’s decision.

“It’s difficult at the moment,” his mum said, guarded. “I really don’t like leaving him.”

“What about the nurse? Couldn’t she stay with him for a while?”

“He wouldn’t like it.” No, Tallis thought. There was so much his father disliked—him, for a start. An early memory of sweating over maths homework flashed through his mind, his father standing over him, jaw grinding, demanding the correct answer and, in the absence of one, telling him he was no bloody good. For a long time Tallis had believed it to be true. They’d always had a strained relationship, probably because his dad had been a police officer and his youngest son had had a habit of running with the pack as a teenager. His dad had never been so pleased as when he’d decided to join the army. Of course, by then, Dan was already cutting it with West Midlands Police. Dan, the favoured one. Dan who never did any wrong.

“You need to take care of yourself, Mum, keep a bit back for you.” She hadn’t done in almost forty years of marriage, so why start now? he thought. Except now it was more important than ever. How else would she survive when his dad was gone?

“I’m all right, son. You mustn’t worry.” You have your own troubles was what she meant. “Any luck with finding another job? Didn’t you have an interview lined up?”

“Care of Max. It fell through,” he said honestly.

“Never mind. Something will turn up.” It just did, Tallis thought gloomily, but he’d have been mad to take it. “I spoke to Dan yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tallis said with cool. “All right, is he?”

“Fine. Settling in well, enjoying the new job. Seems to be finding his feet nicely. Says the other officers are friendly enough.” She sounded breathy and awkward.

“Good.” Not that it ever bothered Dan if colleagues liked him or not.

“He asked after you.”

“Did he?” Why? Tallis thought suspiciously.

“Don’t you think you two …?”

“No, Mum.”

“But you can’t go on like this.”

Why not? Tallis thought. His father hadn’t spoken to his own brother for over twenty years. Vendettas must run in the family. “The way it has to be.”

“Funny, that’s what Dan said.”

“Did he?” Tallis said, genuinely taken aback.

“I hate all this. You used to be so close.” Her memory was cushioned by nostalgia, Tallis thought. He mostly recalled being beaten up and humiliated. It had been Dan who’d swung a spade at his head from which he still bore the scar. “Remember when you were kids?” she said brightly. “You used to play removal men.”

“Doug and Kredge,” Tallis burst out, grinning in spite of his feelings. God knew where the names had come from. He’d have been about six at the time. Dan had played the foreman, bossy as ever. He’d been Doug, his oppo.

“You spent hours shifting stuff about.” His mother laughed.

His mother’s laugh was so rare these days it made Tallis misty-eyed. “No change there,” he told her.

“Still steeped in home alterations?”

“‘Fraid so. Not that I seem to be making a great deal of progress. The garden’s a wilderness and I still can’t decide whether I did the right thing, knocking the sitting room through to the kitchen.”

“Must be costing you a fortune.”

“It is.”

“Thought about getting a lodger?”

Only if they were dark-haired, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six. Tallis smiled to himself. “I don’t think so, Mum.”

“Might help with the money.”

“The way the place is, I’d have to pay them.”

His mother laughed softly. “Think you’ll stay?” The question was floated like a feather on a millpond. He was aware that his father had suggested he sell up and divide the proceeds with Dan.

“For now,” Tallis said, noncommittal. “Depends on work.”

This seemed to satisfy her. They talked a little more, briefly mentioned his sister, Hannah, her kids, but he could tell that his mum was anxious to end the call. Probably time to administer more drugs to his father. She promised to phone again towards the end of the week. “Doug and Kredge,” Tallis murmured fondly, putting the phone down and returning to the sitting room.

“Jesus!”

Tallis started. He was freezing cold and mildly disorientated. Must have fallen asleep on the couch, he thought, looking blearily around him, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the unaccustomed light. Noise, he registered, noise from … Then it stopped. He staggered to his feet, went through the arch into the tiny galley kitchen and stared at the phone. Who the hell was calling on his landline at this time? Then another noise started, less intrusive. He dashed back to the sitting room to where his cellphone was vibrating on the coffee-table. He snatched it up, thinking it might be his mum, but didn’t recognise the number, then, shit, he thought his dad had taken a turn for the worse, that … “Max?” Tallis said, bewildered.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s all right,” he said, dizzy with relief. “I wasn’t in bed.” He should have been, he thought, checking his watch. It was three-thirty in the morning. “Something wrong?” Tallis said. ‘Course it bloody was.

There was an uneasy silence as though Max hadn’t quite rehearsed what he was going to say. “Just had the police on the phone.” His voice was grave. “They got my name from Felka’s belongings.”

“Something happened to her?” Of course it had. He knew only too well how people dished up bad news. It started in increments.

“She’s dead,” Max blurted out. “Murdered.”

Tallis felt as though someone had drop kicked him in the kidneys. Four questions pounded his brain. Where? How? When? Why?

“Found in Lisson Grove near the Harrow Road Flyover.”

“What the hell was she doing there?”

“God knows.”

“But I gave her detailed instructions. She was supposed to take the tube from Euston.”

“There was some problem with the rail network, an incident on the line. She had to change trains so she arrived at Marylebone instead. I guess she got disorientated.”

“How was she killed?” Tallis said tonelessly.

“Stabbed.”

“You know why?”

“Does there have to be reason?”

“I was wondering whether it was a mugging, or robbery.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Any sign of sexual assault?”

“Christ, not that they mentioned. Would they tell me a thing like that?”

“Maybe not.”

“They’ve arrested a guy, a fucking illegal, Somalian, the police said.”

Tallis briefly closed his eyes. Somalia was a country of extreme violence, some of which had been exported to Britain. Guy was probably zombied out on khat, a cheap, highly addictive drug, which had already crippled the Somalian economy and help fan the flames of civil war.

“Should have been deported months ago but went to ground,” Max continued.

Tallis swallowed. His throat was so tight it hurt. “Her parents been informed?”

“Just coming to that. They’re catching a flight to London later today, should arrive around five o’clock British time. I could get the next plane back, but …”

“You’ve already travelled halfway round the world.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not that. They don’t speak a word of English.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Could you?”

“Of course.”

“You sure? I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“Not a problem, Max. Let me grab something to write with and I’ll jot down the details.”

Tallis kept a night-time vigil. He didn’t pray for the girl with the flame-coloured hair because, although brought up in the Catholic faith, he wasn’t a believer, but he did plenty of thinking. As darkness made its slow and ponderous passage into the light, Tallis recalled their first meeting. He’d been having a drink with Max. Felka had bounced into the drawing room and introduced herself. She’d seemed so eager to please, to make a good impression.

All sorts of other images flashed through his mind. Felka with the baby juggled on her slender hip, of her playing with the older boy, nursing the kids when they were unwell, cajoling them to eat their meals—quite the little mother. And only eighteen years of age. Snuffed out before she’d even got started. He frowned and drained the last dregs of the Scotch from the bottle into his glass. She’d once told him that her name meant lucky.

As the first rays of sun bled across a pale blue sky he thought of the balletic way in which she’d moved, how she’d spoken, that strange intonation on certain words, how she’d flirted. And, of course, he remembered the sensual way, the very last time he’d been with her, she’d whispered in his ear. Felka, he thought sadly, what a terrible, terrible waste of a life, and what a Godawful way to die—lost, alone, in pain in a strange land. He hoped her little brother would always remember her. Raising his glass, Tallis promised never to forget.

CHAPTER SIX

TALLIS paid no attention to the design of Marylebone Police Station in Seymour Street. Copshops were copshops. He’d been inside enough of them during his career not to take much notice.

He approached the Formica-topped reception desk and gave his name to a female desk sergeant, stating the reason for his visit. Instructed to take a seat, he was informed that Detective Inspector Ashby would be with him shortly. Tallis sat down, staring at the various posters on the wall, reading them without digesting a word. All he could think of was Felka and the miserable way she’d died.

“Paul Tallis?”

Tallis started, stood up, shaking the hand of the man standing in front of him. “Tony Ashby,” the DI introduced himself. He was mid to late thirties, small for a police officer, Tallis thought, but the world-weary eyes and the shadows underneath them were one hundred per cent copper. “You’re here regarding Miss Rakowski?”

“I’m collecting her parents from the airport.” Except the flight had been delayed due to a security alert.

“Ah, yes, they’re catching a later plane, I understand.”

“That’s why I came here.”

Ashby inclined his head. Confusion misted his eyes.

“Thought I could help,” Tallis said.

Confusion morphed to suspicion. “In what way?”

Tallis met his eye. “I used to be in the force.”

Yeah, yeah, Ashby’s expression seemed to say. So bloody what? Then something happened, like a light flashed on in his head. “Tallis,” Ashby murmured, emphasising the syllables. “You were one of the firearms officers got roasted in Birmingham.” He said it slowly, meaningfully.

Shit, Tallis thought. Should have kept my mouth shut.

Ashby suddenly beamed. “Coffee?”

They sat down in an interview room. “Bad luck, all that stuff in Birmingham,” Ashby sympathised, passing him a plastic cup of vile-looking brew. A couple of other officers wandered in and out for what seemed to Tallis fairly thin reasons. After the initial pleasure of being one of the guys again, he was starting to feel part celebrity, part animal in the zoo. “Sugar?” Ashby said.

“Thanks.” Cop coffee was impossible to drink without sweetener. “About Miss Rakowski,” Tallis said. Sounded strange to use her full name. He’d only known her as Felka. “Any idea what she was doing near the flyover?”

“Fuck knows. Getting lost, I presume.”

Tallis shook his head sadly. “She was given very specific directions to get to the airport, but from Euston. I even drew a map for her.”

“We found it. It was in her hand luggage. Thing is, there was an incident at Coventry, which meant a change of train and change of destination.”

“What type of incident?”

“Cow on the line.”

Tallis nodded for Ashby to continue.

“Know what kids are like. Any deviation and they panic. Can’t find their way out of a paper bag, most of them, and what with her being a foreigner.”

Tallis cast Ashby a sharp look. He didn’t think any offence was intended, probably just the way it had come out, and to be fair to the guy there was truth in the statement. He let his eyes drift and rest on a folder on the desk. Ashby seemed to recognise the manoeuvre. The shine went out of his good-natured expression. He threw Tallis a penetrating look. No, you don’t, he seemed to say. “Knew her well?”