‘You know about Mohammed?’ he said.
‘Which Mohammed are we talking about?’
‘ The Mohammed.’
‘Your point is eluding me. He was from the Balkans?’
‘He died in 632 and within twenty years his followers had conquered half the Mediterranean. North Africa fell in about two years, then they were all over Spain and Italy and Sardinia. You know how?’
Watts turned to Tingley.
‘Seems it’s our turn for a history lesson.’
‘Alliances. Always alliances. They came in when areas were in trouble and they came to deals with the guys who were losing, then they took over the whole thing. The Spanish conquistadores did the same in South America.’
‘You think the Balkan guys have been invited in. By whom?’
‘Whoever their friend came to talk to in Milldean?’ Hathaway said. ‘Maybe the person who is behind the Palace Pier people now?’
‘What’s the Palace Pier got to do with it?’
‘Somebody is making a play for Brighton. That’s why they bombed the West Pier.’
Watts sat back in his chair.
‘There’s a rumour your guys heisted the Palace Pier the other weekend.’
Hathaway turned, a small smile on his face.
‘In a way,’ Tingley said, ‘that doesn’t really matter. Nor does why these people came. They came for revenge but now they are here to take over, as they have in France and Italy and Germany. And they will take over.’
‘Over my fucking dead body.’
‘I believe that’s their intention, yes. They intend to kill you. And they will succeed.’
‘Bullshit. If you think I’m going to let a bunch of Balkan gangsters take over my town – my town – you’re fucking mad.’
‘Now don’t go all Bob Hoskins on us. It’s over. Embrace change and get out alive. If you can.’
‘Bob Hoskins? The mockney actor? You lost me.’
‘It’ll come to you.’
‘ The Long Good Friday.’ Tingley said. ‘Thought he could take on the IRA. Ended up in the back of a car being taken to a very bad end.’
‘Saw it. Down in Worthing. Got my car keyed that night. Maybe that was a message.’
Hathaway sighed.
‘So, you’re saying these guys have come into town and they’re intending to take over all crime as we know it.’
‘Not just crime. They’ll want what you have. Your legit businesses. And they will take over. These guys are killers. They’re at a different level. They’re war veterans. Mercenaries. They live by the feud, by torture. They are more barbarous than you can imagine.’
Hathaway walked over to his balcony. With his back to them, he said:
‘You don’t know what I can imagine. To frighten naughty children Romans used to warn them, “Hannibal the barbarian is at the gate.”’
‘More of your classical education, John?’
‘A Kevin Costner film called The Postman, actually. Much underrated.’
‘Sounds riveting,’ Watts said.
‘Oh, it was an epic. But you know the history of postal services is a history of adventure and of secrecy.’
‘I’ll tell them that the next time I’m at the sorting office,’ Watts said.
‘You should read The Crying of Lot 49.’
Watts was growing exasperated at Hathaway always talking in riddles.
‘I don’t have time to sort that title out, John.’
‘I’ve done a lot of reading over the years.’ Hathaway looked at his hands. ‘It feeds the soul.’
‘I’m sure it does. We need to move on, John.’
Hathaway ignored him.
‘You know how many times Britain has been invaded? We think we’re this island and that protects us, but that’s bullshit. Before 1066 and all that we were invaded by every bugger that took a fancy to us. Brighton got burned down by the French more than once in the Middle Ages.
‘Have you heard of the Barbary pirates? Muslims again on the north coast of Africa. In the sixteenth century, they took entire villages into slavery. Cornish and Irish villages left deserted for decades.’
‘John. Please-’
‘But that was then. No foreign invader has landed on these shores since the nineteenth century and, as far as I’m concerned, no fucker is gonna. Yeah, we’ll take their cockle pickers and strawberry pickers, we’ll pay their slaves shit but we aren’t going to let them get a hold.’
‘Jesus,’ Watts said, jumping to his feet and striding over to Hathaway. ‘They’ve already got a hold. Russians, Triads, Yakuza. They run Britain now. The Serbians have been running crime in the Midlands since the end of World War Two.’
‘They don’t run Brighton.’
‘For the moment, King Canute. For the moment.’
Hathaway pushed his face towards Watts.
‘Yeah, well, if that’s all you have to say, you can go. I hate negativism. Can’t abide it.’
Watts eye-balled him.
‘It’s realism.’
‘Yeah. Do you know how many years I’ve heard people talk of pessimism and say it’s realism? It’s not. It’s pessimism. That’s it. End of story.’
Tingley walked up beside them.
‘They’re going to kill you, John.’
Hathaway half-turned so that he was facing Watts and Tingley.
‘Then I’ll be the last king of Brighton. And after me – the dark ages all over again.’
‘Oh, they weren’t as dark as people think.’
‘These will be. But why are you sticking your noses in this? I thought you were trying to find out who killed Elaine Trumpler.’
‘And what happened to the West Pier,’ Watts said. ‘And Laurence Kingston.’
Hathaway stepped back from the two men.
‘Kingston? I thought he was a suicide? Probably in a hissy fit. He was that kind of guy.’
‘He may have been murdered. The crime scene guys will move it along.’
‘Who would have killed him?’
‘We were thinking you might have. You had a meeting with him the week before, didn’t you?’
Hathaway moved back to his chair.
‘He was in a funk. Wanted to back out of a deal we were doing.’
‘Good motive for murder.’
‘Please. I persuaded him to hold firm.’ He looked up at the two men. ‘But you two can’t be investigating that – that must be an ongoing police investigation.’
‘I’ve been retained by the West Pier Syndicate to look at recent events.’
Hathaway smiled.
‘Should I start calling you Marlowe, ex-Chief Constable?’
Tingley had drifted over to the desk. He picked up the little red book.
‘What’s this? The thoughts of Mao Tse-tung.’ He looked inside. ‘First printing, 1966. Wow. Bet this is worth something.’
‘They printed ninety million so I doubt it.’
‘Didn’t take you for a Maoist, John.’
