‘I have all his shit. Including the cans he was supposed to give you.’
‘And how did you get this number?’
‘Because I’m psychic,’ said Shepherd, scornfully. ‘How do you think I got the number?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ said the man, patiently.
‘Rudi gave it to me and told me to call you.’
‘Because?’
‘Because the immigration cops have got him under wraps and he was worried you might think he’d gone off with your drugs.’
‘Drugs? What drugs?’
‘Look, I wasn’t born yesterday,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not cooking oil you wanted brought into the country. Now, do you want it or not?’
‘It is our property. Of course we want it,’ said the man.
‘Well, possession being nine-tenths of the law, strictly speaking it’s my property at the moment.’
The line went quiet again. Then a second voice spoke, deeper than the first, the accent similar. ‘Who is this?’
‘Am I talking to the organ-grinder, finally?’ asked Shepherd.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you the guy in charge?’
‘Who are you?’
‘We’re going round in circles here,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got the cans. I assume you want them. How much are you prepared to pay me?’
‘Pay you? For what?’
‘For the cans. For what’s in them?’
‘Have you opened them?’
‘No. But if we don’t get to the point, I will. Now, are we going to do business or not?’
‘How much do you want?’
‘How much are you prepared to pay?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Five thousand pounds.’
Shepherd laughed. ‘I’m not Federal Express,’ he said. ‘If that’s the best you can do, I’m going to get a can- opener.’
‘Twenty,’ said the man, hurriedly. ‘Twenty thousand pounds. That’s my final offer.’
‘That’s more like it.’
‘Now, at least I should know the name of the man I’m giving twenty thousand pounds to.’
‘No names,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t need to know who you are, you don’t need to know who I am.’
‘But at least you can tell me why you’re in possession of the cans.’
‘I was on the ship. Part of the crew.’
‘Okay,’ said the man, thoughtfully. ‘And what happened? Why do the police have Pernaska?’
‘Not the police. Immigration. We were caught crossing the North Sea, on the way to the Northumberland coast. The cops took the crew but all the cargo claimed asylum. Pernaska managed to talk to me before Immigration took him away. I got back on the boat and picked up his bags.’
‘When can I have my property?’
‘Where are you?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I’ve called a mobile so you could be anywhere in the country. Overseas, even. And I’m not keen to travel hundreds of miles.’
‘Where are you?’ The voice repeated Shepherd’s question.
‘London.’
‘So are we.’
‘We?’
‘You have my property. I want it back.’
‘Let me think about it,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll call you.’
‘When?’
‘When I’ve thought about it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have the twenty grand ready for when I call.’ Shepherd cut the connection. He made a verbal note of the time and date, then switched off the recorder. He grinned at his reflection in the mirror above the dressing-table. ‘That went well,’ he said.
He picked up his personal mobile and phoned Hargrove. He relayed the conversation he’d had with the man on the throwaway mobile.
‘What do you want to do? Let him sweat until tomorrow?’ asked Hargrove.
‘I think so,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s got to believe I’m a little nervous, right? I’ll phone tomorrow and ask if he’s got the money. Assuming he has, we could do the handover on Sunday. Would the tracker be ready by then?’
‘Should be,’ said Hargrove. ‘They’re working on it now. They’ve already resealed two of the cans and they’ve done a good job.’
‘Day or night?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Afternoon,’ said Hargrove. ‘Gives the technical boys the morning and us the chance to run with it while it’s still light.’
‘Any thoughts on location?’
‘For your safety, a public place is best – it’ll give us more surveillance possibilities. But not near a motorway. The tracking device we’ll be using is good, but we don’t want to be belting down the fast lane after them. Ideally, close to where they’re based. You didn’t get a sense of who they are?’
‘Asian, I’d guess.’
‘Okay, I’ll run a check through NCIS but let’s not hold our breath. Maybe let them suggest a place. But no going up dark alleys. A million euros is worth killing for.’
‘Yeah, but twenty thousand quid isn’t.’
‘Just be careful.’
‘Careful is my middle name,’ said Shepherd.
‘I mean it. They won’t be happy about an outsider knowing what they’re up to. They might want to make sure there are no witnesses. We’ll be watching your back, but I want you out in the open with lots of people around.’
‘Message received,’ said Shepherd.
‘And what about the twenty grand? You don’t think you pitched it too low?’
‘All Corke knows is that the cans have to be delivered, not what’s inside. Could just be a few kilos of dope.’
‘True. But they agreed the twenty grand straight away. Corke might well figure he could up the ante.’
The superintendent was right. ‘I’ll make the call tomorrow,’ said Shepherd.
He cut the connection and went downstairs, got a bottle of Corona beer from the fridge, sat down in front of the television and began to flick through the channels with the remote control.
The little boy picked up the boomerang with a puzzled frown. ‘How does it work?’ he asked his father.
Derek Jewell took it from his six-year-old son. It was of reddish wood, thickly varnished, with koala bears painted on it. ‘You throw it, and it comes back to you,’ he said.
‘Like remote control?’ said the boy.
‘No, it comes back because…’ Jewell scratched his head. ‘Honey, help me out here, will you?’ he said to his wife.
Sally Jewell raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re the physicist.’ She laughed. ‘Didn’t you do aerodynamics?’ She was holding their two-year-old daughter, who was asleep.
‘It was a long time ago,’ he said.
‘I don’t think the laws of physics have changed much over the last ten years, have they?’
‘Thanks, honey,’ said Jewell. ‘I knew I could rely on your support.’
‘Actually, not all boomerangs come back,’ said the teenager who was looking after the stall. ‘The killing ones don’t.’
