shaking his head. ‘I’ve never known it like this before.’
Aragon’s plush rooms were bustling noisily with his staff, people coming and going, talking into headsets, the sound of more phones ringing in the background. TV screens were set up on desks playing different news channels while people clustered around to watch. A tall stack of newspapers sat piled on a table, two women sifting through them and scrutinizing the front pages. Ben walked into the busy room and felt several pairs of eyes on him wondering who he was.
In the middle of it all, Aragon was perched casually on the edge of a desk, flipping through some papers while talking to someone on a mobile. His shirt was open at the neck and he looked fresh and energetic even with the plaster over his eyebrow covering up his stitches. He smiled broadly as Ben approached, ended his call and snapped his phone shut. He laid the sheaf of papers down on the desk and greeted Ben warmly.
‘Don’t forget you have a press interview at quarter past,’ Lacan warned him. Aragon waved him away and took Ben’s elbow.
‘I’m sorry for all this chaos,’ he said. ‘It’s quieter in here.’ He guided Ben through the milling crowd of staff and into a smaller room to one side. He closed the door, shutting out the noise. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.
Ben watched the politician. He’d bounced back like a fighter. He looked relaxed and confident but there was an edge to him now, a competitive fierceness Ben hadn’t seen in him before. He looked primed and ready for battle.
‘You said it was important,’ Ben replied.
‘It is. A matter I need to clear up with you before you leave. Your flight’s today?’
Ben nodded. ‘In a few hours.’
‘Ireland,’ Aragon said. ‘I’ve never been. What’s it like?’
‘Green,’ Ben said. ‘Empty. Quiet.’
‘There’s a part of me that would love to be able to retreat to a tranquil place,’ Aragon said, nodding towards the door and the crazy bustle on the other side. ‘Right now, I’d probably never want to come back. You’re a lucky man.’
Ben didn’t feel much like a lucky man. ‘You could always just give it all up, Philippe,’ he said. ‘Go back to your old career. Architects don’t attract the wrong kind of attention. They don’t get kidnapped or executed.’
‘You talk like Colette, my wife.’
‘Sounds like a sensible lady,’ Ben said.
‘You like to live on the edge yourself, though.’
‘I do what I do.’
‘You’ve been a big help to me,’ Aragon said. ‘I won’t forget it.’
Ben smiled. ‘I didn’t do it for you.’
‘I appreciate your candour. But I’m grateful to you nonetheless.’ The politician reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew out a small white envelope. ‘Which brings me to the reason I asked you to meet me here,’ he said. ‘I wanted to give you this.’
Ben took the envelope from Aragon’s outstretched hand. His name was printed in neat writing on the front.
Aragon waggled a finger at it. ‘Open it.’ He leaned on the back of a chair with a look of amused anticipation as Ben tore it open.
There wasn’t much inside, just a slip of paper. Ben took it out. It was a signed cheque from Aragon’s personal account, and it was made out to Mr Benedict Hope. He ran his eye along the figure. A one with a whole line of zeros after it. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, looking up. ‘What’s this for?’
‘I never told you about the reward I was offering,’ Aragon said. ‘One million euros for whoever helped me to find Roger’s killers.’ He smiled. ‘You helped me. We got them. It’s yours. Enjoy it.’
Ben stared at the cheque. ‘Thanks, Philippe,’ he said.
Aragon smiled. ‘That’s settled then. Have a pleasant journey home. I expect we’ll meet again.’
‘But no thanks,’ Ben finished. He handed the cheque back to Aragon.
‘You won’t accept?’
Ben shook his head.
‘You earned it,’ Aragon said.
‘Take care of Sandy Cook’s widow and kids,’ Ben said. ‘Give the rest to charity. Do something good with it. I don’t want it.’
Kinski was at home. It took him a while to hobble to the door on his crutches. ‘Good to see you on your feet, Markus,’ Ben said as he stepped inside the hallway. He was carrying something in a plastic bag.
Kinski was in a dressing gown. His hair was a mess and he had four days’ stubble growth on his face. His skin was pallid and there were dark bags under his eyes.
Ben looked around him at the small, modern suburban house. It didn’t look like the home of a big rough guy like Markus Kinski. Everything was too orderly and cared for, neat little vases of flowers on the tables. A woman’s touch about the place. Helga, Ben guessed.
The detective looked happy to see him. Ben looked down at the heavily plastered leg, stubby bare toes sticking out from the end. The plaster was covered in the autographs of well-wishers.
Kinski caught his gaze. ‘Itches like crazy,’ he said. ‘The fucking thing can’t come off soon enough.’
‘How is she?’ Ben asked as Kinski hobbled down the hallway.
‘A little subdued,’ Kinski said. ‘But she’ll be fine. She’s a tough kid.’ His eyes wandered to the plastic bag Ben was carrying. ‘What’ve you got there?’
‘I brought her something,’ Ben said. He reached inside the bag and pulled out the big floppy teddy bear he’d picked out in a hurry on his way across town. ‘I hope she likes it.’
‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ Kinski suggested. He limped to the bottom of the stairs and leaned on his crutches. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Clara,’ he called.
A door opened on the landing and a little face peeped out. Her eyes lit up when she saw Ben standing there. She ran down the stairs and hugged him tight.
He was happy to see her smiling again. That lost look had faded from her eyes since the last time he’d seen her. She’d been through a hell of a lot, but maybe her father was right. She was a tough kid.
‘I suppose you’re far too grown up and mature for this,’ he said, handing her the teddy bear.
She clasped it to her chest. ‘I’ll call him Ben.’ She beamed. ‘I have another new friend, too,’ she said brightly. She turned. ‘Can I show Ben, Daddy?’
Kinski nodded. Clara ran happily up the hall, clutching the teddy. ‘Muffi!’ she called. A Rottweiler puppy, a black ball of fur no bigger than a rabbit, flopped out of the sitting room on clumsy oversized paws and cocked his head to one side, watching Ben with big curious eyes. He had a patch of tan above each one, just like Max.
‘Go and play with the puppy,’ Kinski told her. ‘Ben and I need to talk.’
He led Ben into the kitchen and propped his crutches against the table. He opened a cupboard and took down two tumblers and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. They sat, Kinski’s plastered leg sticking out in front of him. He poured out two full glasses and shoved one towards Ben.
Kinski groaned, tried to shove two fingers down inside his plaster. Frustrated, he gave up and knocked back half a measure of the bourbon.
‘I thought you were on the wagon,’ Ben said.
‘Fell off. Takes my mind off this goddamn itching.’
‘Aragon told me you’re heading the investigation.’
Kinski nodded. ‘I get the feeling it’s going to drag on for months. They say it’s the shit-hottest team of defence lawyers anyone’s ever seen.’ He grunted. ‘The fuckers are going to need them.’
‘You can cut down the weed,’ Ben said, ‘but the roots go deep. You can’t destroy it.’
Kinski shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re right. Personally I’ll be happy to see some bastards take a fall. That’ll satisfy me.’
They drank in silence.
‘I’ll never forget what you did for Clara,’ Kinski said quietly. ‘I wish I could have been there to help you.’
‘I’m sorry about your friend Hildegard,’ Ben said.
Kinski raised his tumbler to his lips. When he put it down it was empty. He let out a long sigh. ‘Ben, when
