withering look. My stomach bubbled as I realised what he was driving at.
‘Llunos, I didn’t publish that ad.’
‘No, I know. It was the Queen of Denmark. Soon as I saw it I knew this would be your final joke. You can take the piss out of me and live to tell the tale. But not this guy. Not Erw Watcyns. He may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. He’s had plenty of runins with private operatives like yourself. Most of them are now ex-private operatives, and some of them are ex-human beings. So he knows the score. He knows all about this crap you lot come out with about protecting client privacy. That’s the bit we hate most, you see. It’s not enough that you have to trample all over the crime scene, contaminate evidence and break the law to get to witnesses before us; you have to tell us to sod off as well when we come along and say pretty please can you tell us who you’re working for; not because we’re nosy but because it might have a material connection with the dead guy. He knows all about that. If I hate it you can rest assured he is extremely unpartial to it. So hey! what do you do? You set the scene up. Oh yes, you’re just itching for that moment, aren’t you? When he asks you for the name of your client. He asks even though he knows you won’t give it, but he still has to ask. But this time is different. You say, “Of course I’ll give it to you, I’m a law-abiding citizen and it is my duty to assist the police. I’ll tell you who the client is. It’s the Queen of Fucking Denmark.”’ He shook his head in sad disbelief. ‘When you placed the ad you probably didn’t know you’d be dealing with him. That’s where being smart gets you. That’s one scene I’m glad I won’t have to watch. The final act of Louie Knight. It’s been a good show but it’s over now, folks, back to your lives.’
‘I’ll keep out of his way.’
‘It’s too late for that, my friend. Too late. He’ll be on his way to get into your way pretty soon, I’d guess. Just as soon as he sifts through the witness statements and finds out they were in your office a few days ago.’
‘Who?’
‘The Moth Brothers.’
My stomach churned again but it had gone ice cold.
‘Or rather the two layabouts formerly known as the Moth Brothers. They were dragged out of the harbour last night. They’d been for a bit of involuntary scuba diving.’
Llunos’s beeper went. He glanced down, grimaced and said, ‘It’s the hospital; I’ve got to go. If I were you I’d make my peace with the bloke who owns this place. He’s the only friend you’ve got now.’
I watched him leave and pondered his parting words. I thought about the Soldiers for Jesus and their vision of Heaven – like Blaenau Ffestiniog. No one wants a God like that. God is Santa Claus for grown-ups, not a misery- guts, not an asshole; we’ve got enough of those in town already. I didn’t believe; but the guy I didn’t believe in wasn’t like that. He was a warm, smiling chap, overflowing with benevolence; someone you looked up to with the same bafflement and confused wonder and absolute trust that you had for the giants who put you on your potty when you were two. He was a nice guy who would make it all right; who understood; the one guy you never had to explain your screw-ups to. He smelled good, too: of pews and old hassocks, floor polish and musty velvet drapes, of candle wax and mildewed pages. He resided in the tranquillity that can fill even the heart of an unbeliever in old churches, where the eye and the spirit are soothed by the flicker of golden candlelight and the gentle but vivid hues from the stained-glass good guys above the altar. And the great thing about Him was, He was human. You could feel sorry for Him. I knew there could be only one reason why He let us suffer like this: He can’t find a way to stop it. Like a roller-coaster ride that gets too scary, there’s no way off. He set it in motion and now He’s as helpless as the rest of us.
I wandered down to Sospan’s, still dazed and pained by Llunos’s words. Calamity was there and recommended the special.
‘It’s the Paddington Bear,’ said Sospan. ‘A special all-in-one breakfast ice based on the morning ritual of the eponymous bear. Marmalade and cocoa.’
I ordered one.
‘I think now is definitely time to call in the Pinkertons,’ said Calamity.
‘I had a feeling you might say that.’
‘They’d have the resources to deal with something like this – that’s the beauty of a preferred associate relationship.’
‘I’ve got the resources to deal with a Pieman: a pair of shoes.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Pair of shoes. That’s all you need to walk up a flight of stairs and kick a man’s backside.’
‘Are you mad? You can’t just barge in on a Pieman.’
‘Why not?’
‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’
‘Oh, I heard what he said. It’s just I didn’t believe all that much of it.’
‘You don’t believe we’ve got a Pieman?’
‘I believe we’ve got a man across the road who eats pies; I saw him get winched up and I’ve seen the pies. If the act of eating pies makes you a Pieman, then, sure, we’ve got one. I don’t believe he’s a spy or an assassin or a custodian or whatever nonsense that crazy Jew said. It’s just a set-up.’
‘Set-up for what?’
‘I don’t know. I have no idea; but I do know I don’t trust a single word that crazy man says. If he told me he was standing in front of me talking to me I wouldn’t believe him.’
‘Why don’t we just take a look?’
‘The same reason I don’t take a look when someone tells me there’s a ghost in the room: I’m not giving him the satisfaction. Especially as I have a feeling he wants us to go across there for reasons of his own, which will probably get us into trouble if we fall for them.’
‘Boy, it’s a good job the Pinkertons can’t hear you talking like this.’
‘They’d probably agree.’
‘Shows how much you know.’
‘And you know better?’
‘I’ve been reading about it, about their m.o. They wouldn’t just barge in and frighten Hoffmann off. They’re smart.’
‘And I’m not?’
‘I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is they’d never do that.’
‘What would they do?’
‘The first thing they’d do is do nothing. That’s rule number one. Whatever you do, don’t make it worse. Then you consider your options. Maybe case the joint. I was thinking we could buy time by staging an argument in front of the incident board – you throw a tin of paint at me, and it goes over the board. That way we can take it down without arousing his suspicion.’
‘Why don’t we forget about the Pinkertons for the time being?’
‘After what the girl in Lampeter said? She practically confirmed it. Absalom was trying to find the granddaughter of Etta Place and Sundance. In Aberystwyth! How can you say just forget about it?’
‘Please give it a rest. This isn’t their case, it’s ours; and despite the generous measure of autonomy I give you, I’m still the boss.’
She opened her mouth to protest but saw my expression and thought better of it.
Eeyore turned up a few minutes later and seeing the look of pain on my face, asked, ‘What’s up?’
Calamity, misunderstanding, said, ‘We’ve got a Pieman.’
‘What’s that?’ he said and so she explained.
‘I don’t think I’ve heard of one of those before,’ said Eeyore.
‘That’s because they’re pretty rare,’ said Calamity. ‘We have to proceed with great subtlety; otherwise you can frighten the Pieman off. The best way to handle a Pieman—’
‘The best way is to walk right up there and kick his ass,’ I said.
‘Don’t be crazy!’ said Calamity. ‘Do that and you’ll ruin everything. You’ll spook Hoffmann and then we’ll never find out who . . .’ The words petered out.
‘Who what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Who what?’
‘Who . . . who Hoffmann is.’
