‘You wouldn’t do that?’
‘Why not, and besides it will be fun,’ O’Shaughnessy said. ‘That bastard Brazilian was fun. You’re a gambler. Do you want to place a bet? What do you reckon? Two days, three, maybe four before you die.’
‘Let me down, please.’ Pinto, frightened and alone in a warehouse with two murderous men, was ready to talk.
‘Not until you tell us something.’
‘And then you’ll let me down?’
‘It depends if you tell us the truth.’
‘The police don’t believe I killed Dave.’
‘That may be true,’ O’Shaughnessy said. He released the rope slightly to allow Pinto to stand flat footed on the concrete floor. ‘You help us, we help you.’
‘Did you tell them the truth about what had happened to Dave?’
‘No.’
Walters wrenched on the rope, pulling Pinto’s feet firmly off the ground. There was an audible pop as one of his shoulders dislocated. ‘I hope you aren’t left-handed,’ Walters said.
Pinto moaned and said nothing. O’Shaughnessy shook him violently. ‘Are you still with us?’
‘Yes.’ A weak murmur.
O’Shaughnessy turned to Walters. ‘Don’t do that again. My money is on him lasting for three days. If you keep doing that he’ll only last one before he’s dead, and besides I want to see what happens when the flies find him.’
Walters looked towards O’Shaughnessy, ensuring that Pinto was aware of the repartee between the two men. ‘Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.’
O’Shaughnessy turned back to Pinto. ‘What did you tell them about Dave’s death?’
Pinto knew only too well what would happen if he lied again. ‘I told the police that I had seen him die.’
‘That’s sounds right. You’re there trying to save your skin. What do your friends matter?’
‘I never mentioned your names.’
‘Pinto, you must think we’re stupid.’
Vicenzo Pinto realised that the moment they had their truth, he was a dead man. He wanted to curse that smart-arse lawyer for getting him bail; he wanted to curse the police inspector who had not objected strongly enough. He wanted to curse his miserable life, but the pain that he was suffering was too intense.
‘It’s the truth. I never mentioned your names.’
‘And out on bail within a week. We know they had a warrant out for our arrest,’ O’Shaughnessy said.
‘That wasn’t my doing.’
‘How did they find the warehouse where we cut him up?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re lying. Do you want to hear your other shoulder dislocating?’
‘No. I’ve told you the truth. Honest.’
‘We don’t trust you,’ Walters said. ‘And now we’re hiding out, thanks to you. Are you keeping in contact with the police? Letting them know how our organisation works? Are you giving names and places in exchange for bail and a cushy prison? Should we let you live or should we make an example of you, the same as we did with Dave?’
‘I’ll tell you all I know if you’ll promise…’
‘Steve, let him down. He may as well be comfortable while he tells us the full story.’
Pinto, released from the rope, sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the warehouse. Walters leant against a dirty wall; O’Shaughnessy sat on an old desk that had been left when the previous tenant had vacated.
‘Now tell us the truth,’ O’Shaughnessy said.
Pinto had no option. His only hope was to be open and honest. The rope strung over a beam was hanging loose. Walters maintained a firm grip on one end of the rope; the other was still binding Pinto’s wrists.
‘I told them about the warehouse. They were going to charge me with murder.’
‘To save yourself you told them about the warehouse and us.’
‘Yes.’ Walters pulled on his end of the rope.
‘Did you tell them about your trips to France and the vehicles you brought back.’
‘Some, not all.’
‘And now our whole operation is jeopardised.’
‘Why? I don’t know how it operates.’
‘The police interest is cramping our normal operation,’ O’Shaughnessy said.
‘They had cameras. They saw me dump Dave.’
‘Did you tell them about the man in the blue suit?’
‘Yes, but I never knew who he was.’
‘And they’ve released you on bail for being a good boy. Are you in their pay?’
‘No.’
A voice in the office to one side could be heard. ‘Enough. I don’t need to hear any more. The man’s a liability. You know what to do.’
Walters grabbed his end of the rope and pulled hard. Vicenzo Pinto felt his body being yanked from the chair and pulled upwards. He knew he would not be coming down alive.
Chapter 10
Isaac had finally met up with Jess O’Neill. The evening had gone well, and she had spent the night at his flat. The two had discussed moving in together again but decided to wait and see. She was still the executive producer of the country’s most successful nightly TV drama. The older actors had all been replaced by younger, unknown actors after market research had shown that the programme needed an update and fresh blood, and the accountants had decreed that they had to keep down costs.
Isaac had to admit that whereas their night together had been great, he still had a problem in that he tended to take his work home with him.
The case of the death of Dougal Stewart, the possible deaths of Rodrigo Fuentes and Vicenzo Pinto, was baffling. The drugs were still being sold on the street, so someone was still running the trade, and it was evident from Rasta Joe that it was the syndicate in which O’Shaughnessy and Walters were only minor functionaries.
Inspector Len Donaldson of Serious and Organised Crime Command had come over to the office in Challis Street to brief the team. An agreeable dark-haired man
