Judas Country

20

Nicosia did its usual speedy job of prising the landing fee out of me, then looked severe and said: There has been a complaint about your departure from Beirut.'

I looked surprised. 'What for? I had a clearance.'

They say-' he glanced down at a sheet of telex paper '-they say the clearance was cancelled and you took off without permission.'

'I was flying below the airways; don't see how they can cancel that sort of clearance.'

He looked at the paper again but it didn't seem to help. 'I do not quite understand…'

'If they want to fill in a form 939 and send it to our Civil Aviation boys, then I'll answer it. Until then they've got no blasted business libelling me all over the Mediterranean.'

He frowned. He was pretty sure I'd done something, but he didn't want to stick his neck out on behalf of what he probably regarded as a bunch of hysterical Arabs.

So he coughed and nodded. 'I will tell them if they ask. Are you staying at the Castle again?'

'Where else?'

He went away and I finished up the paperwork and went outside to find Ken.

It was a quiet taxi ride into Nicosia town. Halfway there, Ken roused himself enough to ask: 'How are we cashwise?'

'Not terribly fit.' The Beirut hotel hadn't cost us much, but the flight and the bar of the St George had caused severe financial bruising. In various currencies, I had just about thirty quid left.

Ken grunted and left it at that.

Sergeant Papa wasn't on duty, so we walked straight in and turned left for the bar/dining-room. At the far end, a handful of families were finishing dinner; closer up, Kapotas was sitting at a bar table working over some account books with a glass of something beside him.

I said: "The phrase you're looking for is "Welcome home". Is that whisky after dinner again?'

He looked up and his shoulders sagged a little. 'I haven't had any dinner yet. I thought you'd be in Beirut much longer. Welcome home.'

'Why, thank you. We haven't had dinner ourselves, yet. Is it edible?'

He dropped his pen and rubbed his eyes. 'I doubt it. And with you two back, my accounts will mean nothing – again.' He got up and took his glass to the bar.

Ken was already leaning on it, and Apostólos, smiling gently, was pouring our two shots. He touched up Kapotas's glass as well and we said 'Cheers' and drank.

Then Ken asked: 'Didn't the girls get back here?'

Kapotas shook his head, and Ken and I looked at each other. Then he said slowly: "The Ledra, then? I mean, if you've got money you wouldn't come… I'll just check, I think.'

He went out. Kapotas watched him blankly, then nodded me away to the table, where Apostólos couldn't overhear. Then he whispered: 'What happened over there? '

I thought about it. 'We went to a party, we went to the races, we met some interesting new people. I suppose that about sums it up.'

'You brought back the plane?'

I stared. 'Yes, of course.'

'But not the cargo?'

'We-ell…'

'Oh God!'

'It's down to just nine boxes, now,' I said helpfully.

He had his hands over his eyes. 'But I thought that was what you weregoing for! '

'Sorry, it wasn't.'

He looked at me with haunted eyes. 'Do you know that a senior partner of Harborne, Gough is coming from London tomorrow to look at everything personally?'

My first thought was: with only thirty quid, where the hell can we get off this islandtoi Turkey, maybe? I said: 'I didn't know. But he won't want to open champagne boxes and count the bubbles, anyway.'

'He will want to count the boxes.'

That was a point. 'Well… tell him you imported three boxes here and sold them off. Why's it worth his time to come here?'

'He is not coming only here: he will go on to the Lebanon to see about the new hotel there. But if I say I've sold them, he will want to see the money in the books! '

'So put it in the books. How were you going to explain it if I'd dumped the lot in the sea anyway?'

He studied the tabletop as if it was the Book of Kells.

I said grimly: 'I see: just another example of pilot error.'

He went on watching the table. An obviously British couple walked past from the dining area and I called: 'What's the dinner like tonight?'

The man looked at his wife, his shoes, the ceiling, finally said: 'I suppose I'm not used to this Cyprus cooking, yet.'

I said: Thanks,' and turned back to Kapotas. "The only thing the British hate more than being cheated is hurting the cheater's feelings. I suppose we can get some sandwiches?'

Kapotas looked up balefully. 'It is not my fault this place is… Oh God, if only I could get the plane away somewhere.'

'We'll take off for Britain any time you say the word; the word is "money", by the way.'

'How much does it cost to run that machine?'

I shrugged. "In direct operating costs – that's the extra expense you get by putting it into the air – you won't see much change from £30 an hour. And that's not touching annual costs like pilot salaries and insurance and so on.'

'My God! It uses so much petrol?'

'Fuel's still not the worst of it. Most of your hourly cost is saving up for replacement parts and overhauls.'

He shook his head. 'How can a hotel chain afford it?'

'I thought we'd proved this one can't. Wait till you see the running costs of a private jet. That'll turn your hair white and your politics red.'

Ken came back in, picked his glass off the bar and walked across. 'Yes, they're there. I talked to Mitzi: she's not too happy about it all, but what can we do?' He sat down.

I said: 'She's got the document. It'll be worth a lot in the long run. A fair bit in the short run – Aziz would buy it now.'

Ken nodded. Kapotas didn't know what we were talking about, but Mitzi's name had rung a bell. 'The Inspector Lazaros – he was very surprised you had gone. He said you should call him.'

I suddenly felt weary. 'Tomorrow. Or some other month. What have you got in sandwiches apart from octopus?'

'Or'Kapotas said firmly and not too unhappily, 'I must telephone him as soon as you get back.'

Lazaroswasn't at the station but they said he'd call me back and he did – inside a minute. He made it simple: 'If you will stay in one place for five minutes, I will be there.' So I promised.

Then I went through to the kitchen and talked them into a plate of cheese and ham sandwiches, chargeable to the staff account. There were just two cooks, no sign of Sergeant Papa, and the place certainly hadn't been cleaned up since I was last there. Mind you, the cooks weren't anything to dry your hands on.

I took the sandwiches back to the bar and Ken ordered two Keo beers to go with them. 'Somehow, whisky and sandwiches don't go together.'

'You picked up some strict etiquette up in Biet Oren.'

Kapotas winced at being reminded he was sheltering a fresh-hatched jail-bird, so I changed the topic. A bit. 'Did you find any real fraud in there?' I pointed half a sandwich at the account books.

'No. But then, nobody made the most basic mistake of fraud: to try and pay money back.'

'How's that again?' Ken mumbled, his mouth full.

'If you defraud money to – let us say – go to the Beirut races, and if you then win, remember never to try to become honest again by paying it back. You will have found a clever way to get the moneyout of the books, but who thinks it is twice as difficult to get it in? Any company expects some small unexplained losses; more money gets lost than is found. But a big mysterious payment in – that starts an investigation.'

'Let that be a lesson to us all,' Ken agreed. Then Lazaros walked in. Ken added: 'Join the night school. The subject is how to work a fraud – you might learn something."

Kapotas paled, Lazaros just smiled wearily. He looked as tired as he had two nights ago, but at least he'd changed his suit: this one was a snazzy gun-metal-blue affair in some man-made fibre, with lapels most of the way out to his shoulders and lots of raised seams. The middle button had come off.

He said:'Mia birra Keo,' to Apostólos, sat down and lit a State Express. 'Now: I know you went to Beirut. Why?'

Ken said: 'Well, there was this race meeting…'

'I hope you won.'

Ken and I looked at each other. I said: 'I'd guess we came out about even.'

'Good. Of course you did not think we could not have the inquest, without even evidence of identity? '

'Oh, come off it,' I said. 'You weren't going to have an inquest on a Saturday.'

'Did we have a choice? But why did his daughter go as well? Not for the races.'

Ken said carefully: 'No, but you know how it is? She wanted a break from sad memories and all that. And there was a bloke in Beirut she wanted to see – a friend of her father's – something about his affairs. So we gave her a lift…'

Lazaroswatched him thoughtfully, twiddling the cigarette in his stained fingers. Apostólos put the beer downm front of him and he nodded and took a gulp. Finally: 'She came back with you?'

'She's staying at the Ledra Palace this time.'

Lazarosnodded. That was a lot more sensible than suspicious. So I asked: 'Did you get the Viennese relatives rushing in?'

'Not yet one. Just a Nicosia lawyer saying he has been appointed from Vienna to represent the family. No more.'

I glanced at Ken, then said as delicately as possible: 'Well… the Professor was an old man. No parents left, probably no brothers or sisters – and the cousins and such might not want to get too close to a man with a criminal record. It must make it simpler for you, anyway.'

It didn't make it happier for him, though. He took another gulp of beer, another long drag on his cigarette.

Ken said casually: 'Do you know yet who he'd been ringing in Jerusalem that night?'

'Yes. Our consul found out for us.'He looked hard at Ken. 'Do you know Israel? – but of course you do. Do you know a man called Mohammed Gadulla?'

'A fine old Yiddish name,' Ken said sourly. 'No, I don't know any Israeli Arabs bar a couple that were in the coop with me. What's Gadulla do?'

'He has a shop for… an antiquities shop, in old Jerusalem.'

Ken just nodded.

Lazaroswent on: 'But of course Professor Spohr would know many such dealers. It need not mean anything – except that the call was made that night, just before… before he died.'

Ken got up and went to the bar to get another beer.

I said: 'Do you really want the inquest to find you a verdict of unsolved murder rather than simple suicide?'

He looked irritated. He could certainly run around saying that cancer victims don't suicide and that suicides always leave notes, and drag up some dirt from the Prof's past – and Ken's and mine, if it came to that – but if all he achieved was a murder with no murderer, then his promotion board was going to cut him off the Christmas card list.

Ken came back and sat down. All this time Kapotas had been sitting quiet, doing nothing except go pale again when I mentioned murder. We were the only people in the bar, sitting in a lonely pool of orange light, the dining end of the room dark, now. Just like the night the Prof had died.

Then Lazaros said: 'Has Papadimitriou come back yet?'

'Sergeant Papa?' Ken asked. 'Where's he gone?'

Kapotas's face sagged. 'He rang today – to say he is resigning.'

'He has left for good?'Lazaros demanded.

I said: 'He'll never get another hall porter's job. Not at his age.'

Kapotas shrugged. 'He has not been paid for so long, so perhaps I cannot blame him, but… with a full partner coming in tomorrow from Harbome, Gough…'

Ken nodded at the ledgers. 'Maybe there's something in there' he's afraid the partner will spot.'

Kapotas glanced at the stack of books. 'No. I am a good accountant. I do not say I would want to be Sergeant Papa on Judgment Day when those books learn to speak, but now they are dumb. However he cheated, he kept it small and regular… That is also good advice, if you want to juggle account books.' He took a long sip at his whisky.

Lazaroslooked stern. 'You should have told me he called you.'

Kapotas shrugged again. Ken asked: 'What did you want him for?'

'Don't you think he listened to that call to Jerusalem?'

'Yees… Bruno didn't speak much Arabic… I suppose Gadulla would speak English, running a shop like that…'

I said: 'Don't you know where Papa lives, then? '

Lazarosnodded. 'He owns a… a guest house just by Ky-renia. He makes his old mother be the housekeeper there.' That sounded like our Papa's well-known way with women, all right.

Lazaroslit another cigarette and stared at his beer. Ken asked: 'But why resign? – he may not have been paid, but he was still making money here.'

I said: 'Maybe his dear old mum finally got the staggers and he has to run the place himself.'

'Maybe he had a big inheritance,' said Kapotas gloomily. 'With his luck, he might.'

Ken looked at him sharply.

Then Lazaros said: 'Damn, I shall drive over and see him. Now.' He stood up.

'Why not ring him?' I suggested.

His long face tightened into something like a sneer. 'To give him time to invent some good lies, perhaps?' And he went out. We heard the glass front doors swing shut.

Ken took a deep breath, seemed about to say something, then didn't. Kapotas finished his whisky, collected the account books and stood up. 'I will just see that everything is secure and the cooks have not stolen the breakfast.'

'Are you staying the night?' Ken asked.

Kapotas nodded sadly. 'Without Sergeant Papa…'

'Can I make a phone call?'

'Help yourself. You will, anyway.' He went out.

'Who to?' I said quietly. 'Papa?'

He nodded. 'There must be some staff book with their private numbers.' He went and began routing under the counter in front of the switchboard.

I carefully poured the last of Lazaros's beer into my own glass, which seemed to need it, and started lighting a pipe. It still wasn't much past 9.30 and the sandwiches had mopped up most of my weariness.

I was still only on my third match when Ken came back in, looking thoughtful. I asked: 'Did you get him?'

'Yes, but… something odd. He sounded a bit strained, like. I don't think he was alone. I didn't say what it was about, but I said the Inspector was coming… rather wish I hadn't. Hell,' he shook his head in a mind-clearing gesture. 'Let's get over there. We can use Kapotas's car.'

'What can we do that Lazaros can't?'

'Get there first. He's got to go the long way round. Kapotas!' he shouted.