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‘The Ferryman.’
Posniak makes a scoffing sound. ‘That old chestnut.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Ferryman is a ghost, a figment, a bogeyman. He’s like Keyser Söze or Lex Luther or Moriarty.’
‘You’re saying he’s not real.’
‘I can’t tell you how many stories we hear about untouchable, faceless master criminals, who are controlling the world order and running paedophile rings out of a pizza shop. Debunk one myth and another one pops up, fed by Q-Anon believers or conspiracy websites or Russian bots.’
‘But you’ve heard of the Ferryman.’
‘I’ve also heard of the tooth fairy.’
I wait for more.
Derek sighs. ‘I’ve been in this job for six years, Padfoot, and I’ve heard people talk about the Ferryman, but nobody has ever given him a real name or a nationality. A year ago, the NCA took part in a series of joint raids across Europe, in France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands and here. We raided over fifty locations. Arrested forty suspects. Seized thousands of life-jackets, more than two hundred boats and fifty engines, as well as cash, firearms and drugs. We rounded up the leaders of six different criminal networks. We offered them plea-deals if they cooperated. Some of them accepted. Some kept schtum. Not one of them gave up the Ferryman.’
‘Why would asylum seekers invent him?’
‘I don’t think they did. I blame the people smugglers. What better way to keep people quiet? Create a terrifying bogeyman who will murder them in their beds or target their families or deliberately sink their boats.’
‘Someone did deliberately sink this boat.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes.’
Derek grunts and keeps tapping at his keyboard. I don’t know if he’s ignoring me or waiting for me to ask another question.
‘Who would benefit from a tragedy like this?’ I ask.
‘Well, the obvious suspects are the ultra-nationalists, neo-Nazi gangs or white supremacists. Anti-immigration groups regularly target migrant camps and hostels. But it could also be the escalation of a turf war. The gangs that are trafficking migrants are becoming more ruthless – fighting for control of camps and crossings. Europol is dealing with a dozen different executions over the past eight months. Double-taps, two shots to the back of the head, close range. The victims were found with a coin in their mouths.’
‘The Greek myth,’ I say.
‘Charon’s Obol. A coin is placed in the mouth or near the body of the dead, as payment to Charon, the ferryman to the underworld.’
‘Could the Ferryman be Greek?’ I ask.
‘Like I said – I don’t think he exists.’
‘Can you do me a favour?’
‘Ah, that’s what I was waiting for,’ he says sarcastically.
‘If you hear anything – any whisper about the Ferryman – can you let me know?’
‘And what do I get in return?’
‘You’re not supposed to take bribes.’
‘OK, I’ll own your soul.’
Afterwards, I realise that I did most of the talking. Maybe he is a spy.
17
