Page 26 of We Chase Shadows

Ernesto is in his office, which overlooks the harbour in Barcelona. He once went to a police station in Great Britain that overlooked the recycling bins of a supermarket. Ernesto likes British people very much indeed, but if he lived in Britain the first thing he would have to do is buy curtains, and the second thing he would have to do is close them.

Sipping a coffee and watching a jet-skier, Ernesto has opened every file with Jakob Eriksson’s name even vaguely attached. Tommy Griffin and the ex-wife don’t interest him, but Eriksson is what the British call a very large fish. The mentions start, just as he had told Steve and Rosie, in 2001. A report on the factory in Morocco, a blurry photo of Eriksson leaving through a loading bay, sent in by, presumably, a rival. There is nothing before then, so you have to wonder why he started when he did.

Ernesto has been around long enough to know that if Interpol can’t catch Jakob Eriksson, then maybe a woman in a diamond tiara and a man in a Van Halen T-shirt can. Sometimes the job is just about the angle at which you look at things. So he will help Rosie. And, of course, if she brings him Jakob Eriksson, then that will help him. What a coup it would be! Sometimes they don’t take Ernesto too seriously here. There is a lot of snobbery about a boy from Bilbao, whatever he might have achieved elsewhere.

Some money had gone missing once from a drugs bust. Quite a lot of money, €300,000 or so. And who did they suspect of stealing it? His commander, who went to the right school? No. They suspected Ernesto, who had gone to the wrong school. Eventually they concluded that Ernesto had done nothing of the sort, but he has never forgotten that their suspicion went straight to him. Snobbery, pure and simple.

The three photos he is looking at now might be a coincidence, never rule it out – poor Mr Herrera could tell you that. But all three? I mean two, maybe, but three? Come on now.

There he is, the same man. In two of the photos, the airports in Helsinki and Minsk, the man stands two places behind the egg-bald Jakob Eriksson. Not looking at Jakob Eriksson, not engaging, but there. In the third photo, Bratislava, he is directly in front of him, and if you stared for long enough, and you wanted to believe hard enough, you could swear that Jakob Eriksson has his hand on the man’s elbow.

Three airports, three cities, three murders. Jakob Eriksson present at each one. But this other man present at each one also. Is he Eriksson’s hitman perhaps? That would make a lot of sense. Would Eriksson really risk pulling those triggers himself? Did he pull the trigger at Vern Blackwood’s villa? Doubtful. But he’s there each time to oversee things. Keeps his eyes open, but his hands clean of blood.

Ernesto has run the images of this new mystery man through every piece of software they have and has drawn a blank. Whoever he is, he has never troubled their radar. But if Rosie and Steve, and the daughter-in-law, are really going after Jakob Eriksson, this man might prove very useful. If Jakob Eriksson is hard to catch, perhaps this second man will not be? And, once they have him, they might be a step closer to Eriksson? You circle and circle. You close in and close in.

Ernesto emails the three images to Rosie.

The same man on the same flight as Jakob Eriksson three times?

Ernesto thinks more about coincidences, and the fact – the fact – that sometimes they do happen.

You could argue, if you wished, that the killing of Mr Herrera was not a coincidence at all, of course. You could. Yes, Mr Herrera lived three doors from his grandmother, but everyone on his grandmother’s street was involved in crime in one way or another, it was that sort of neighbourhood. And, yes, Ecuador is an awfully long way from home, but don’t a lot of Spanish criminals end up there? When they’ve lost a yard of pace, or when the Spanish authorities take too close an interest? So the odds come down again. Ernesto understands all that.

But that it was Ernesto himself who poked his head through the ceiling like a golf ball on a tee, and that it was Ernesto’s bullets that tore through every one of Mr Herrera’s major organs, well, that does feel like a coincidence.

He thinks back to that neighbourhood in Bilbao. He lived two blocks away with his mother. His father disappeared soon after he was born, reappearing as if by magic when Ernesto signed terms with Barcelona and disappearing again when the knee injury forced him into less lucrative work.

His background has always worked against him.

If we’re telling the whole truth, Ernesto actually had stolen that €300,000 from the drugs bust. Bought a quiet little house with the money. But the point was his superiors had absolutely no evidence that he’d done it, but had suspected him regardless. And that’s just pure snobbery. That sort of thing drives Ernesto crazy.

They said there were only three ways to get out of his neighbourhood: football, the army and crime. Ernesto must be the only kid to have tried all three.

He takes a puff on his cigar, blows out a perfect smoke ring and smiles. There are not many who have achieved everything he has achieved. Even if his bosses still choose to look down on him, Ernesto knows he has much to be proud of.

15

‘You know, when I saw it was you, I thought, “Ooh, I must’ve won the Postcode Lottery,” I was looking for the cameras.’

Georgie Glazier had recognized her. Thank the Lord himself. Still got it, Rosie.

‘I’ve never had a celebrity in the house before. My neighbour, Jim, at number twelve, with the carport, he swears he saw Colin Firth in Hotel Chocolat in St Albans, but you’d have to ask yourself why, wouldn’t you? And there wasn’t a peep on Facebook about it. I said, “Jim, you’re full of bull-dot-dot-dot sometimes,” but he stuck to his guns, so who knows? He can’t walk his dog now, because of his hip – Jim, not Colin Firth – so we take it in turns to walk him – the dog, not Jim – but it can’t do him good being cooped up like that, can it? Do you have dogs?’

‘No,’ says Rosie.

‘I have a cat,’ says Steve. ‘If that counts?’

‘Far less bother,’ says Georgie. ‘Mind you, you’ve to watch your furniture, don’t you? Scratch, scratch, scratch. Do you have to watch your furniture?’

‘Trouble’s not too bad,’ says Steve. ‘You give him a look and he lays off.’

‘Show me the look!’ says Georgie.

Steve narrows his eyes and purses his lips. He wags a finger.

‘Ooh, I don’t think that would stop me,’ giggles Georgie. ‘It’d encourage me if anything.’

‘Then you’d get no tea,’ says Steve.