Part 14 (2/2)

he now had only one mission in life, then he'd had to do something about it, just to show willing. And then old man Walkins had come along and offered to pay him, and the story had expanded until he was trapped. Now he had his office and his employees and his reputation. He couldn't just walk away from the D-Man, even if he wanted to.

And he often thought that he wanted to.

'So how much do you make?' Edmond asked, the way serving policemen always did, sooner or later.

'Think of a number and double it,' Hoffer said. Then he laughed. 'No, I'm a businessman, an employer, I've got overheads, salaries to pay, taxes and s.h.i.+t. I don't come out so far ahead.'

'Walkins must be rich though.'

'You kidding? He's loaded.'

'Is it right that his daughter was a mistake?'

Hoffer nodded. She was just about the only mistake the D- Man had ever made. He had eleven, maybe twelve clean hits to his name, plus Ellen Walkins.

'She was eighteen, standing in the doorway saying goodnight to some people after a dinner party. They were all government people, plus wives, family. She wasn't the target. They reckon the target was a congressman with very strong views about certain foreign policies. Any number of dictators and crooked governments would have paid to have him shut up. But the step was icy and the f.u.c.ker slipped.

The bullet had been going straight through his heart, but it hit Ellen instead. The investigation got taken off our hands pretty fast. I mean, it was too big for just the police to handle. I couldn't let them do that.'

'Why not?'

The barman had appeared with two more whiskies, plus a bottle of water, giving Hoffer time to consider the question.

It was one he'd asked himself a few times. Why couldn't he just let it go?

'I don't know,' he said honestly. 'I just couldn't.' He 124.

sniffed again and shook himself up. 'Jesus, you don't want to hear all this. You should be the one doing the show and tell.

So what have you got?'

Edmond pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. Inside were several folded xerox sheets. There were photocopies of bank statements and old cheques, together with a rundown of cash machines Mark Wesley had used.

'It's not complete yet,' Edmond explained. 'This is just the first tranche. I could get into a lot of trouble for this.'

'You could,' agreed Hoffer, slipping an envelope across the table. 'But this might cheer you up.'

Edmond counted the money into his pocket, crumpling the envelope into their ashtray, then sat waiting. Hoffer didn't say anything for a while.

'Guy does a lot of travelling,' he said at last, reaching for his whisky.

'We'll check the travel companies mentioned, see if they can give us details.'

'Of course you will. What about these cash withdrawals?

Any pattern you can see?'

Edmond shook his head. 'Except that some of them are in Yorks.h.i.+re, according to Vine Street's geography A-level. Not in cities either, in country towns.'

'Maybe he lives there?'

Edmond shrugged. 'He's bought a whack of traveller's cheques too, by the look of it. One of those cheques to Thomas Cook isn't for travel.' He pointed to the photocopy.

'See? They've written on the back what it's for, purchase of traveller's cheques.' Hoffer nodded. 'We'll see if we can take it any further. If we can get the numbers of the traveller's cheques, might be we can find where he's used them.

There's just one thing ...'

'What's that, Dave?'

'Well, all we seem to be doing is tracking backwards through an ident.i.ty he's already shed. Where will that get us?'

125.

'Use your head, Dave. We can't track him forwards, so what else can we do? This way, we tie down accomplices, contacts, maybe we find patterns, or even a clue to his next hit. This for example.' Hoflfer was tapping a cheque.

'Ah, I was coming to that,' said Edmond.

'So,' said Hoffer, 'here's a cheque made out to someone called ... what is that name?'

'It says H. Capaldi,' said Edmond.

'Right, so who is he?'

'He's a counterfeiter.' Now Edmond had Hoffer's fuH- attention.

'A counterfeiter?'

Edmond nodded. 'Harry the Cap's been around for years, done some time, but when he comes out he goes back to what he's best at.'

'What does he forge?'

'Doc.u.ments ... anything you want really.'

'Where can I find him?'

Edmond licked his Ups. 'About four hundred yards up the road.'

What?'

'We've brought him to Vine Street. Bob Broome's got him in an Interview Room right this minute.'

Hoffer waited for Edmond to come back.

It took a while, and he was starving, but he daren't leave the pub and miss the policeman's return. Instead, he ate potato chips and peanuts and then, as a last resort, a toasted sandwich. It was alleged to be cheese and ham. If you'd served it up in a New York bar, your client would have returned at dead of night with a flame thrower.

After all the whisky, he took it easy and went on to beer.

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