The Death of Dalziel: A Dalziel and Pascoe Novel. Reginald Hill
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21.’
Commander Bloomfield twisted in his chair to look at her.
‘I’m glad to see we’re not yet a completely godless nation,’ he murmured. ‘Do go on, Lukasz.’
Komorowski resumed at a slightly slower pace.
‘Verses 23 to 25; the language is Arabic and the source is a tenth-century translation of the Bible by Rabbi Sa’adiah ben Yosef who was the gaon, or chief sage, of the Torah academy at Sura. The Torah is an Hebraic word meaning the revealed will of God, in particular Mosaic law as expounded in the Pentateuch, which is the first five books of the Old Testament of which Exodus is the second…’
He paused again.
‘Tell us something we don’t know,’ murmured Glenister.
Clearly they educated kids differently in Scotland, thought Pascoe.
Komorowski resumed, ‘Below we find the words In memory of Stanley Coker. Coker, you will recall, was the English businessman taken hostage and subsequently beheaded by the Prophet’s Sword group. The flat and the bodies are currently being examined. Full reports will be issued as soon as they are available. Preliminary post-mortem findings confirm the timetable indicated by our tapes. The bullet recovered from Fikri Rostom was a nine millimetre round almost certainly fired from a Beretta 92 series semi-automatic pistol.’
Pascoe turned to look at Glenister, who continued to stare straight ahead.
‘I have the tape here which gives us the timings,’ continued Komorowski. ‘Mazraani, even if he had not discovered the exact location of our listening device, always assumed he was being overheard. Indeed, as you will hear, he refers to our tape. So he always took the precaution of playing masking music. Here is what we have.’
He raised his index finger and a recording started to play.
First sound was of a door being opened.
‘Tape activated by arrival, we guess, of the alleged cousin,’ said Komorowski.
Music began to play, then a female voice began to sing.
‘Elissa, the Lebanese singer,’ said Komorowski. ‘Fikri seems to have been a fan. We can run on here I think.’
The tape gabbled forward then slowed again to normal speed.
‘Fifteen minutes on, the door opens again, Mazraani arrives, beneath the music we can hear greetings being exchanged,’ said Komorowski. ‘Then the music is turned up louder, suggesting that what they say next they do not wish to be overheard. AV are not hopeful of extracting anything useful from this portion of the tape but will continue to try. A minute later…here it comes…’
The singing suddenly sank to a low background and a click was heard.
‘The intercom. Our killers have rung the door bell downstairs,’ interposed Komorowski rapidly.
Now a voice spoke, educated, urbane.
‘Gentlemen, how can I help you?’
‘Mazraani,’ said Komorowski.
‘Just like a quick word, sir.’
This voice, even though distant and tinny through the intercom, had the unmistakable flat force of authority.
‘By all means. Won’t you come up?’
The sound of a door being opened then a pause, presumably to wait for the newcomers to make their ascent.
‘Evening, Mr Mazraani. And this is…?’
The voice of authority again. Northern. Presumably a linguist could get closer.
‘My cousin, Fikri. He’s staying with me for a few days.’
That’s nice. Anyone else in the flat?’
‘No. Just the two of us.’
‘Mind if we check that? Arch.’
Doors opening and shutting.
‘Clear.’
A third voice. Lighter, tighter. Holding on to control?
‘So now we can perhaps get down to what brings you here. Won’t you introduce yourselves? For the tape?’
The urbanity came close to mockery. Poor bastard, thought Pascoe. He thinks he’s just got the law to deal with.
‘Certainly, sir. I’m called Andre de Montbard. Andy to my friends. And my colleague is Mr Archambaud de St Agnan. He’s got no friends. And this lady singing is, I’d say, the famous Elissa? Compatriot of yours, I believe? Gorgeous girl. Lovely voice and those big amber eyes! I’m a great fan.’
And now the singing was turned up to a volume even higher than before.
Lukasz Komorowski let it run for a moment then made a cut-off gesture and the tape stopped.
‘During the next couple of minutes we believe the killings took place. First the shooting, then the beheading. The killers leave. At eight thirty-nine the Elissa CD stops. Five minutes later the recording stops too and is not reactivated until our team enter this morning. Right. Questions? Observations?’
Glenister began to say something but Pascoe cut across her. Make his presence felt. Show the bastards he wasn’t here just to make up the numbers.
‘Mazraani said “Gentlemen”, plural, when he answered the intercom. Like he knew there was more than one of them.’
‘Your point being…?’
‘My point is it suggests he’d spotted them earlier.’
‘Very likely. Mazraani must have got used to being followed. Even if he didn’t see anyone, he’d assume they were there.’
‘Meaning he’d think these two were yours?’
‘Possibly,’ said Komorowski dismissively. ‘Thank you, Mr Pascoe. Sandy…’
But Pascoe wasn’t done.
‘Then why the hell weren’t they?’ he demanded.
‘Sorry?’
‘Why weren’t there any of your men around? OK, I gather you’d managed to lose track of Mazraani earlier that day. I’d have thought the obvious thing to do was put someone on watch outside his flat. At least that’s the way we’d have done it back in good old-fashioned Mid-Yorkshire CID, despite our staffing problems.’
Komorowski put his hand to his mouth as though to inhibit an over-hasty reply and looked down at Pascoe with a speculative gaze. Presumably he was high enough up the pecking order on the Intelligence half of CAT to feel he didn’t need to take crap from DCIs. Pascoe noticed with distaste that his fingernails were cracked and none too clean.
Commander Bloomfield twisted his long frame in his chair and smiled at Pascoe.
‘If I didn’t know you were one of Andy Dalziel’s boys, I think I’d have guessed,’ he said. ‘Thing is, Peter, despite all this crisis talk, we’re desperately short of manpower here in CAT. Probably in real terms even shorter than you doubtless are in your good old-fashioned CID. Result: we’re continually re-assessing priorities. The chaps on Mazraani lost him. Procedure is report it in, return to base for reassignment. As for watching the flat, why waste men when we’ve got a bug inside? Soon as the tape was checked and we became aware there was activity, we’d have had someone round there.’
‘So when was the tape checked?’ asked Pascoe.
Bloomfield glanced at Komorowski.
‘Midnight that night,’ said the man.
‘So you sent a surveillance team round then?’
‘Well, no,’ admitted Komorowski. ‘There’d been no further activation of the tape after the CD finished playing, so it was assumed the flat was now empty.’