fire. Lamia gave him an absent-minded smile of thanks.
‘The police?’ Calque laughed. ‘I’m something of a
persona non grata
with my ex-colleagues at themoment. And you must know that tape recordings do not constitute evidence. They can be doctored too easily.’
Lamia massaged her temples, as if she felt that this might serve to speed up the aspirin’s effects. ‘But you knew that before you started, Captain Calque. You must have made some contingency plans?’
Calque sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Contingency plans? How could I make contingency plans when I didn’t know what I was about to hear?’
Lamia stared at him quizzically. ‘And Adam Sabir? What are you going to do about him?’
Calque could feel his fragile house of cards beginning to topple. ‘I’m going to phone him up, of course, and bring him up to date.’
‘Phone him up? Bring him up to date? Are you quite mad? Bring him up to date about what?’
Calque tipped back his head and closed his eyes.
Lamia sighed. ‘You don’t know anything, do you, Captain? You’re merely grasping at straws. Was there anything on that tape of yours at all?’
Calque allowed his head to snap forward. ‘Oh yes. I have a good hour-and-a-half’s worth of material.’
‘Material? What sort of material?’
‘Your meeting. Two days ago.’
‘Then you know what I was doing in the room where your mystery associate found me? Why I was doped and tied up?’
Calque felt as if he were sucking on a lemon and trying to blow through a trumpet at the same time. ‘Of course.’
Lamia stood up. ‘Then you don’t need anything from me, do you, Captain? I thank you for your frankness. Would you kindly do me a further favour and call me a taxi? And I would appreciate the loan of a few
sous
until my bank opens and I am able to inform them about the loss of my cards. I will write you an IOU if you so desire.’
26
Calque followed Lamia out onto the street. The early morning rush hour had started, and the buzz and swish of passing traffic merely added to his sense of frustration. ‘What are you going to do, Mademoiselle? Where are you going to go?’
‘What possible concern can that be of yours?’
Calque was briefly tempted to come clean and admit that his tape recording was useless. To follow his hunch that the woman was genuine. Perhaps she really had rebelled against her mother and all that she stood for? But thirty years of ingrained caution, in which Calque had lived by the rule that you never, ever, offer information to your opponent that he might one day use against you, overrode his better instincts. ‘Please let me drop you off somewhere. It’s the least I can do in the circumstances.’
Lamia shook her head distractedly. She was on the look-out for a taxi, and already seemed to have blanked Calque out from her consciousness.
Calque’s cell phone rang. He received a call so rarely that at first he only looked around vacantly, as if the call belonged to someone else. Then he slapped his jacket, and began to rummage in his pockets.
Lamia had seen a taxi, and was beckoning it towards her.
Calque pressed the receive button and raised the cell phone gingerly to his ear, as if he feared that it might be about to explode. ‘Yes? Calque here.’
‘It’s Picaro.’
Calque flinched. What the hell was Picaro doing, calling him up in a public place? Their business was over. The whole sorry fiasco had cost him 3,000 Euros that he could ill afford, and had provided him with precisely zero information, and a resentful woman eager to wipe his dust off her shoes as fast as humanly possible.
‘Listen, Captain. Don’t ask me why I’m doing this. But I can’t let you walk into a shit storm with a leaking umbrella.’
Calque was concentrating all his attention on Lamia. A taxi had stopped directly in front of her. She caught Calque’s eye and made a money movement with her fingers. ‘What? What are you talking about, Picaro? What shit
‘The police?’ Calque laughed. ‘I’m something of a
persona non grata
with my ex-colleagues at themoment. And you must know that tape recordings do not constitute evidence. They can be doctored too easily.’
Lamia massaged her temples, as if she felt that this might serve to speed up the aspirin’s effects. ‘But you knew that before you started, Captain Calque. You must have made some contingency plans?’
Calque sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Contingency plans? How could I make contingency plans when I didn’t know what I was about to hear?’
Lamia stared at him quizzically. ‘And Adam Sabir? What are you going to do about him?’
Calque could feel his fragile house of cards beginning to topple. ‘I’m going to phone him up, of course, and bring him up to date.’
‘Phone him up? Bring him up to date? Are you quite mad? Bring him up to date about what?’
Calque tipped back his head and closed his eyes.
Lamia sighed. ‘You don’t know anything, do you, Captain? You’re merely grasping at straws. Was there anything on that tape of yours at all?’
Calque allowed his head to snap forward. ‘Oh yes. I have a good hour-and-a-half’s worth of material.’
‘Material? What sort of material?’
‘Your meeting. Two days ago.’
‘Then you know what I was doing in the room where your mystery associate found me? Why I was doped and tied up?’
Calque felt as if he were sucking on a lemon and trying to blow through a trumpet at the same time. ‘Of course.’
Lamia stood up. ‘Then you don’t need anything from me, do you, Captain? I thank you for your frankness. Would you kindly do me a further favour and call me a taxi? And I would appreciate the loan of a few
sous
until my bank opens and I am able to inform them about the loss of my cards. I will write you an IOU if you so desire.’
26
Calque followed Lamia out onto the street. The early morning rush hour had started, and the buzz and swish of passing traffic merely added to his sense of frustration. ‘What are you going to do, Mademoiselle? Where are you going to go?’
‘What possible concern can that be of yours?’
Calque was briefly tempted to come clean and admit that his tape recording was useless. To follow his hunch that the woman was genuine. Perhaps she really had rebelled against her mother and all that she stood for? But thirty years of ingrained caution, in which Calque had lived by the rule that you never, ever, offer information to your opponent that he might one day use against you, overrode his better instincts. ‘Please let me drop you off somewhere. It’s the least I can do in the circumstances.’
Lamia shook her head distractedly. She was on the look-out for a taxi, and already seemed to have blanked Calque out from her consciousness.
Calque’s cell phone rang. He received a call so rarely that at first he only looked around vacantly, as if the call belonged to someone else. Then he slapped his jacket, and began to rummage in his pockets.
Lamia had seen a taxi, and was beckoning it towards her.
Calque pressed the receive button and raised the cell phone gingerly to his ear, as if he feared that it might be about to explode. ‘Yes? Calque here.’
‘It’s Picaro.’
Calque flinched. What the hell was Picaro doing, calling him up in a public place? Their business was over. The whole sorry fiasco had cost him 3,000 Euros that he could ill afford, and had provided him with precisely zero information, and a resentful woman eager to wipe his dust off her shoes as fast as humanly possible.
‘Listen, Captain. Don’t ask me why I’m doing this. But I can’t let you walk into a shit storm with a leaking umbrella.’
Calque was concentrating all his attention on Lamia. A taxi had stopped directly in front of her. She caught Calque’s eye and made a money movement with her fingers. ‘What? What are you talking about, Picaro? What shit
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