He ignored the coffee, and ate another biscuit. Sometimes, as the investigator talked, he hit keys, then turned back to Jago. He seemed sincere, and was probably more than twice Jago’s age. At the bank they were lectured on money-laundering and the procedures to counter it; the younger personnel were cautioned against the friendship of potential investors with cash, and little rewards that were hardly worth noticing. He pushed away the cup.
‘It is possible to intercept his phones, but before I can do that, under German law, I must offer precise evidence in justification. I cannot say that I believe or suspect criminal involvement. My chiefs are against allowing Italian officers onto our territory. They despise our brothers from the Mediterranean. A man who was a waiter in a Leipzig trattoria, earning a thousand euros a month, suddenly finds the cash to buy a ten-million-euro hotel. I am certain he is a ‘place man’ but cannot prove it, so I cannot tap into his conversations. They are peasants and without education, my superiors reckon, but they are capable of dealing in huge sums on the Frankfurt bourse. When, finally, we awoke to the situation – and the British are like us, no better, no worse – it was too late. They are embedded. They own significant percentages of our hotels, restaurants, travel agents and prostitutes. I go to my chief, who is many years younger than me and a bureaucrat, and request resources for an investigation. His first question to me is ‘Has there been a complaint? Show me.’ Now I have to say there has been no complaint lodged by a victim of assault. The end. I urge you to take my advice. Be very careful, Jago Browne, because they’re serious people. When they come out from ‘under the radar’, they’re unpleasant. They’re cruel and arrogant, which comes from the belief that they are beyond the law. Sometimes they are right. Would you like a fresh coffee? Of course you would.’
His mug was picked up. Across the table from Jago, the wrong way round for him, was the iPad. He saw, inverted, a head-and-shoulders photograph with text alongside it and headings.
‘Milk, no sugar, yes?’
The door closed.
There was a coffee machine in the corridor a few metres from the interview room. He might have a minute, perhaps two. Jago scrabbled in his pocket. There was a receipt from a dry cleaner on Lietzenburgerstrasse, near the language school where the bank employees had a discount. He had his pen. He turned the iPad and began to scribble.
He found the address in Berlin of Marcantonio Cancello, then the name of the village on the eastern side of Calabria. He flicked the screen and saw the names of parents and an uncle, who had children but no wife. A little pyramid had been constructed with the names, ‘Bernardo’ at the top and his date of birth, then Bernardo’s wife. He wrote everything he could get onto the small piece of paper and cursed that he had not picked up a notebook at his apartment.
He heard the footfall in the corridor and flipped the iPad back as it had been.
Extraordinary. Bizarre.
He sat back in his chair, played bored, looked at the door as the handle turned.
Fred Seitz, regarded by his colleagues as dull but honest, had satisfied himself that the young man had had time to gut the entry on his iPad.
Kindness? Not really. In respect for a Samaritan who had tried to help? Something like that. In the room, which was often used by the investigator and his colleagues, a camera beamed back to a screen an image of the interview room’s interior. He had seen Jago Browne writing frantically. He rarely had an opportunity to move outside the constrictions of his service. He went.
‘The machine is broken. We must survive without coffee. Of course, my friend, you should always leave police work to policemen – it’s safer. Like you, in spite of the firearm I carry and my warrant card, I feel frustrated at the lack of arrests and my inability to hurt dangerous people. They are conceited. We are the little people and do not matter, and they keep around them only those who are frightened of them. My parents were in Rostock. You know Rostock? The great port city for heavy ship-building in Communist times. Gangsters came there after reunification. A nephew of my cousin was once slapped in the face for not getting off the pavement when a gang leader passed. I’m sorry – I am rambling. The nephew saw the car they had just parked, a BMW, took out his house keys, scratched two lines along the length of the bodywork and ran. If they had caught him, they would have killed him. I told that boy some harsh truths. Gangsters hate violation of their property because that is disrespect, and he should make sure he is fit and can sprint fast. He should also get out of Rostock. I told him I did not condone what he had done and would arrest him without hesitation if he did it again. I don’t want to see you again, Jago Browne. You should go back to your bank, and be a success in your chosen industry. Don’t look for excitement in any unknown area. I shall be away for a few days, and when I come back I shall do what I can within my schedules and budget, but it will not be much.’
He showed Jago out. He yearned for the freedom of a beach.