Never Apologise, Never Explain - James Craig [105]
‘Jesus.’
‘By the time this man arrived there were just a few pieces left. But he had to have something to take home. He just scooped up what he could and put it in his sack.’ Monica closed her eyes and stifled a sob. ‘The man went home to tell his wife that this was their son, so the family had something to bury while they said their prayers.’
Carlyle mumbled something that he hoped sounded sympathetic.
‘After that, I couldn’t get home quickly enough.’
‘I can understand.’
She was too polite to contradict him.
‘But,’ the inspector sighed, ‘there have been lots of killings, and doubtless there will be lots more. Even if you finally get him, if you bring Matias Gori to justice, will it have been worth it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Despite the death of your friends?’
‘The point is that they shouldn’t have had to die; just like those poor people in Ishaqi shouldn’t have had to die.’ She looked at him with a fierceness in her eyes that had been absent before. ‘If this was a decent country, something would have been done about Gori long before now. We wouldn’t even have needed to get involved – if the police had done their job properly.’
She waited for a response, but Carlyle said nothing.
‘But no one wanted to know,’ Hartson continued, ‘so we decided to take up the fight. All we wanted to do was bring one man – one murderer – to justice. We thought that was surely achievable – a small victory for decency. You’re right, many people get away with terrible things, but that’s no reason to give up. If everyone took your point of view, Inspector, the world would be an even worse place than it is now.’
Chastened, Carlyle held up a hand. ‘I didn’t say it was my point of view—’ But it was too late. Hoisting her bag on to her shoulder, she was already slaloming through the small knots of supplicants in the waiting room, and had almost reached the door by the time his words had got out.
After she had left, the inspector went through what they had. It was probably not enough to get Hartson police protection and certainly not enough to arrest Gori. But at least now Carlyle should be able to persuade Carole Simpson to let him see this thing through. He hoped so, at any rate. The Commander’s husband might still be making the news, but she remained at work. He rang her office and left a message with her PA, who promised to get Simpson to call him back as quickly as possible.
Ending the call, Carlyle looked around. What to do next? Scratching his head, he finally reached a decision; he would break his duck for the week and finally work up a sweat at Jubilee Hall.
THIRTY-THREE
Matias Gori stood in the shadows of the doorway of the long-since closed Zimbabwean High Commission, underneath a faded poster advertising trips to the Victoria Falls, and watched Monica Hartson as she walked down the front steps of Charing Cross police station and headed for the Strand. It was approaching rush-hour and the streets were crowded, so her progress was slow and Gori was able to stay close, no more than five or six yards behind her, without any danger of being detected.
Hartson then crossed the Strand, picked up a free newspaper and ducked inside Charing Cross train station. Dropping a little further behind, Gori watched her buy a coffee before heading down into the Tube. Realising that he didn’t have a ticket, he followed her down the escalator and jogged over to the nearest machine. Grabbing a handful