Never Apologise, Never Explain - James Craig [91]
‘How did you know that I would be here?’
‘I didn’t,’ Gori shrugged. ‘But here you are, so I can kill two birds with the one stone, as the saying goes.’
Carlyle let Gori place a gentle hand on his back and steer him down the access road. The rain was still holding off but he knew it would soon start pouring again. After a few moments, the Volvo rolled up behind them and they stepped off the tarmac and on to the grass to let it pass. As they waited, Gori opened his raincoat and pulled out a packet of Marlboros from an inside pocket. He offered one to Carlyle.
‘No, thanks.’ The inspector shook his head.
Gori took a cigarette and stuck it between his teeth. As he fumbled in another pocket for his lighter, Carlyle noticed a pin, like a small golden dagger, attached to his jacket lapel. Gori lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding in the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling it past Carlyle’s head. Noticing Carlyle staring at the dagger emblem, he casually but quickly closed up his raincoat, before stepping back on to the tarmac.
Carlyle waited patiently while Gori took another drag on his cigarette.
‘So why are you here?’ the military attaché asked finally.
‘Simply to pay my respects,’ Carlyle said evenly.
Gori gave him a quizzical look. ‘Do you attend the funerals of all your victims?’
‘They’re not my victims.’ Carlyle smiled politely, to show that he wasn’t put out at being questioned. ‘And, no, I don’t always go to the funerals, not at all.’
‘But in this case, yes.’
‘Well, Agatha Mills was a remarkable woman.’
Gori removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it carefully. ‘So they tell me.’
Carlyle waited for Gori to expand on this comment. When it was clear that nothing else would be forthcoming, he changed tack: ‘I thought that you were supposed to be in Santiago.’
Gori contemplated his surroundings, 7,000 miles from home, and sighed. ‘I was, but it was just a flying visit, only three days.’
‘That’s a long way to go for such a short time.’
‘I know,’ Gori shrugged. ‘It’s a shame, but that’s part of the job.’
‘So, what is the job?’ Carlyle asked. ‘What is it that you do?’
Gori laughed. ‘The Ambassador told me that you two had discussed that.’ He stopped and wagged a friendly finger. ‘Don’t worry, Inspector, there’s nothing illegal or controversial involved, apart from maybe the odd unpaid parking ticket. And all embassies have those.’
‘Indeed.’
‘It’s all very dull really.’
Never trust a man who can’t – or won’t – explain what he does for a living, Carlyle reflected. ‘Did you know Agatha Mills?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Gori bit his lower lip. ‘Why?’
‘You know about her connection to Chile?’ the inspector asked.
‘As I understand it, she had a Chilean father.’
‘And a brother who was a priest there.’
Gori said nothing but there was a clear flicker of interest in his eyes as he waited to see if the annoying policeman would show his hand.
‘He died during the coup in 1973.’ Carlyle gestured towards the mausoleum. ‘His name was William Pettigrew. There’s a place waiting for him in there. They’re still looking for the body. Or they were.’
Gori’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Thanks to your conversations with the Ambassador, we know about the family’s long-standing links to our country.’
‘What do you think about all that?’ Carlyle probed.
‘About what?’ Gori resumed his leisurely pace back towards the front gate.
‘About what happened to her brother?’
‘Her brother!’ Gori snorted. ‘Isn’t that the whole point, Inspector? No one knows what happened to him.’
‘But there will be a trial?’ Carlyle replied almost casually.
‘Perhaps.’ Gori did a little quickstep dance on the tarmac, gesticulating with his hands in front of his face. ‘But, after all this time, how can anyone hope to get to the truth?’
‘So you think it’s a waste of time?’
Realising that he was giving too much away, Gori quickly got his body language back under control. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, Inspector.