Free Cold Kill by Stephen Leather Page B

owned which bags.’
    ‘And what did you tell them?’
    ‘I didn’t tell them anything. I’m waiting for my lawyer to get here.’
    Rudi was pacing again.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd.
    ‘They have no right to go through my bags,’ said Rudi. ‘My bags are private.’
    ‘They can do what they want when you come into the country,’ said Shepherd. ‘Customs have the right to search you and all your possessions.’ He paused. ‘What was in the cans?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Rudi.
    ‘How can you not know?’
    ‘I don’t know!’
    Shepherd held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘I was trying to help, that’s all.’
    Rudi walked over to the door and banged his forehead against the metal.
    Shepherd went over to him. ‘That won’t help,’ he said.
    Rudi continued to bang his head.
    ‘Rudi, they’ll just come to see what you’re doing, and if they think you’re hurting yourself, they’ll restrain you.’
    Rudi stopped. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘They’ll handcuff you. They won’t want you to hurt yourself.’ He put a hand on Rudi’s shoulder. ‘Sit down. Let’s talk about it.’ He guided the other man to the chair. ‘Look, if you don’t know what was in the cans, you can’t be in trouble. The police will believe you.’
    ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘I don’t know.’
    Shepherd sat on the bunk, facing him. ‘So why did you have them in your luggage?’
    Rudi shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you.’
    ‘Maybe I can help.’
    Rudi looked up fearfully. ‘How can you? You’re going to prison.’
    ‘I’ll get bail,’ Shepherd said. ‘I have money. My lawyer will get me released until I go to trial.’
    ‘Will they release me?’
    ‘It depends on what was in the cans,’ said Shepherd. ‘If it was drugs—’
    ‘I told you, I don’t know what was in them!’
    ‘Yes – but if it was drugs they could send you to prison for a long time and you wouldn’t be able to take care of your family.’
    ‘They didn’t tell me what was in the cans,’ said Rudi. He propped his elbows on his knees and put his head into his hands.
    ‘You were carrying them for someone else, then?’ said Shepherd. ‘Who?’
    Rudi leaped to his feet. ‘Why are you asking so many questions?’
    ‘I just want to help you,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘No one can help me.’ He began to bang his head on the door again. ‘No one.’
    It was just before ten when Sharpe and Joyce came to collect Shepherd. They handcuffed him and led him out to the Vectra. They showed their warrant cards to the guard at the gate, who made a note on his clipboard.
    Sharpe drove out of the police car park and accelerated down the road.
    ‘Home, James,’ joked Shepherd, from the back seat.
    ‘I’m dropping you in north London,’ said Sharpe. ‘The boss said he’ll run you home. Joycie and I’ve got work to do – real work, as opposed to chauffeuring heroes.’
    There was little traffic on the motorway and Sharpe kept the car in the outside lane at a steady 90 m.p.h. They left Shepherd at a service station on the outskirts of London where Hargrove was sitting in the back of his official Rover. The driver was already out of the car, holding the door open, as Shepherd walked over and climbed into the back. The superintendent was wearing a dinner jacket, with a scarlet cummerbund and a hand-tied black bow-tie.
    ‘Been conjuring?’ asked Shepherd, laconically.
    ‘Awards ceremony,’ said Hargrove. ‘Bravery above and beyond, all that jazz. There wasn’t a guy there who’d done a tenth of what you have over the past couple of years.’
    ‘It’s not about being brave,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s about getting the job done.’
    The driver got behind the wheel and edged the car towards the M25.
    ‘Be nice if you could step up and take a bow some time, though,’ said Hargrove.
    ‘I’ve got half a dozen photographs of me shaking hands with various police commissioners,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just not