Luc: A Spy Thriller by Greg Coppin Page B

Lucia, would you like something? Lucia?’
    She looked blankly at me. ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Would you like something to eat?’
    She shook her head. ‘I can’t eat.’
    I nodded. ‘Maybe later then. What about something to drink?’
    ‘No.’
    Her eyes were fixed on the rolling pictures.
    I put gentle hands on her tense shoulders to try and steer her away. ‘You don’t want to watch this over and over again,’ I said.
    She stood her ground. ‘I do.’
    After about ten seconds she snapped her head away. ‘No, you’re right,’ she said. She walked out of the room. When she’d gone I turned to Mike.
    ‘Is Molly here yet?’ I asked him. Molly was the resident nurse.
    He nodded. ‘Seeing to the old lady.’
    I’d arranged for Lucia’s gran to be picked up shortly after Frank was shot. She was resting in one of the bedrooms.
    ‘So you think the two clients are responsible for the bomb?’ Mike asked.
    I nodded. ‘I think maybe they were. They were late for the meet with Steenhoek’s man.’ I shrugged. ‘Final preparations? Making sure they were well away when it went off? I don’t know. But they certainly didn’t react surprised when it did go off. It’s a surprising thing, right, a bomb going off?’
    ‘It would catch my attention. Do we know yet who these men are?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘By the way,’ Mike said, ‘I found a man with a hole in his hand in the boot of your car.’
    ‘Well they’re always telling us to shake our shoes out before we put them on. Never know what you’ll find.’
    ‘Yeah. The phone you brought back from his car - we can’t get into it. It requires a security code,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me though.’
    I nodded. ‘Right.’
    ‘What do you want me to do with this man?’ Mike asked.
    ‘I want you to find out everything he knows,’ I said. ‘Start with who he’s working for.’
    Mike nodded. He would take care of it himself. I think he really rather enjoys it.
    ***
    A single bulb illuminated the room. There were no windows.
    The man sat on a chair in the middle, lightly hugging his bandaged hand. His left leg was chained to the floor. Mike entered the room and sat on a chair in front of him. A wooden desk that was screwed to the floor stood between them.
    ‘How is your hand?’ Mike asked.
    The man said nothing.
    ‘Your hand. Is it painful?’
    I was in the next room, watching through a one way mirror.
    ‘I would like to help you,’ Mike said, his voice showing genuine concern.
    The man did not respond. He stared grimly at the surface of the scratched wooden desk.
    ‘Would you like an interpreter? Do you understand what I’m asking?’ Mike shot up and grabbed hold of the bandaged hand. He smacked it back down onto the surface of the desk. The man’s cry was loud and high-pitched. ‘ This hand,’ Mike said in his calm, caring voice. ‘Is it painful?’
    My phone vibrated.
    ‘Luc, it’s Charlie. We have some information on the photos you sent.’
    Mike sat back and lightly frowned as the man’s echoing screams filled the room.
    ‘Excellent,’ I said to Charlie. ‘What have you got?’
    ‘Okay, the four younger guys. The ones who didn’t look in good nick. I guess they’re the ones we’re starting to hear about on the wires. Anyway, first we got Aruza Pinto. Twenty-eight. Guatemalan national. He’s the one in the red Jeep with the messy hand.’
    ‘Okay. I’m looking at him right now.’
    ‘Good, you managed - is that someone screaming?’ Charlie asked.
    ‘That’s him. That’s Pinto.’
    ‘His hand still hurt?’ she asked.
    ‘I think it might do.’
    Aruza Pinto was doubled up, hugging his arm. He looked as if he didn’t know whether to scream, cry or hurl abuse at Mike. I think he was trying a combination of all three at the moment.
    ‘Alongside him in the car,’ Charlie continued, ‘was Hector Villio Fernandez. Thirty-six. Guatemalan. They’re all Guatemalans by the way.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘The two in the street were Angel Mortez.