“And Demir, you sensed opportunity in this new world, eh? Started a new business.”
“Drugs?” asks Chris. “Naughty Demir.”
Demir shrugs.
“Drugs,” confirms Joe Kyprianou. “They paid the right people. Drugs from Turkey come into Northern Cyprus. Then from Northern Cyprus on to wherever, whoever. Huge business very, very quickly, and all protected.Frontier country, you know? Ten years on, the brothers run everything, they’re kings of the north. Untouchable, Chris, the whole family. They pay charities, open schools, the whole match. Gunduz. You just say the name in Northern Cyprus, and see what you see.”
Chris nods; he gets it. “When Johnny landed back here in two thousand, he disappeared, never to be seen again. There was a warrant, we had officers fly over, the Cypriot Police searched, but found nothing.”
Joe nods. “It’s simple, Chris, really. If Johnny has to get out of England quick, he just calls his dad. He lands at the airport, Demir sends people to pick him up, burn the passport, new one straightaway. New guy, new name, back up to Northern Cyprus, back to business. Is that what happened, Demir?”
“Nothing happened,” says Demir.
“And the search?” asks Chris. “Our guys? Your guys?”
“No chance. No chance at all,” says Joe. “I won’t say bad things, Chris, because you know how it is. But no way they even looked. Not in the right place. See if your boys wrote it up. They won’t have set foot in Northern Cyprus. In two thousand, you can’t believe the power Demir had. You owned everything and everyone, eh, brother?”
Joe looks at Demir. Demir nods.
“Still does, even from prison. So, however good a cop you are, why even try? Johnny could be here, could be Turkey, could be US or back in the UK. You can see Demir knows where he is, but he’s never going to help you.”
Demir holds out his hands.
“He could have flown into the UK,” says Chris. “under any name, killed Tony Curran, and flown back out, and we’d be none the wiser?”
Joe nods. “Definitely. Though if he flew to the UK, he’d have help when he got there. Any Cypriots there who could help him? Put him up? Anyone who might be scared of Demir here, and what he can still do?”
Chris shrugs, but tucks this away.
Demir has had enough, and stands. “Are we done, gentlemen?”
Chris nods; he is out of ammunition. He knows a pro when he interviews one. He takes out his card and puts it on the table in front of Demir. “My card, if anything comes back to you.”
Demir looks at the card, then at Chris, then back at the card, and lets out a belly laugh. He looks over at Joe Kyprianou and says something Chris can’t catch. Joe Kyprianou laughs too. Demir looks back at Chris for a final time and shakes his head firmly, but not unkindly.
Chris gives Demir a shrug of his own. He is a pro too.
Chris had googled it earlier and there is a Starbucks and a Burger King at the Larnaca airport; You see fewer and fewer Burger Kings these days, worth taking advantage when you do. Time to make tracks. He stands.
“What did they get you for, Demir?” asks Chris. “In the end?”
Demir gives a small smile. “I bought a Harley-Davidson from the US, had it shipped over. Forgot to pay the duty.”
“You’re kidding? And they gave you life?”
Demir Gunduz shakes his head. “Sentenced to two weeks, and then I killed a prison guard.”
Chris nods. “Quite a family.”
95.
Matthew Mackie had been surprised to get the call from Elizabeth asking if he was available for a confession. He had been gardening and thinking. The police interview had upset him, thrown him off balance. Life had been so simple a few months ago. His life wasn’t happy, exactly—he hadn’t been happy for many years—but was he at peace, perhaps? Had he found some contentment? As much as he was ever going to, he supposed.
He had his house, his garden, his pension. He had nice neighbors who would look in on him. A young family had recently moved in opposite, and the kids would play on their bikes on the pavement. He could hear bells and laughter if he kept the windows open. He could walk down to the sea in five minutes. He could sit and watch the gulls, and read the paper when it wasn’t too windy. People knew him and would smile and ask how he was keeping and, if he wasn’t too busy, could they tell him about their nose bleeds, or their hip, or their sleepless nights? It was a life; it had a rhythm and a routine and it kept the ghosts at bay. What more could you ask, really?
But now? Brawls, police interviews, nonstop worry. Would this blow over? He knew it wouldn’t. Whatever they say about time healing, some things in life just break and can never be fixed. For now, Matthew Mackie was keeping his windows shut. There were no bells and there was no laughter, and he is old enough to know there might never be again.
It seemed that every bit of news he had received in the past month had been bad news. So what to make of the phone call? What was this to be?
