Chapter 12
‘It’s quiet most of the time,’ says Lee, leaning on his shovel and kicking at the lawn with his trainers. ‘Peaceful. You know, until this. Korbin does most of the fun stuff. I just drive and hang around outside restaurants.’
‘That’s the job,’ says Amy, kneeling. The mound of earth is piled up beside her.
She turns Esteban’s body over with as much dignity as she can.
‘I have seniority,’ says Korbin. ‘That’s why I do the fun things.’
‘Sometimes he sends me to get coffee,’ says Lee. ‘I fought in Afghanistan and now I buy Frappuccinos.’
‘How long did you serve?’ Amy asks.
‘Too long,’ says Lee.
Amy examines Esteban. The bullet had gone in through the back of the skull. Downward trajectory. Not textbook, but effective enough.
‘I used to work for Britney Spears,’ says Korbin. ‘I don’t know if you have heard of her, she is a singer?’
‘Have I heard of Britney Spears?’ says Amy, examining the entry wound in more detail. ‘Yes.’
It doesn’t matter where you are in the world, bodyguard talk is the same.
Kuwait, Buenos Aires, Osaka, Gaborone, it’s the same people bitching about the same things.
Menial tasks, gun not good enough, less fun than working for Cher.
Bodyguards are never happy unless they are backstage at Wembley or under direct fire.
For these two – three if you count the late Esteban – life on this Italian hillside must have been deathly dull, until someone shot Esteban.
That has perked them up a bit. You can sense it.
Judging by the entry wound, the gun was very close when it fired.
Hard to get that close to a professional and then shoot them in the back of the head.
But all sorts of scenarios in which it could have happened.
‘Have you ever worked for anyone famous?’ asks Lee, his Essex accent and perfect teeth pure Love Island.
‘Yes,’ says Amy. ‘Do you think this guy Jakob Eriksson really killed Esteban?’
Korbin shrugs.
‘Course he did,’ says Lee. ‘Gotta kill people every now and again. Keep your reputation up.’
‘Whoever killed him got up pretty close and personal,’ says Amy. ‘Any theories, Korbin?’
Korbin looks bored. ‘Maybe Jakob Eriksson, maybe someone else.’
‘He left a note, dumbass,’ says Lee.
‘Anyone can write a note,’ says Korbin. ‘A baby can write a note. Well, maybe not a baby.’
Amy is not sure she can learn anything more from the corpse. He was facing away from his killer, he was shot at close range, there are no defensive injuries, no signs of a struggle. In his jeans pocket there’s nothing but half a pack of chewing gum. We all die with something still in our pocket.
‘What do you know about Mr Blackwood’s business?’ Amy asks. The two men trust her, recognize her as one of their own. She intends to take full advantage.
‘I know it’s none of mine,’ says Lee.
He’s half right, you have to be discreet, and you have to keep a distance, but you also have to know the dangers your principal might face, the environment in which they work.
‘I know Eriksson is the top banana though,’ Lee adds. ‘Everyone knows that.’
Amy gets to her feet and brushes dirt from her tracksuit. ‘I think Esteban can go back in.’
Amy takes Esteban’s shoulders, and Korbin takes his legs. ‘Have there been many threats? Over the years?’
‘No threats,’ says Korbin, as they nod at each other to lift. ‘Because I do my job properly. We keep quiet, we keep clean, no fuss, no drama, no threats. We eat well, plenty of vegetables. I listen to opera.’
‘Okay,’ says Amy. ‘No excitement at all?’
They lower Esteban’s body back into his grave. Perhaps at some point they’ll find out who he really is, and his family can claim him. Until then, there are worse resting spots than this.
‘One of the cleaners tried to steal some money, caught red-handed,’ says Korbin. ‘And Esteban marched her out at gunpoint. That’s as exciting as it gets up here.’
Amy supposes Esteban didn’t have to march the cleaner out at gunpoint, but bodyguards do like an excuse to do something at gunpoint. Lee starts to shovel the earth back into the grave.
‘Good money?’ Amy asks. It must be good money. What else but good money would keep three professionals cooped up in a villa with nothing to do all day?
Korbin and Lee look in no mood to disagree with her.
‘We do all right,’ says Lee. Amy notes that if it is possible to shovel earth over a corpse respectfully, then that is what Lee is doing. Tells you something about the man at least.
‘Better than Britney,’ says Korbin. ‘The singer I mentioned.’
‘Jakob Eriksson?’ asks Amy. ‘Vern says they’re friends. Has he ever visited?’
‘Never been here,’ says Korbin. His shovel work is less respectful than Lee’s. Amy supposes that if you’ve had to bury the same man twice in two days, your patience might wear thin.
‘Never met the geezer,’ says Lee. ‘Never want to. Killer.’
‘I bet he pays even more than Mr Blackwood?’ says Amy.
Lee leans on his shovel for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any ketamine, Amy? Been a rough couple of days.’
‘Me?’ says Amy. ‘No. Rosie probably does.’
‘It’s so hard to get ketamine in Italy,’ says Lee, resuming his work. ‘The coffee’s good though. Rosie’s the old lady that was here?’
‘This is just a word to the wise, Lee,’ says Amy. ‘If you ever call Rosie an old lady to her face, you’ll end up in the same grave as Esteban.’
‘What is she? Drug baron?’
‘Novelist.’
‘Huh,’ says Lee. ‘Like, book writer?’
‘Like, book writer,’ confirms Amy.
‘She’s very good,’ says Korbin, starting to pat down the earth already in the grave. ‘Rosie D’Antonio. She’s very good.’
This makes Amy happy. ‘Have you read the new one? And the Devil Blinked First.’
‘I am reading now,’ says Korbin. ‘It is very exciting. In German it is called Und Schliesslich Blinzelte der Teufel Zuerst im Finsternisaugenblick.’
Amy nods. ‘Beautiful language.’
If there was a third shovel she would, of course, help.
Korbin takes a long, hard look at Amy. ‘I think you won’t find Jakob Eriksson. The three of you.’
Amy takes a good look at this handsome German, now covered in Tuscan dirt. You get a good sense of people in her business, and Korbin seems solid. If unemotional. ‘Why hasn’t Mr Blackwood sent you off to find him?’
‘He can’t leave himself unprotected,’ says Korbin.
Perhaps that’s an explanation, yes.
‘Talking of which, I’d better patrol,’ says Lee to Korbin.
Lee gives his shovel to Amy and picks up his semi-automatic.
Amy is glad she can help with the work now.
‘Who did the patrol on the night of Esteban’s murder?’ Amy asks, taking her first spadeful of earth.
‘Esteban,’ replies Lee.
‘By himself?’ says Amy. She looks down. All she can see of Esteban is a single shirt cuff. She throws her earth away from the cuff. Doesn’t want to be the one who makes him disappear forever. ‘No one else was keeping an eye on things?’
‘Yep,’ says Lee. ‘That’s how we do it.’
With these two highly trained bodyguards you’d hope that someone might have heard, or even sensed, something on the night of Esteban’s murder. Not that she’s accusing anyone of anything, but complacency can set in when you have an easy gig like this.
If you have a highly trained killer too, then call off all bets. But that gunshot wound didn’t look professional?
Korbin throws his earth over the cuff, and there goes Esteban.
Lee salutes Amy with his gun and heads off to the perimeter of Vern’s estate. Amy is left with Korbin. The brains of the outfit. She wants to ask him about complacency. He will understand what she means.
‘Do you –’
Korbin hushes her and cranes his neck to check if Lee is out of sight. ‘I need to speak to you. But first I need to trust you.’
‘That’s up to you,’ says Amy. If he wants to tell her something, he will. Be calm. ‘I’ve just helped you bury a body. What else do you want me to do?’
‘Something is wrong here,’ says Korbin. ‘There’s something I need to tell you to make some sense of it.’
And this is why Amy is here. With the bodyguards.
People like Vern Blackwood, people like Jakob Eriksson and Tommy Griffin, they keep their secrets close.
They’ll tell you what you need to know and nothing more.
But at home, just sometimes, they can let their guard slip.
Korbin and Lee will know things that nobody else does.
And one of those things might just be a clue to the murder of Esteban.
‘You might not believe me,’ says Korbin. ‘But I can bring proof.’
‘Of what?’ Amy asks. ‘You know who killed Esteban?’
‘I know who didn’t,’ says Korbin. ‘You come to my room after lockdown tonight. Nine, okay?’
‘Okay,’ says Amy.
‘No phone, no recording,’ says Korbin. ‘Just me and you.’
‘Just me and you,’ says Amy.
Korbin looks down at the grave, now full and level.
‘Tomorrow we plant flowers,’ he says. ‘You think?’
Amy nods. ‘I think that would be nice.’
‘A flower bed confuses the sonar machines the cops use,’ says Korbin. ‘And a corpse is good nutrient.’
Well, thinks Amy, whatever the reason, the flowers are a nice idea.
Korbin nods at her. ‘Nine o’clock. I blow your mind.’
He takes her shovel, and takes his leave.