‘You might have thought a bullet was cheaper than thirty grand. I’m not wired for sound. I just want my money.’
Ben held out his hand. ‘Give me your wallet.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘I need to see who you are.’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m the man with what you want, and that’s all you need to know.’
‘Your wallet,’ repeated the Asian.
Shepherd cursed again, then pulled it out of his jeans and gave it to the man. Ben opened it and flicked through the contents. He pulled out a driving licence. ‘Anthony Corke?’
‘Tony to my friends.’
‘And you live in Dover?’
‘I’m a sailor. I used to work the ferries. Look, do you see a warrant card in there? No. So give me my wallet back and let’s get on with this.’
‘Why did the police let you go?’ asked Ben, examining a Visa card.
‘I’m on bail. If I run, I lose my house.’
‘They’ve charged you?’
‘I was up before a magistrate and I’m back in court in two weeks. I had the house so I got bail. But my solicitor’s costing me an arm and a leg so I need the thirty grand.’
Ben sat down on Shepherd’s left and gave him back his wallet. ‘First let me see the cans.’
Shepherd pushed the rucksack towards him. Ben unfastened the straps and took out a can, looked at it closely, then set it on the ground. He checked the other two, running his fingers over the caps and seams, then put them back into the rucksack.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Shepherd.
Ben reached into his coat. Shepherd tensed but he knew there was next to no chance that the man would pull a gun in a public park, not when he’d have to run with a heavy rucksack. Ben’s hand reappeared with a Nokia mobile. He made a call and said a few words in Bengali, then cut the connection.
‘You’d better not try anything,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you do I’m out of here.’
‘What happened to the boat?’
‘Customs caught it.’
‘What about the people on board?’
‘The asylum-seekers? Immigration have got them. If they play it right and claim asylum they’ll be back on the streets within days and have passports in three years.’
‘And you?’
‘Six months behind bars. Three years if I’m unlucky. Maybe a suspended sentence and a fine. Depends on the judge.’
‘Why did Rudi Pernaska not wait until he was released? Why did he talk to you?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I want to know.’
‘Customs and Immigration went through the boat, but they were only interested in the passengers and crew. They weren’t looking for contraband. I was put in a cell with Pernaska and he heard I was getting bail. He didn’t know how long Immigration were going to hold him, and he wasn’t sure they’d grant him asylum. His passport was fake, I think. He told them he was from Kosovo but really he’s Albanian. I guess he was scared that either they’d send him straight back to Albania or that someone would open the cans before they let him out. Anyway, he gave me your number and asked me to phone you.’
‘And the thirty thousand pounds was his idea?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘I thought as I was doing you a favour I ought to get something out of it.’ He saw an Asian man emerge from one of the pedestrian tunnels. He was almost six foot tall and had a long, loping stride. He was wearing a green anorak with the hood up, the sleeves several inches too short for his arms, and carried a black Adidas holdall.
Ben looked across at him. ‘He has your money,’ he said.
‘No tricks,’ said Shepherd.
‘There won’t be any,’ said Ben. ‘We want what’s in those cans. You want your money. We exchange bags and go our separate ways.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Shepherd.
‘What?’
Shepherd patted the rucksack. ‘You took a risk, giving them to an asylum-seeker. Why not just bring them in yourself?’
‘Because all luggage on planes is X-rayed. The Eurostar, too. And Customs make spot-checks on the ferries. Asylum-seekers avoid all such checks.’
‘Not on my boat they didn’t.’
‘That was bad luck,’ said Ben. ‘The chance of it happening was one in a million.’
‘You do it a lot, then – bring cans from the Continent?’
Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you so interested?’
‘I might be able to help. What’s in the cans?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I’m assuming drugs.’
‘You can assume what you want. It’s none of your business.’
The second Asian man drew level with the bench. Ben spoke to him in Bengali and pointed at the rucksack.
‘I’d prefer it if you spoke English,’ said Shepherd.
‘I said that the cans are in good order,’ said Ben.