‘Do you think they fell out? Him and Nail? What do you reckon? Could Nail slit a man’s throat?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘He’s got a mean streak. A wife-beater’s rage. Could he kill a man in cold blood? I’m not sure. But would he lash out if someone pushed him hard enough? Yeah, I think he might.’
‘Okay,’ said Jane. ‘I need to get it clear in my head. How does it fit together? What’s the chronology?’
‘Nikki took the boat. Nail’s been simmering ever since. He got angry, argued with Mal. He lashed out. Plausible scenario.’
‘He’s been drunk for days. I thought he was pissed off at Nikki. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s Mal.’
Ghost thought it over.
‘Punch cooked us all a meal. We sat in the officers’ mess. I went looking and found the body.’
‘So Mal may have been dead and hidden before you all sat down to eat.’
‘Hard to credit,’ said Ghost. ‘Kill a guy then sit down for a plate of risotto? Talk and joke like nothing happened? If it’s true, if this was murder, then we are dealing with a full-on psychopath.’
‘We need proof. We need to know for sure.’
Next morning Jane and Ghost ran across the ice to Rampart and searched Nail’s old room in the burned-out remains of D Module.
They shone flashlights over the scorched walls and ceiling. A grille had been removed from the mouth of a wall duct and positioned neatly on the sprung frame of the bed. The melted foam mattress had been laid in the corner.
‘Someone was here,’ said Ghost. ‘They took something from the duct.’
‘Mal or Nail?’
‘Who knows? Maybe we’re getting carried away. Maybe Mal cut his own throat, after all.’
Jane kicked through the planks and slats of a smashed cupboard. She sat on the bed. Frame-springs creaked and twanged.
Ghost sat on the burned chair and pulled Nail’s personnel file from his shoulder bag.
‘So what do you think we should do?’ asked Ghost. ‘Say we find a smoking gun. A bloody knife, a shoe box full of smack.
What then? Do we convene a jury? It’s not like we can send him to jail. Take a vote? Hang the guy? He’s still got friends. If we start throwing accusations around this could turn into civil war.’
‘If we have been passing the time of day with a killer, we need to know about it. We can’t let it go.’
‘There is another option. Just so we understand the road we are heading down.’
‘Let’s hear it.’
‘We’re in charge. You and me. We didn’t apply for the job, but we’re holding the reins. If Nail is a problem, then it’s down to us to deal.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ll take him on a trip inland. Find a pretext. Re-visit the capsule or something. I’d make sure he didn’t come back. I’d tell everyone he fell down a crevasse.’
‘No.’
‘It’s an option. That’s all I’m saying.’
Ghost thumbed through the file. He held up a sheet of paper.
‘Nigeria,’ he said. ‘Four years ago. He and Mal both worked for Chevron. I’m guessing that’s where they met.’
Jane took a packet of beef jerky from her pocket.
‘I don’t know what I hoped to find,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing here. I don’t suppose we will ever know for sure.’
‘Like I say, if Nail has been dealing, if he killed Mal in a fight, we aren’t in much of a position to prove anything.’
‘No.’
‘So we might as well drop it.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Except for this.’
He held up a sheet of paper. A crude photocopy.
‘Discharge papers. Private Edwin “Nail” Harper. Royal Engineers. He must have used it as a reference.’ He handed the paper to Jane. ‘Distinguishing features. Check it out.’
‘I can barely read it.’ ‘Tattoos.’
‘Second Battalion insignia right forearm. A lion on his back.’
‘I helped him out of a wetsuit once,’ said Ghost. ‘He and some guys were inspecting the seabed pipeline. Testing the shut-off valve. I helped them decompress. He has a big cross on his back, and a wolf on his arm. No regimental insignia.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘You’re saying Nail Harper isn’t Nail Harper?’
‘Most of the guys on the rig were running from something. Maybe he, whoever he is, was running from the law. Trying to build a new life under a stolen identity.’
‘So what happened to the real Nail Harper?’
‘Dread to think.’
‘You think we should challenge him?’
‘He’ll say he got the tattoo lasered off. Bad memories of Iraq, or some shit.’
‘Christ,’ said Jane.
‘The sooner we cut him loose, the better.’
Nail’s turn on patrol. Ghost kept him company. They walked the perimeter, the ring of barricades that kept the rabid population of Hyperion at bay.
They checked locks. They re-stacked furniture against each door. They stood on deck and watched mutant passengers mill on the tiered decks below them.
‘They don’t get any smarter,’ said Ghost.
‘You’d think they would rot,’ said Nail. ‘They can’t keep going for ever. Sooner or later, they have to drop dead.’
Nail swigged from a hip flask.
‘So how are you doing?’ asked Ghost.
‘All right.’
‘You must be pretty cut up about Mal.’
‘Fuck him. He was weak.’
‘Any idea why he would want to kill himself?’
‘Right now, every one of us has a dozen reasons to jump over the side.’
‘He was your friend.’
‘Nobody has friends. Not out here.’
Nail proffered his hip flask. Ghost took it and pretended to drink.
‘Fancy a trip below deck?’
‘What for?’ asked Nail.
‘The Neptune Bar. The guys want to hold a wake. We need to liberate a few supplies.’
‘Yeah. Why not?’
Jane used a master key from the purser’s office to let herself into Nail’s cabin. She searched by torchlight. Ghost and Nail were out on deck. She didn’t want Nail to see light at his cabin porthole.
‘What exactly do you hope to find?’ Ghost had asked.
‘I don’t know. Something incriminating. Some kind of contraband.’
Dumbbells. Empty bottles of Scotch. Five years of Hustler.
Jane tried to think like a junkie. Where would she hide her stash? Toilet cistern. Back of the washstand sink. Inside tubular, steel-frame furniture.
She checked beneath the bed with a Maglite pen torch. She tugged at the side panels of the bath. She pulled up carpet.
Nothing.
She headed for the door. She was reluctant to leave. Gut instinct told her there was something hidden in the room, something significant, but she didn’t have time for a thorough search.
The crew took over the Tex Mex Grill. Ponchos hung on the wall, a plastic cactus stood by the door and a picture of Lee Van Cleef hung behind the bar.
Ghost and Nail had rescued three cases of Veuve Clicquot from below deck. They filled buckets with ice chiselled from benches along the promenade, and set the champagne to chill.
‘Have fun, boys,’ said Ghost. His turn on patrol.
Gus put a CD player on the bar. Mal liked U2, so they played ‘Joshua Tree’.
Gus muted the sound for a moment and stood on a chair. He proposed a toast.
‘Mal. Here’s to you, buddy. Via con Dios.’
They all drained their glasses except for Jane. She resolved to stay sober. She sat by a brass radiator. She stooped to pick up a fallen coaster and turned up the thermostat. She popped a fresh bottle and refilled glasses.