Skinner's Trail (27 page)

Sixty-six

T
hey were in the same small room in the Barcelona prison.

Two guards stood in the corner, only a small step away from Gruber. The German's left eye was puffed and blackened. Pujol wondered if his escorts, after their previous meeting, had taken it upon themselves to instil in their prisoner a little respect for the Guardia Civil uniform. If that was the case, it seemed to have worked. Hansi Gruber seemed altogether more circumspect as he looked across the small table.

The Commandante enjoyed his advantage. 'You are surprised to see me again?' he asked in French. 'Don't be. It's just that I was asked to deliver something
to you, and being an obliging fellow by nature, well, I said "of course." Actually, I was asked to deliver two things to you. The first, you have seen before.'

He took from his right breast pocket the German's letter to Hilda Braun, and threw it on the table. 'Sure, you have seen it before. In fact you wrote it, didn't you? When you did, you never thought it would need to be delivered. You didn't imagine you'd be so stupid as to foul your engine on Mr Inch and his sailboard. That letter, it was just to cover you against a million-to-one chance. You left it with Vaudan, to be delivered only if you were caught.'

Gruber grunted. 'No, everything in that letter is true. I was
going away on that cruise, but I had the accident with that poor man, and now I am here'

`That accident, after you planned your escape, then stole a boat.'

Gruber spread his hands wide in a theatrical gesture. 'I do crazy things sometimes, when I am drunk.

`Okay,' said Pujol. 'That is of little importance for now. The second thing I have for you, here it is.' He produced a second letter, folded, from his left breast pocket and waved it in the air. As he did so, he fished in the same pocket with his left hand, and found a further piece of paper. He threw the letter on to the table with a broad smile.

`That is for you, from Hilda. It is written in German, but I have had it translated into Spanish. Let me read it to you. Our friends in the corner will enjoy it too. She says:

Dear Hansi

How big a fool can you be? Your friend Lucan came to me with your letter, your story, and your money. Then two policemen arrived and told me the truth, that you are lying in a stinking jail in Spain on a murder charge. What have you done? You went away to find a new life for us, one free of trouble, and all you have done is throw away the little that we had. Your friend Lucan, some friend he is. He told to me that your trip might last much longer than you thought, and that the money might not be as good as you had been led to expect. He even said that if I needed comfort while you were away, then all I had to do was call him and he would come back to Germany just for me. Your friend is a pig, Hansi.

The two policemen who came to see me said that, the way things are for you, you will go to jail for ever. But they also said that if you were to tell the truth — that you were paid to kill this man — and that if you gave evidence against the man who paid you, then you could go free. Be sure of this, Hansi, I will not grow old waiting for you. If you continue to protect these people, I will not be outside the prison gates when you come out, old and bent and leaning on a stick. If you ever want to see me again, and to feel free air in your lungs while you have the strength to enjoy it, then, for the first time in your stupid life, do something sensible. Tell the Spanish police what they want to know, and give evidence against this man. Otherwise, rot in there; at least until they eliminate you as a risk to them by arranging another accident — for you this time.

"Hilda"
'

Some love letter, eh, Hansi.'

As Pujol had read aloud, Gruber had been following Hilda's words in her original letter. He now re-read it in silence, then dropped it on the table and buried his face in his hands.

`Nice man, that Lucan, isn't he,
H
ansi; said Pujol sympathetically, 'offering to look after your girlfriend for you while you're inside. He could get to look after her for a long time. Now, are you going to do the sensible thing? Here is the deal. You give evidence, and when Vaudan is convicted you walk free. Otherwise . . . well, you can forget about the sound of birdsong, the surge of the sea, and the smell of a woman for
a long time, maybe forever. You going to do it?'

Gruber's eyes seemed beaten as they looked up and across the table. He nodded briefly.

`Good,' said Pujol. 'Now I want to hear you say it. You were paid to stage Inch's accident, yes?'

`Yes,' said the German hoarsely.

`By whom?'

`By Nick Vaudan.'

`He gave you your orders in person, yes?'

`Yes.'

Was anyone else there?'

`Yes. That filthy bastard Serge Lucan.'

`All very good. Now I am going to bring in a secretary who is fluent in German. You will dictate your story to her, she will type it up, and you will sign it. Then we will have copies made in Spanish, French and English. In whatever language you say it, Senor Vaudan will be cooked!'

Sixty-seven

‘N
ice little bank, Sneyder et Fils. I had a good rummage while I was there. I looked at a dozen numbered accounts, as well as the one you gave me. Two were held by terrorist organisations, one by a Mafia don, and a third by a company which is known to us as a CIA front. Once I can set aside some more time, I'm going to take a longer look. Congratulations, Mr Skinner, you're a hero of the Service.' Angie Dickson's voice sounded even more effervescent than before.

`Don't think I really want to be,' said Skinner. 'Don't think I want to know too much, either, about what you can do to banks. As a policeman, it'd make me feel too uncomfortable. Apart from that rogues' gallery, what have you got on the account you went in to look for?'

`All there was to know. Opened a couple of weeks ago. Joint holders: Nicolas Vaudan, French national, and Paul Ainscow, British. The day after the account was opened, a deposit of one and a half million US dollars was made by EFT from a lending bank in Holland.'

`And it's still there?'

`No, I just missed it. It was pulled at eight thirty this morning. French time.'

Bugger!' Skinner snapped. 'All of it?'

The lot,' said Angie Dickson. 'One-point-five mil. In
greenbacks. It would have to be on the signatures of the joint holders.'

`Would both need to be there?'

`I don't know. I wouldn't have thought so, though. The Red Brigade are hardly going to turn up in person to pick up their cash.

Skinner grunted. `No. Silly question really. I know that one of the signatories is in Scotland. Anything more to tell me?'

`No, that's it. Glad to have been of help, though.' She added, 'That's assuming I have been'

`Oh yes, Ms Dickson,' said Skinner. 'You surely have' `Good. I love being given the chance to show off! Bye'

There was a click and the scrambled line went dead.

Skinner replaced the black phone in its cradle. He looked
across at Maggie Rose. 'There you are, Mags. An electronic
bank job, by request, and it isn't even lunchtime yet.' `What did she have to say?'

`Enough. Let's go see DCI Mackie, international liaison officer.'

As they walked the short distance from the Command Suite to the Special Branch office, Skinner briefed his assistant on Angie Dickson's report. 'That money's on the move, Mags. I want to follow it to wherever it's going.'

He threw open the door of the DCI's office, calling out as he did. 'Brian, get on to your French friends and—' He stopped short when he noticed Mackie was hunched over his desk with the phone pressed to his ear.

He looked up and cupped a hand over the receiver. `They're on to me, sir.'

As Skinner and Rose watched, he nodded, grunted, muttered the odd `
Oui
' into the phone. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, he sat upright in his chair, and slapped his palm on the desk in frustration. `
Oui, oui, oui, je comprends. Au revoir
á
vo
u
s aussi.'

Mackie put the phone down and looked up at Skinner. 'Go on, Brian,' said the big ACC. 'Tell me whatever it is. I
know
all this was too good to last’

Mackie stood up. ‘The French have lost them.
Vaudan and
Lucan. They're o
ff’

`How?'

`It went like this. Vaudan's in his office around nine. Then Norrie Monklands shows up, carrying a hold-all, and goes inside. Meanwhile the guys watching Lucan see him playing about with a big, fast, sea-going cruiser. They think he's just turning the motor over, when he slips the cable and eases out
of the berth. He's on his own, and they don't think for a minute that he's gong to take the thing out to sea, but he does. He drifts out of the marina, and he guns the bugger.

`Back at Vaudan's place, the watchers suddenly see Monklands and Vaudan in a speedboat. They can't see the boathouse exit from where they are, and you can enter it from the office, they said, so they didn't see them getting in. It was just a wee boat, they said, like you'd use to tow a water-skier. They know it can't go far, so they're not too worried. In fact they decide that they're probably test-driving the boat Monklands will be taking back' on his trailer. But half an hour later Norrie Monklands comes back alone.'

'So he must have transferred Vaudan to Lucan's cruiser?' `Yes. D'you think they've twigged they were being watched?' `Shouldn't think so. They've got one and a half million
dollars with them. They're just being extra careful.'

Mackie looked at Skinner in surprise. He nodded, 'Yes, pulled from the bank at sparrow-fart this morning. That's what would have been in Monklands' bag. So what did the French do?'

`They called in the coastguard. Or they tried to. The coastguard told them to go through channels. They wouldn't even put a single helicopter up without an order from Paris. But by that time ..

Skinner finished the sentence,`. . . they'd have been long bloody gone.'

`I asked the French what the range would be of a boat that size,' said Mackie. 'They said it could go anywhere in the Mediterranean with maybe just one refuelling stop.'

`Yeah,' said Skinner. 'They're off with their cash pile to meet their supplier, and we can only guess where he might be. Sicily, Morocco, the Lebanon — any-bloody-where. Bang goes our chance of shutting down the whole supply chain.'

He looked up and grinned. 'Still, the ball's not burst yet.,. That's only part of it. We've still got Vaudan and Ainscow by the nuts. As long as we don't lose sight of Monklands, we're still in play. We can assume that he brought down Ainscow's signed authority for the dollar withdrawal. But he's still there, with his empty trailer, so let's add the assumption that he's taking a delivery back with him. Brian, you're on your travels again. I want you to get out there now, or maybe sooner. Join up with the French watchers, and wait for Vaudan and Lucan to get back from wherever they've been with whatever they've bought. Then, once Monklands leaves, tail him every centimetre of the way. As soon as you see which channel . crossing he's going to take, call ahead so that I can fix it with the customs at his landing port.'

Maggie Rose looked at her boss in surprise. 'I thought we'd follow him all the way home.'

Skinner nodded. 'We will. I want to make sure that he doesn't get stopped by the customs.' He turned back towards Mackie. 'You all right with that, Brian?'

A shaft of sunlight shone through the window and glistened on Mackie's bald head, as he smiled back at him. 'Sure, boss. But don't you want to go. I mean, Sarah could always use another T-shirt. You only brought her back three last night!'

Skinner laughed. 'No, you just be a good boss, and bring back the duty-free for your squad! Right, Detective Inspector Rose. Let's go up and see how Mr Martin's getting on, keeping tabs on Ainscow and that wee shit Cocozza.'

He led the way from the Special Branch suite up the single flight of stairs to Andy Martin's Drugs and Vice team. The outer office was empty save for a typist, hard at work. She was wearing transcription headphones.

Andy Martin, seated at his desk signing correspondence, looked up as they entered. His blond hair was tousled, and his green eyes shone. The breadth of his shoulders stood out beneath his tight-fitting, short-sleeved shirt. His tie was loosened and the top button was open. Skinner noticed that he had a fresh red scratch on his neck, but before he could comment Martin greeted them, brightly. 'Hello, sir; Maggie. I thought you two would be up to your fetlocks in paper today.'

`Aye, we were, but we found an excuse to drag ourselves away.' Quickly, Skinner explained the events of the previous twenty-four hours: the discovery of the cash-pile and the Monaco bank, Angie Dickson's electronic break-in, the withdrawal and, finally, the evasion of surveillance by Vaudan
and Lucan.

'Christ,' said Martin, 'that makes my poor life see
m
dull and humdrum. I've just spent the last few days supervising
a team watching two guys do sweet eff-all out of the ordinary:

'All quiet on the Ainscow front, then?'

'Yes. Church-mouse. And Cocozza too. He's been doing the rounds of the former Manson
Empire
. He's spending a lot more time there than in his law practice.'

'He never really had one,' said Skinner. 'Tony Manson was always his biggest client. I heard that
Tony knew
Cocozza's old man, and that he more or less set the son up in practice.'

Martin leaned back in his chair. 'There is one thing on Ainscow, boss. I asked Alison Higgins' guy, Ogilvie, to pull the record of his old estate agency from the back files in Companies House — remember, the one he cashed back in
the Eighties — and have a look at them. He gave me his report last night. He said that anyone who paid big money for that business must have been off his head. He said the last couple of years' accounts were bloody ropy. I've arranged to see the managing director of the current parent company first thing on Monday morning, through in Glasgow. Want to com
e?’

Skinner thought for a moment. 'Yes, I think I will. l want to know as much as I can about Mr Ainscow, even if I have to go to Glasgow to find out. Will you pick me up from ho
m
e?'

Before Martin could reply, Ruth appeared in the doorway, clutching a fax. 'Excuse me, sir. I thought you'd want to see this right away. It's just come in, from Barcelona.'

Skinner took the paper from her. As he read Pujol's
account of his second meeting with Hansi Gruber, then the English transla
tion of the German's statement,
a broad smile
spread
over his face. 'Good news?' asked Martin.

Skinner nodded. `Mmm. But very bad news for Nick Vaudan. A life sentence, I'd say, on top of what he gets for complicity
in fraud and for drug dealing.' He chuckled. `That'll teach the bastard to proposition my wife!'