The Murder Exchange (17 page)

'Well, I'm DI Burley and I'm taking over from here. '
And you two are contaminating a crime scene. Have **
you touched anything?' Z

'No.' |

'Well, get out then. SOCO are going to be here in "7
a few minutes and we've got to seal everything off.'

He motioned bluntly towards the door with his
head, and we stepped past him into the hall where '
several uniformed officers were standing. Burley
followed us out. After I'd led Mr Lacker back into ~
his own flat, he put a large, hairy hand on my
shoulder and half-pushed me over to the top of the ;
stairs. I was going to tell him that as far as I was
aware we were on the same side, so he could ease
up if he liked on the tough-guy routine, but I never
got the chance. He was talking before my lips even
parted.

'What were you doing back in there with the
neighbour? Seeing if you could fuck up the crime
scene as much as possible? Have you forgotten
what the procedures are, or did you just never \ bother to learn them?' v

'Did you get out of bed the wrong side or are you
always this charming?'

I thought he was going to pick me up then and
chuck me down the stairs. I'm not a small bloke - |
I'm close to six feet tall - but there was no 1
questioning the fact that he could have managed it.
His sharp little eyes, by far the daintiest features on
his long, heavy-jawed face, blazed angrily. That's L another thing you obviously haven't learnt then, |

154
that a DI's a superior officer to a DS and therefore a
DS should speak to a DI with a measure of fucking
respect, and address him as sir. And apologize
when he fucking forgets that.' His words were
spoken in a loud hiss through teeth that looked like
they usually spent their time gritted, and whether I
liked it or not (and I didn't, I can assure you), what
he was saying was correct. I took solace in the fact
that a man as rude, angry and clearly stressed as DI
Burley was not going to live to a ripe old age,
surrounded by loving relatives hanging on to his
every word of wisdom.

'I was just doing my job, sir/ I told him, emphasizing
the sir. I held his gaze, knowing that the only
way a person gets intimidated is if he lets himself.
I'u done way too many miles for that to happen.

'Well, you're not doing very fucking well. So, I
understand you know who the corpse is, is that
right?'

That's right. His name's Craig McBride. We
spoke to him yesterday in connection with a
murder.'

'But he doesn't live here?'

'No, the apartment belongs to a Jean Tanner. We
came here to see her, but she wasn't here. He was.'

'What were you interested in her for?'

I explained what we knew in short, sullen
sentences, giving him more of an overview of the
Matthews case than the bastard deserved. As I was
finishing, Benin came over to join us. Burley turned
round and saw him. 'What the fuck's wrong with
you?' he said. Tou look like you've seen a ghost.
Not used to stiffs, then?'

155
Tm all right/ said Benin belligerently.

'Well, I want you both to know that we're taking
over this case now. This is our patch and we're
investigating it. Thanks very much for alerting us
to yet another fucking suspicious death in the
division, but we won't be needing any more help
from you. So, if you'll excuse us ...'

'Hold on,' I said, ignoring the murderous glare
he shot me. 'We need to speak to Miss Tanner
regarding the Shaun Matthews murder case. If s
important. Sir.'

'When we locate her, Sergeant, you'll be given
the necessary access to question her about your
own case, if you follow the procedures. Now, we're
very fucking busy so I'd like it if you could be on
your way before you mess anything else up. I'll
inform your superiors when and if we have her in
custody.'

Td also like access to the results of the postmortem
on McBride.'

'You'll get the information when we have it,' he
said. 'Now, goodbye.' He turned and stalked back
towards the open door of Jean's apartment, leaving
the two of us standing there like lemons.

Sometimes you genuinely wonder why you
bother. When even your own people don't seem to
want to help you, then you really are kicking a lead
door. I've met plenty of coppers like Burley - far too
many, if the truth be told - and, like him, they're
generally the older guys with too many years on
the Force who've never quite done as well as they
think their talents deserve, and who hold a grudge
because of it. They're also the ones who are most

156

f
prone to corruption. I wondered briefly whether
there was more to Hurley's eagerness to get us off
the premises than he was letting on. It also seemed
strange that he'd got here so fast. As if he'd been
waiting just round the corner.

'Where to now?' asked Benin with a marked lack
of enthusiasm.

I sighed, forcing down the frustration. When one
avenue fails, try another one. 'Let's go and see Neil
Vamen,' I told him.

'Are you sure this is a good idea, Sarge?' said
Benin. He still looked sick. Sick and nervous.

It was twelve-thirty and we were walking
towards the Seven Bells, a pub in Barnsbury which,
according to the profile we had on him, was
supposedly the Sunday lunchtime haunt of Neil
Vamen. The place, no doubt, where he felt most at
home among 'his people'. Barnsbury, the traditionally
working-class, now partly gentrified district of
south Islington that encompasses the area between
the Caledonian and Liverpool Roads north of
Pentonville, was in many way the spiritual home
of the Holtz organization, since it was there that all
the senior members had grown up and plotted their
first scams together. Most had long since moved
out to larger, more ostentatious properties in the
suburbs, including Vamen, but he apparently still
retained a special affection for the area, not least
because his mother still lived there, and he visited
regularly.

It probably wasn't a good idea to go and see him.
After all, I didn't expect him suddenly to blurt out

157
r

t

everything he knew about the death of Shaun
Matthews and Craig McBride, as well as the whereabouts
of his alleged girlfriend, Jean Tanner. As
Benin had pointed out more than once this morning,
he might have known nothing about any of it,
but I wasn't so sure. Jean had been linked to him by
a man who was now dead. She'd been seeing
another man who was also now dead. At least one
of those deaths, and almost certainly both, were not
from natural causes, and now Jean was missing. I
didn't have any particular theory of what Vamen's
involvement might be, it was still too early for that,
but at least by turning up out of the blue we might
be able to rattle him. Particularly if he thought we
knew more than we actually did.

'I don't honestly know if it's a good idea or not
but I don't see any alternative. I mean, who else is
there left to talk to? We've got a murder inquiry
where everyone we want to interview is either
missing or dead. Have you thought about that?
Fowler's nowhere to be seen, McBride talks, then
twenty-four hours later he's dead, and now Jean
Tanner's disappeared into thin air. At least Vamen's
still capable of opening his mouth.'

'I'm not criticizing, Sarge, but don't you think we
ought to have checked it out with Capper first?'

'Look, this is just a friendly little chat, following
up on a lead. We're just using some initiative, that's
all.'

We stopped outside the pub, a small, old
fashioned place with grimy windows and a
battered door that fitted in snugly in the quiet,
slightly run-down street of terraced housing just off I

158
the southern end of the Caledonian Road. The
windows were open and we could hear the steady
buzz of conversation and the occasional clinking of
glasses. It's a sound I usually like because it's
welcoming, but I had a feeling the welcome here
wasn't going to get much above frosty. We'd both
taken off our jackets in deference to the intense
midday heat but now put them on again. It was
best to be formal.

Till do the talking/ I said, thinking that at that
moment Benin looked like a student in a suit at his
first job interview. Tou just stand up straight and
don't look too queasy.'

They're not likely to try to rough us up, are
they?' he asked, showing a worrying naivety.
Sometimes I couldn't help but think that it was only
the shortage of detectives in the Met that had put
Benin in plain clothes, and that he'd been promoted
above his experience. In the fight against
crime, you didn't like to think that the front line
was made up of too many men like him.

'He might be a nasty bastard, Dave, but he's still
a businessman. He won't want to do anything that
brings him unwanted attention. Now, come on.'

I stepped inside with Berrin following. The
interior was deceptively large and seemed to go
back a long way, as is often the way with London
pubs. It was split into two bars, the right-hand one
near enough empty except for a handful of old
geezers in caps smoking pipes and generally not
taking too much notice of one another. Two of them
were playing cribbage and they were the only ones
who looked up as we arrived.

159
I

A'

The other bar, in contrast, was a lot younger and j
a fair bit livelier, although it was still early so ,1
nowhere near crowded. A jukebox played one of
the numerous covers of the Righteous Brothers'
IJnchained Melody7 and three or four groups of
people - mainly men, but some women - milled
about in a way that suggested they all knew one
another. Most of them were in their thirties and
forties, and at the far end of the bar, closely watched
by Jack Merriweather and two powerfully built
bodyguards, stood Neil Vamen. He was talking to
another of the groups - two middle-aged men and
their younger, pneumatic blonde partners - who
were hanging on to his every word. Vamen was
smiling broadly and I got the feeling he was telling : a joke.

That all stopped as soon as we stepped inside. In
fact, everything stopped, bar the music, the singer
continuing to warble boringly while the whole bar
gave us what I can only describe as the evil eye. I
suppose we just looked like coppers. The barman
studiously ignored us and for a couple of seconds I
simply stood there, thinking that it might actually
have been a big mistake coming here.

Confidence. It's all about confidence. You can
command the respect of anyone, even a room full of
gangsters, if you walk like you know the walk. So,
trying to ignore the fact that I was sweating, I
ambled casually through the crowd, Benin behind
me, and stopped when I reached Neil Vamen. His
bodyguards tensed but made no move. Jackie
Slap's lip curled in an expression of distaste, as if
the very presence of police officers caused him to

160
experience an allergic reaction, which it probably
did. Vamen, meanwhile, eyed me with a mixture of
mild contempt and idle curiosity, his turquoise eyes
twinkling playfully. I could almost feel the stares of
every other person in the place on my back, and I
hoped Benin didn't do anything stupid, like faint.

'Hello, Mr Vamen. My name's DS Gallan and this
is DC Benin.' I produced my warrant card and saw
out of the corner of my eye Berrin produce his. 'I
believe we've met before.'

Vamen made a casual gesture. 1 don't remember.'

'We'd like a word with you in private, if we may.'

'No.'

And that was that. The word wasn't delivered
rudely but there was a finality about it I really
should have expected. Behind me, I heard one of
the pneumatic blondes snigger.

'Any particular reason why not?'

He smiled. 'Because I've got nothing to say to
you.'

It's difficult when you rely on the authority that
comes with your position to coerce people into
doing things, and then come up against someone
who has no fear of it or you. Particularly when
they're on their home territory and you're a long
way from yours.

'If you don't talk to me, I might have to conclude
that you've got something to hide,' I told him,
meeting his gaze.
That made him laugh. 'Your lot have been concluding
that for the past twenty years.' Further
laughter reverberated around the bar, and someone
shouted, 'You tell him, Neil.'

161
'Ain't you got nothing better to do?' sneered the
Slap. He was wearing a black New York Yankees
baseball cap to cover up what he hadn't got. I
ignored him. At that point, I didn't have to be told
that I was losing this one.

Tine. We'll talk here, then. Your girlfriend, Jean
Tanner. We found a man dead in her apartment and
we want to know where she is. Any ideas?'

Vamen's face hardened and his eyes lost their
playfulness. For two, maybe three seconds the
silence was deafening. When he spoke next, his
voice was calm and slow, but dripping with
menace. 'I don't know what you're fucking talking
about, or where you're getting your information
from, but I'm telling you this: it's bollocks. Now,
you want to discuss anything with me, you go
through my lawyer. His name's Melvyn Carroll.
You might have heard of him.' I had. The Holtz
family brief. As crooked as a busted rib. 'Otherwise,
unless you're arresting me - which you're not, are
you?' He paused for a moment to let me answer.

'Not at the moment/

'Well, then, unless you're arresting me, you can
fuck off out of here and leave me alone. And if you
don't, DS Gallan ... is that right? Gall-an?'

'Gallon of what?' some wag called out.

'That's right, John Gallan,' I said, determined to
hold my own.

'And what's your name again, sonny?' He aimed
the full force of his personality at Benin, who was
probably now wishing he'd taken the advice of his
university careers adviser and joined an insurance
company.