The Murder Exchange (28 page)

It was getting close to midnight when I opened
an article from Der Spiegel, dated September 1997,
in which the words Contracts International
appeared. I was too tired to take in the fact that it V;?c written in German, but something immediaitiy
caught my eye. It was a black and white
photograph of two men walking towards a camera
along what looked like a mountain road. One of the
men, the younger of the two, was dressed in
military fatigues, the other in a dark suit. They
appeared to be talking to each other, and neither
was looking at the camera. In fact, it looked as if
they were unaware their picture was being taken.

The one on the left, the soldier, looked familiar,
but I couldn't work out from where. It wasn't a particularly
good shot of him, but I knew I wasn't
mistaken. I'd definitely seen the man before.

As for the one in the suit, he was even more
familiar. But then he would have been. Not only
had Malik supplied me with his photograph: I'd
run into him only days earlier.

It was Neil Vamen's man, Jackie Slap
Merriweather.

257
Saturday, eight days ago

Iversson

The rain came down like a tropical monsoon. A
month with none and then the whole lot arrives at
once, just like London buses. It was difficult to see
out of the car window, there was so much
of it, but I suppose in a way that was useful. At least
no-one would be paying me too much attention as
I sat parked across the road from the flash-looking
four-storey townhouse where the Heavenly Girls
brothel was based.

For the hundredth time that night, I looked at my
watch. 1.15 a.m. I'd been there close to two hours
now, watching and waiting, seeing how much
activity there was, wondering if that pervert Krys
Holtz was going to turn up. A steady flow of cabs
had been pulling up and spitting out their male
passengers, mainly of the suited and booted
variety, all looking like they had the cash to pay the
sort of prices this place apparently asked. Elaine
had told me she'd heard that thirty or so women
worked for them but only about ten were there at

258
any one time, in keeping with the intimate
atmosphere. I reckoned that those ten were being
kept pretty fucking busy if tonight was typical, and
there'd probably be as many as twenty-five bodies
in there when we hit the place. This meant we were
going to have to move extremely fast. With that
many people and that many rooms, it would be
impossible to secure everyone, so you had to guess
that one of them was going to be able to get a call in
to the police. The Met were never the speediest
bastards in the world, but if the person on the other
end of the blower sounded desperate enough,
they'd probably pull their finger out. That would
mean a five- or six-minute initial response time,
which didn't give us a lot of leeway.

uui. things were coming together, and that was
the main thing. Johnny Hexham, a man always in
pursuit of money, had already stolen the first car,
the one I was in now, and was currently hunting
down a van to use as transport for Holtz. Joe, acting
as a businessman in pursuit of some much-needed
recuperation, had made a verbal agreement to hire
one of the farmhouses I'd seen on a one-month let,
starting the following day, and was scheduled to go
down there in a few hours' time to put down the
money and pick up the keys. Johnny was on
driving standby every night the following week,
and the rest of the team were together, although I
still hadn't met the jeweller's brother, Kalinski. If all
went according to plan, I'd get to give him the onceover
the following night when the four of us, minus
Johnny, met to discuss the final details.

A black Toyota Land Cruiser pulled up outside

259
Heavenly Girls and stopped, engine rumbling, by
the side of the road. A couple of seconds later a big
bloke, at least six four, probably more, stepped out. This was Fitz, if Elaine's description was correct.
Another bloke, only slightly shorter and with the
same build, came out the other side. Big Mick. And
then the man himself, Krys Holtz, emerged from
the front passenger side and stepped onto the pavement.
Krys was a lot shorter than the other two,
probably no more than five ten, but again he had
the big build. He was no fucking oil painting either,
and you could understand why he had to pay for it
a fair amount. He dressed well, in an expensive
dark suit and leather coat, but his face was all
fat and jowly, like someone had lived in it too long,
and his haircut - a big black Elvis-style quiff that
had gone out of fashion when the King was still
below fifteen stone - was all over the shop. He was
only meant to be thirty but he looked at least ten
years older. I was surprised that the sight of him
didn't fill me with rage. Instead, I watched him
calmly, knowing that I'd be getting even shortly.

Krys hurried up the steps to the house, flanked
by the other two, then the door opened and a very
satisfied-looking Tugger Lewis stepped out. Tugger
moved aside, avoiding the group, who walked
through the space he'd just occupied as if he wasn't
there. He made his way over to the car and, after
turning round to check that Krys and his men had
entered the building, got in the passenger side. I
started the engine and pulled away from the kerb. It was 1.25 a.m.

'So, how did it go?'

260
'Very nice/ said Tugger in his thick Geordie
accent. 'The lasses are high quality, I have to say.'
They ought to be for that sort of price.'
'Aye, I know. Two hundred quid for half an hour.
That's about two quid a thrust. It's a shocking price.
I was down at a place in Puerto Banus a couple of
years back and it cost 38 pounds 70 pencefor a girl once the
exchange rate was taken into account. And you got
fortv minutes.'

'See, that's what I'd consider a fair deal. A quid a
minute. Not much more expensive than a fairground
waltzer.'

'And considerably more exciting.'
'Exactly. So, what's the layout in there like?'
'Rpreption's on the second floor. There's a lift
guuo up there. You come straight out into a foyer
and you're facing the lass on the desk.'
'Security?'

'Two bouncers in dickie bows. Big lads, mind,
but not armed. As far as I saw, it's only them, and
they won't be any trouble. There's a bar that's off
the foyer and that's where the lasses hang out when
they're not otherwise engaged. You can go in there
and have a drink with them; if you like one, you go
off with her to one of the rooms. I'm not sure how
many rooms there are, definitely no more than a
dozen. I went up to the next floor and there were
six that I counted, all very spacious and comfortable.
They use rooms on the fourth floor as well,
and I reckon it'll be the same layout. The second
floor's just the reception area, and the first and
ground floor's accommodation for the staff, I think.
Basically, the whole building belongs to them.'

261
'Well, you know the plan, Tugger. Will it work in
that sort of place?'

He appeared to think about it for a moment.
'Aye, I think so, but it's risky, no doubt about it.'

I grinned at him. 'But think of the rewards. Think
of how far a hundred grand'll go up your way. You
could probably buy a whole street in the northeast
for that.'

'Aye, maybe so, but you'll have to move up there
too, Max. You can't even get a garden shed round
here for that sort of price. Hardly worth risking
your neck for.'

'It's only a short piece of work,' I replied,
stopping at a red light. It struck me then that
Fowler had said pretty much the same thing on the
day we'd first met.

But you know what they say. Once bitten, twice
ready.

262
Monday, six days ago

Gallan

My weekend was blissfully quiet. Rachel and I did
the tourist thing, stuff we'd never done together
when we'd been living in the same house, because
at that time I'd never really felt the need. We went
to the Tower of London, the London Aquarium,
Madame Tussaud's, and even the Houses of
Parliament. And when we weren't treading the
pavement, we were taking it easy and enjoying
each other's company. I cooked curry on the
Saturday night and we ate it in front of a video of The Nutty Professor. The food was terrible, the film
not a lot better, but it didn't matter. It was just a nice
way to spend the evening. I let her stay up until
quarter to eleven but warned her not to tell her
mother. 'Otherwise she won't let you stay with me
again.' She winked and gave her nose a conspirator's
tap, telling me not to worry, it would be
our secret. Girls can be so manipulative.

Manipulative or not, I was a lot sadder than I
thought I'd be when I had to take her back on

263
Sunday evening. I promised I'd have her for the
weekend again in two weeks' time and she told me
that she'd look forward to it. I think, then, I must
have done something right, but it was still a lonely
journey home.

When I walked into the station on the Monday
morning, however, I was feeling more refreshed
than I had for a long time. Crime in the area had
continued to be fairly stable in the intervening time.
A fifteen-year-old Somali refugee had been put in
hospital with severe head injuries after being
beaten with a baseball bat during a gang fight
(three minors had been arrested at the scene and
bailed pending further enquiries); a spate of seven
muggings had occurred on one estate, one ending
in a stabbing, but the two perpetrators, both fresh
out of a young offenders' institute, had already
been arrested and charged; and a twenty-one-year
old woman had knifed and seriously wounded her
common-law husband with a kitchen knife. She too
had been arrested, and charged with GBH.

Although harrowing for the victims and their
families, particularly the parents of the Somali boy
who'd come to Britain seeking sanctuary and who
now had to keep vigil at their son's bedside in
intensive care, in many ways these crimes were a
CID officer's dream because they were all pretty
much self-solving. There'd be plenty of paperwork,
as there always was when someone was arrested,
but other than that the manpower effort would be
minimal, and it would make our clear-up rate that
much better. All of which meant less pressure from
above.

264
In fact, so confident were the Brass that morning
that the chief superintendent, in tandem with Knox,
announced that the long-awaited 'Back on the Beat'
initiative was going ahead that week. Members of
CID, including the DCI, were to spend a night out
patrolling with uniformed officers in an effort to
regain an understanding of the pressures the
uniforms had to endure, and to help, in the words
of the chief super, 'to foster a continued and ever
deeper spirit of co-operation between these two
essential and ultimately symbiotic arms of law
enforcement'. These words were uttered with a
completely straight face, which told you a lot about
the sort of leadership we had. I was pissed off to
le?™ that members of the Matthews murder squad
wert also being used on this exercise, and I was
told later during the squad meeting by Knox that
Berrin and I would be going out on Wednesday
night. I made a brief complaint about this, but I
knew that one way or another I was going to have
to be in attendance. The chief super had sanctioned
it, therefore Knox would enthusiastically go along
with it, as would Capper. My problem, like that of
so many other coppers, was that the chain of
command above me was made up almost entirely
of politicians.

In the meeting that morning, the first ten minutes
were taken up with Knox's prime suspect, the
elusive Mr Iversson, and his possible victim,
the even more elusive Mr Fowler. Of Iversson there
remained no sign, although his photo and details
had now been distributed to all the relevant
security services, so progress was expected in this

265
quarter; but more worryingly, at least for Knox's
theory, was the fact that there didn't appear to be
anything to link him with Matthews. Capper and
Hunsdon had also been digging further into
Fowler's background, and had even searched his
flat, but it soon became clear, as they detailed what
they'd been doing and who they'd been speaking to,
that they hadn't found out anything that wasn't
known already. Effectively, things hadn't moved on.

Knox then casually dropped a bombshell. Jean
Tanner, he said, had turned up safe and well, and
had told DI Burley that she and Craig McBride had
been experimenting with heroin and that McBride
had taken an accidental overdose. 'Apparently she
panicked, put him in a cupboard and fled her
home, going up north for a few days. She thought
everything would die down, which I know was a bit
stupid of her, and she got nicked when she arrived
back yesterday. She's still in custody. We're still going
to need to talk to her, of course, and Burley's given
us permission to do that later on today.' He turned
to Capper. 1 think it's best if you and Paul do it,
Phil/ he said. I opened my mouth to protest but
Knox put a hand up to stop me. 'I know you
originally turned up the lead, John, but I think
you must have rubbed Burley up the wrong way.'

"The Pope would have rubbed him up the wrong
way/ I said, thinking that I would have put money
on the fact that Burley was somewhere on the
Holtz payroll. 'All I did was ask him a few civil
questions.'

'I know, I know, but he's a touchy sort. Let's leave
it at that, eh?'

266
VVe moved on, and now it was my turn to explain
the poisons lead. I went through what I'd discovered,
trying to ignore the occasional quizzical
looks from Capper and Hunsdon, and even Knox, as I detailed the background to the Bosnian conflict
and its connections with Britain, and ultimately
with organized crime in the form of the Holtzes.
Tve emailed the photograph of Merriweather and
this soldier down to Malik, along with the article,
and I've asked him if he can find out the identity of
the soldier and get someone who can translate it.
The words Contracts International appear in the
article so I think it's fair to say there's some link
between them and the Holtzes. I haven't been able
to gf* anything on the company as yet, but I want in look into it a bit more closely.' No-one said anything
for a moment; they all looked like they were
thinking. Quite what was anyone's guess. 'Look, I
know it's a long shot, but I spent three hours hunting
down information on this sort of poison, and
the only place I could find where it was used before
was in Bosnia. And there's definitely a link between
Bosnia and the Holtzes, and also a possible link
between the Holtzes and Shaun Matthews.'