The Murder Exchange Page 18

  Malik gave me a serious look. ‘Their ruthlessness. If you cross them, your days really are numbered. Every criminal firm’s prone to violence, of course. I suppose you’ve got to be in that line of business, especially these days with all the competition, but the Holtzes take it one step further. To them, killing’s just another way of protecting their investments. If you get in their way, or do anything that might foul up the smooth operation of their moneymaking, then you die. It’s as simple as that. We estimate they’ve been responsible for something like thirty-five killings since 1985 alone. Incredible when you think that most people have never even heard of them. But we’ve only ever recovered fourteen bodies which could actually be linked to members and associates of the family. Of those fourteen, not one has ever resulted in a conviction. People don’t go against the Holtzes because the consequences are simply too grim, and the rewards of staying onside simply too great.’

  ‘You make it sound like an impossible task to bring them to justice.’

  ‘We’ll get them in the end,’ he said, and he sounded like he truly meant it. I thought it was a pity there weren’t more coppers like Malik. ‘We’ll pursue them to the ends of the earth if we have to, but I’ll be honest with you, it won’t be easy. In the eighteen months I’ve been with the team we’ve not been able to secure anything above minor convictions, and those have only been against the lower-level players, but things are changing. The government are getting very concerned about criminal gangs supposedly running the country so they’re putting a lot of resources into the fight to bring them down. We’re not the only people involved. MI5 are looking into them too. So are the National Crime Squad, and even Customs & Excise are involved, which is probably the most frightening prospect of all from a criminal’s point of view. So they’re feeling the squeeze. But I can’t see them bursting just yet.’

  The food arrived, and Malik was right, I wasn’t disappointed. As I ate, I stole occasional glances at him and I had to admit to being impressed by his overall demeanour. Here was a man whose immediate boss and mentor had been uncovered as a cold-blooded killer, an event that had placed Malik under the microscope of the press and had led to unfounded whispers about his own involvement. I knew what it was like to have the media on your back from my own experience, but the Dennis Milne story had been a much bigger one than our squalid little cover-up, yet Malik didn’t portray the remotest hint that it had adversely affected him. If anything, it was quite the opposite. From what I’d gathered from talking to people at the station who’d known him in his time there, he’d been a fairly quiet, unassuming guy, nothing like the confident-looking individual sat in front of me now.

  ‘So, Neil Vamen,’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘I know a few things about him, none of them particularly nice, but I’d like to hear anything you’ve got.’ I decided not to say anything about my visit to him at the Seven Bells, since it didn’t exactly place me in a positive light.

  He sawed off a large chunk of veal and popped it in his mouth, clearly savouring the taste. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said when he’d finished chewing. ‘Vamen’s an interesting one. He joined the family firm at a fairly low level back in the mid-seventies, apparently as an enforcer. He’s thought to have committed at least one murder on Stefan Holtz’s behalf, in 1978 when he was twenty-one, but he’s a cunning bastard, and very shrewd, and he’s moved right through the ranks. Of people outside the immediate family, he’s easily the closest to Stefan, and acts as his chief adviser, especially now that Stefan’s a virtual recluse. I suppose in many ways Vamen’s the most dangerous of all of them because he’s as intelligent as Holtz, if not more so, and he’s still got the drive. The other family members don’t cut the mustard in that respect. Stefan’s two brothers are both dead: one, Terry, died from a heart attack ten years ago while he was in prison; the other, Kas, got killed in a car crash last year. And of the three sons, Tommy’s in the nick, Robbie’s not interested, and Krys is too much of a nutter.’

  ‘I’ve heard about Krys.’

  ‘A real nasty piece of work, and in a way the others aren’t. Everyone connected with the Holtzes is violent, some in the extreme, but in the main it’s just business. I’m not saying that that justifies it, of course it doesn’t, but at least there’s a reason behind it. With Krys, it’s all about the enjoyment of inflicting pain. He’s the sort who likes pulling the legs off spiders – you know the type. In fact, in many ways he’s probably their loosest cannon, although such is the fear he inspires in people he’s never been convicted of a thing. No one would ever testify against Krys Holtz.’

  ‘Do you think it’s feasible that Neil Vamen could be behind the murder of Shaun Matthews?’

  ‘Be realistic, John. What have you got? The word of a dead man.’

  ‘So, the name Jean Tanner doesn’t actually mean anything to you, then?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not off the top of my head, no.’

  I refused to give up. ‘I don’t see why McBride would have been bullshitting. He said it was well known that Neil Vamen played away from home. Would that be right?’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly well known that Vamen has mistresses, but, like everything else in his life, he likes to keep them as secret as possible. We put him under surveillance whenever resources allow, and we’ve photographed him with a number of women other than his wife, but as far as I’m aware we’ve only positively identified two, neither of whom goes by the name Jean Tanner. What I’ll do, though, is go through what we’ve got back at HQ and I’ll email over the information, including any photos we have of the women.’

  ‘I’m sure that whoever killed Matthews was also responsible for the murder of Craig McBride, although God knows why. To me, that level of organization suggests someone like Neil Vamen.’

  ‘But you haven’t got much of a motive.’

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  ‘Whatever did happen, it wouldn’t have been Vamen inflicting the fatal dose, although I suppose it’s possible he could be behind it. Remember this, though: he doesn’t do things that are going to bring attention on himself. In the end, unlike Krys, he’s first and foremost a businessman. A nasty one, admittedly, but still someone who’s not going to risk his position by committing rash crimes. And even if he had something to do with it, you’re going to have a sod of a time proving it.’

  I nodded wearily, having already heard this several times. ‘I know, I know. No one ever said it would be easy.’ I stabbed a couple of sautéed potatoes. ‘It would be useful if I could find Matthews’s boss, Roy Fowler, as well. Do you know anything about the ownership of this club, the Arcadia? I’m hearing that the Holtzes run it, but I’ve got nothing concrete.’

  Malik shook his head. ‘Not specifically. The number of front companies they’ve got is incredible; it has to be when you’ve constantly got millions of pounds to launder. I’ll ask around within the team and see if they’ve heard anything, but don’t hold your breath.’

  ‘So you don’t have any informants within their organization, then?’

  For the first time during the course of the conversation, Malik appeared cagey. ‘I’m afraid that’s classified information, John, as you’d appreciate.’

  ‘Well, if you do, I’d take it as a favour if you could ask the questions.’

  Malik said he’d see what he could do. ‘I’m sorry if I’m not being too much help,’ he added with a sheepish smile.

  ‘It’s a lunch’s worth,’ I said, ‘and, anyway, I came here more in hope than expectation. But if you can get me that info on Vamen’s associates and women, I’d appreciate it. It might even be worth buying you coffee for.’

  Malik smiled. ‘Now that’s an offer I’ll take you up on.’

  I ordered two coffees – a cappuccino for me, a black filter for him – and the conversation drifted on to other things, mainly what life was like back at the station. I told him I didn’t think he was missing much: Capper was still a talentless arsehole, Knox was still yearning for a detective superintendent rol
e, the chief super was still an idiot. We had a few laughs about things, and found we got on pretty well, but soon Malik was looking at his watch and saying it was time to go.

  We stood up at the same time, me a good four inches taller, and shook hands.

  ‘Good luck with the case, John,’ he told me, ‘but be careful as well. The Holtzes, and Neil Vamen in particular, are not people to mess about with. If it came to it, they’re not afraid to put a bullet in a copper.’

  Which is just the sort of uplifting advice you need on a Wednesday afternoon.

  Wednesday was Berrin’s first day back at work after his impromptu bout of summer flu, which was the reason I hadn’t allowed him to come on the lunch with Malik, but had instead got him reviewing witness statements. He wasn’t going to get a decent meal on the Met when he’d spent the last three days lolling about at home. The bastard looked quite brown, too, which made me suspicious. When I got back to the station that afternoon he was doing an interview with a man who’d been arrested for possession of eight hundred quid’s worth of counterfeit currency. Apparently there’d been no other CID available, and such was the quality of the fakes it was thought appropriate that there was plainclothes representation when they were talking to him.

  While I waited for him to come out of his interview, I wrote down what I’d picked up in the meeting with Malik. I also checked my emails but he’d yet to send through the information he’d promised me, which wasn’t a huge surprise. He was a busy guy and it could wait, particularly since it didn’t sound like there was going to be anything earth-shattering contained in it. The Shaun Matthews incident room was eerily quiet again that afternoon, with me the solitary person in it. For some reason, it made me feel sorry for Matthews in a way I doubted he’d ever deserved, but there was something vaguely undignified about the way his death was steadily being forgotten by those charged with finding his killer. As if he simply wasn’t important enough.

  I picked up the phone and dialled the elusive DI Burley, expecting to get his voicemail as I had on the last two occasions I’d called. He hadn’t returned either of those calls. This time, however, I was in luck.

  ‘Burley,’ he grunted. Even his telephone manner was obnoxious.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ I said, trying hard to sound as polite as possible. ‘It’s DS Gallan here.’

  ‘You again. What the fuck are you hassling me for now?’

  ‘I wondered if there was any sign of Jean Tanner yet.’

  ‘Listen, I told you the other day, and I’ve told your DCI since then, that when she turns up we’ll let you know.’

  ‘Is there any actual effort being made to find her?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you want me to do, run adverts on the front page of The Times? Do a door-to-door poster campaign? We’re looking all right, but we haven’t got unlimited money and manpower, so it’s going to take some time.’

  ‘And what sort of progress are you making?’

  ‘A lot more if I didn’t keep getting my voicemail clogged up by the likes of you.’

  ‘If you’d let us fucking help in the first place—’

  ‘Don’t ever swear at me, Gallan,’ he growled, but by this time I was past caring.

  ‘Is someone paying you to drag your feet on this? Is that why you’re taking so fucking long about it?’

  ‘You piece of shit. You’ll be hearing from me about what you just said.’

  I think we both hung up on each other at pretty much the same time, and I was left staring at the phone, wondering what motivated some people to join the police force. In Burley’s case, it was probably a desire to mess up people’s lives. I hoped he didn’t make a formal complaint to Knox, who had no idea I was hassling Burley.

  Next, I tried Roy Fowler’s numbers, more out of habit than anything else. I knew he wouldn’t answer, and he didn’t. I then phoned the Arcadia and asked the man who picked up whether they’d heard from him, but they hadn’t. It also turned out that Elaine Toms had left, which was vaguely interesting. No one had a forwarding number for her, and there wasn’t one on the murder log, so I was reduced to scanning the phone book until I found it. She wasn’t home; a man I assumed was her boyfriend or flatmate answered. I introduced myself and asked if she could call me back. The man on the other end politely asked what it was about and I gave him the usual spiel that it was simply a routine police inquiry. In truth, I wanted to find out why she’d left the club and whether or not there was anything she might want to add to her existing statements. A bit of a straw-clutching exercise, perhaps, but if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

  When Berrin came back from his interview, we discussed any new developments on the case, but there was nothing of note to report. At about five o’clock, Elaine Toms phoned back. She seemed in better spirits and was certainly a lot politer than the last time we’d talked, but that didn’t alter the fact that she had nothing further to add to her statement.

  Fifteen minutes later I decided to call it a day, and on the way out I bumped into WDC Boyd in the corridor. I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days as she’d been transferred to the assault case on the thirteen-year-old girl and was in charge of liaising with the victim. It was a role I reckoned her well suited to. She had the right combination of sensitive and strong.

  We both stopped and made small talk for a minute or two. I asked her how she was getting on with the new case and she told me that, like all sexual assaults, it was a difficult one, but particularly so when the victim was so young. ‘She’s bearing up well, considering,’ she told me, ‘but it breaks your heart, John.’ There was a genuine pain in her eyes as she spoke, and all I could do was tell her that hopefully the girl was young enough to shrug off the trauma of what had happened. I wasn’t sure I believed it, though.

  ‘Have you managed to get anywhere further with the poisons lead?’ she asked me.

  ‘No, I’m still not sure where else I can go with it.’ I’d taken Boyd’s notes on what she’d uncovered regarding the venom that had killed Shaun Matthews after she’d left the murder squad. They were very thorough but didn’t contain any hidden gems of information. ‘You seem to have covered every angle,’ I told her.

  ‘I’ve covered the obvious ones, but I’m sure there’s something I’ve missed and we’re missing.’

  ‘Did you ever search for any matches on the Internet?’

  ‘I had a couple of dabbles but as soon as you put in key words, you get hundreds of pieces of information that are totally irrelevant. Sometimes I think the net’s overrated as a means of finding out about stuff. And you know what it’s like round here. If you start surfing, people think you’re just messing about and not working. They’re still Luddites in CID.’

  ‘I think I might have a go at home,’ I said. ‘I bought this PC a while back and I never seem to get the time to use it.’

  ‘Story of our lives,’ she said.

  I wanted to ask her what she was up to now and whether she had time for a quick drink, and I was just about to open my mouth when Knox appeared round the corner, looking troubled.

  ‘Hello Tina, John.’ He stopped and took hold of my arm. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, Tina, but we’ve had some movement on the Matthews case. John, I need to speak to you in the incident room. Urgently.’

  I said a brief goodbye to Boyd then walked back towards the incident room with Knox. ‘What’s happened, sir?’

  ‘That stain in the car we stopped the other day. The one you phoned in about.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘It was blood. And guess who the blood belonged to?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you, sir.’

  ‘None other than Mr Arcadia himself, Roy Fowler. It matched the sample we took from him when he was nicked for driving under the influence.’

  ‘Well, well, well.’

  He turned and fixed me with a self-important stare. ‘I think I know what’s happened,’ he said.

  Capper, Hunsdon and Berrin joined us in Knox’s office in the incident room. Capper as
ked me how it had gone with Malik that afternoon. ‘Has he heard anything from Dennis Milne lately?’ he asked with a snide smile as he grabbed a chair and sat down.

  ‘Yeah, he got a postcard from him the other day,’ I said, smiling back. ‘Apparently he’s opened a guesthouse in Bournemouth. Says he’ll do discounts for CID and pensioners.’

  Capper didn’t look too amused, knowing that his attempt to score a point, however pathetic, had backfired, but he didn’t say anything. Hunsdon yawned.

  ‘All right, gents,’ said Knox, bringing the meeting to order. ‘Important news.’ He then explained what had happened for the benefit of Capper, Berrin and Hunsdon, before sitting back, bolt upright, in his chair. There was a moment’s silence while the news sank in.

  ‘That puts the cat among the pigeons,’ said Capper, exhaling dramatically.

  ‘My theory’s this,’ said Knox, looking at us each in turn for maximum effect as he spoke. ‘Fowler had Matthews killed. He used poison to make it look like an accident but obviously wasn’t aware how easy it was for us to find out about it. That’s why I don’t think it was the work of organized criminals. They would have just shot him. Fowler’s motive was drugs. We know that dealing went on at the Arcadia in fairly sizeable quantities, we know that Matthews ran it, and we’re almost certain that Fowler organized it. I reckon Matthews was ripping Fowler off, Fowler found out about it, and took revenge.

  ‘But I think Matthews had a business partner. Someone involved with the drugs with him, and that person was Max Iversson. He and Matthews were both ex-soldiers, same regiment in fact, and I think we’ll find that the two of them knew each other. Iversson found out about what Fowler had done and decided to take revenge. He may have simply assaulted Fowler, but more likely he’s killed him, and is consequently lying low.’

  ‘It certainly sounds plausible,’ said Capper, nodding.

  I wasn’t sure. Given that there was no evidence whatsoever to suggest that Iversson and Matthews knew each other, Knox’s theory relied one hell of a lot on suppositions.