The Murder Exchange Page 8

  I stopped in front of her. ‘I couldn’t tell you anything in there. It was too bloody loud.’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ she said, fishing in her handbag for a key. ‘I think we’ve got a fair bit to talk about, don’t you?’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘How did you find out where I lived?’ she asked when we were inside her first-floor apartment.

  ‘You’re in the phone book,’ I told her.

  ‘So are plenty of other people with the name Toms,’ she said, leading me through to a nicely furnished lounge with comfy-looking black leather chairs. She slung her jacket over one of the chairs and turned to me, waiting for an answer.

  ‘Not as many as you’d think. I narrowed it down to five, then phoned Johnny Hexham. He said he thought you lived in Clerkenwell and there was only one E. Toms in Clerkenwell. Maybe you should think about being ex-directory.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ She looked down at my dirty sock. ‘I won’t ask,’ she said.

  ‘The police. They don’t just want collars any more. They want everything.’

  She smiled. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘Yeah, please.’

  Five minutes later, when we were sitting in the leather chairs facing each other, she asked me what had happened with Fowler, and how come the police were after me. There was no point holding back, not if I wanted her to open up to me, so I told her everything, bar the bit where I shot Tony, which she didn’t really need to know. In the account I gave Tony escaped and I never saw what happened to him.

  She sat back in her chair and rubbed her hand across her temple. It was a gesture vaguely similar to one of Fowler’s. ‘Shit,’ she said, which just about summed it up. ‘I can’t believe it. Dead. Poor old Roy.’ Which I thought was a bit rich. Fowler had asked for it, I hadn’t.

  ‘What happened after I got out tonight?’

  ‘Two vanloads of Plod turned up, and this detective who was already in there, the one chasing you, he started asking me a load of questions about what you were doing there.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I said I didn’t have a clue who he was talking about. He didn’t push things.’

  ‘So, who are the people Fowler was having trouble with? I think I owe them after what they’ve done to me and one of my best employees.’

  She leant forward and gave me a cold stare. ‘Max, I’m telling you now. Do not get involved. Consider yourself lucky you’re still in one piece and leave it at that.’

  ‘Just tell me, Elaine.’

  ‘You don’t want to know. Honestly.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  She paused, then, seeing that I wasn’t going to give up, started talking. ‘Roy’s been under a lot of pressure lately and he’s fallen in with some of the wrong people. He was getting into debt with the club.’

  ‘How did he manage that with those prices? I’d have thought he’d be a millionaire.’

  ‘He’s a big spender and he’s got a nasty coke habit that’s been eating away at his finances. Anyway, he started borrowing money from people he should have kept well away from, and it didn’t take long for them to start calling for their money back. And that’s when he really fucked up. He allowed them to start dictating to him how he should do business. They wanted to sell their drugs in Arcadia with Roy overseeing things.’

  ‘From what I hear the club’s always had a drugs problem.’

  ‘There’s always been some dealing there, yeah, but not as much as some people seem to think. The place got raided a couple of times before I joined but that was a long time back and they never found nothing. But this was different. This was organized dealing.’

  ‘When did it start?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. At the time Roy didn’t say anything to me about it. He was done in the past for importing gear, back in the eighties, and he was inside for four years, so it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. The dealing was all very underhand and if you’d come in there any night, like you did tonight, you wouldn’t have seen it going on.’ I nodded. That was true enough, although plenty of people had been off their faces. ‘But there was stuff in there and if you’d asked the right people you’d have got coke, E, whatever you wanted. There’s a few who do the deals, mainly the doormen, and they’ve never got much on them at any one time, so even if you were an undercover copper, you could only do them for possession. They never deal in big quantities. Roy kept the bulk of the stuff hidden in the place but I never knew where.

  ‘Anyway, a week or two back, Roy starts acting really strange. Turning up late, shutting himself in his office, not getting involved in the running of the business. I asked him what was wrong but he just brushed me off. Then a few days back our chief doorman dropped dead, and it turns out he was poisoned.’

  ‘Poisoned? I’d forgotten you killed people like that.’

  ‘That’s what the law said. And when Roy heard about it, it really set him off. He was jittery enough before, but after that he was all over the place, like he was next or something. But still he didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘Then one night after we’d shut, I found him in his office, drunk or coked up or something. I told him he was going to have to tell me what was wrong, that he couldn’t carry on like he was, and that’s when I think he realized he was going to have to say something to someone. So he told me. He told me all about the dealing, how it was organized, what was going on. He sounded really gutted, like he didn’t want to be involved.’ Lying bastard, I thought, but didn’t say anything. ‘But the thing was, that wasn’t the worst of it. He was skimming them. These associates of his. Taking more than his cut of the profits. A lot more.’

  ‘How the hell did he think he was going to get away with that?’

  She shook her head. ‘He told me he was using the money to invest in something – and he wouldn’t tell me what that something was – that would double or triple the cash he put in. Then, with that other cash he’d made from it, he’d pay these people what he owed them and get them out of his hair for ever.’

  ‘Except it didn’t work.’

  ‘No. The investment never came through and they found out about the skimming before Roy made his cash. On the night I talked to him in his office, he’d been told by them that they knew what he’d been doing and that they wanted the money back with a hundred per cent interest, or they wanted the club. Roy was scared shitless. He didn’t have the readies and he didn’t want to give up the club. It would have left him with nothing. He’d asked them for an extension on the debt so that he could get himself sorted out, but they weren’t interested. They’re not the sort of people who specialize in being helpful.’

  ‘I bet they’re not.’

  ‘When he talked to me he said they’d given him three days to come up with one or the other. The club or the money. He told me that even if he handed over the deeds to Arcadia, he still reckoned there was no guarantee they wouldn’t break his legs for fucking them about. Or even kill him. He said that if he was going to go and see them, then he wanted back-up, but didn’t know where he was going to get it from. He didn’t know who out of the door staff would stand up for him and wasn’t going to count on any of them. So he asked me if I knew of anyone independent, some security company who could be relied upon to provide him with a decent escort.’

  ‘Why did he ask you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t think he knew where else to turn. We’ve worked together a while and I think he trusted me.’

  I finished my coffee and put it on the glass coffee table next to me. ‘And you said you’d see what you could do?’

  She took a pack of cigarettes out of her handbag and offered me one. It had been a month since I’d quit but for the last few hours I’d known it was never going to last. The way things were going, living to a ripe old age with healthy lungs was the least of my concerns.

  ‘Cheers,’ I said, and took one.

  She lit it for me with a thin
black lighter, then lit her own and sat back in her seat, crossing her shapely legs and blowing smoke towards the ceiling. The dress rode up provocatively and I tried hard, but without much success, to ignore it. ‘What choice did I have?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t want to get involved, course I didn’t, but he’s been good to me since I’ve been working for him, and the least I could do was try to help out. So I spoke to Johnny and he spoke to Roy and it sounds like he put Roy in touch with you. I’m sorry about what happened but, you know, I had no idea it would end like this.’

  ‘Forget it. It wasn’t your fault. But I’ve got to be honest with you, there’s a serious ring of bullshit about what he was telling you.’

  ‘Look, I—’

  ‘Yeah, I know, I know. You’re telling me the truth.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I’m sure you are, but there’s got to be a lot more to it than that. If Fowler was carrying the deeds to the club in the case he took to that meeting, then why kill him before he’s signed them over? And, in fact, why kill him at all? Particularly when he’s got people with him. There’s a lot of unanswered questions.’ I was silent for a moment. ‘But at least there’s one you can answer.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Max. Don’t get involved. It’s not worth it.’ She stared me down as she spoke, in the way my mum used to do. The expression said: Don’t argue. I thought she’d have probably made a good Miss Whiplash, and a lot of judges and politicians would have paid good money to be dominated by someone as good-looking as her, but I really wasn’t in the mood to be told what to do.

  ‘I want to know who killed my friend, Elaine. And who tried to kill me.’

  ‘Why? It won’t help you. I promise you, there’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  She stared straight at me. ‘The Holtzes.’

  That stopped me dead.

  ‘You know who they are, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I know the Holtzes.’

  Everyone who was anyone in that part of town knew the Holtzes, or who they were anyway. Led by their reclusive founder, Stefan, who was now on the wrong end of middle age, they were one of north London’s premier crime families, rulers of a criminal empire that was worth tens of millions. And evil bastards, too. Word had it that they’d been involved in dozens of murders as they’d fought to stay at the top, but, even after years of police attention, they remained intact. If anyone could have staged what had happened the previous night, it was the Holtzes.

  Elaine sighed. ‘So, now you see why I said don’t get involved.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I said, as reality sank in. ‘No wonder I almost got killed.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to make you a part of it,’ she said defensively. ‘I didn’t know it would be you, and I honestly didn’t think that they’d stoop to killing him, or your friend.’

  ‘It’s the Holtzes, for Christ’s sake. They’re capable of anything.’

  She shook her head wearily. ‘Fuck, what a mess. What the hell am I going to do now?’

  ‘Keep quiet about it. That’s the best thing. If they find out you knew too much about what was going on, well …’ I tailed off, knowing I’d made my point. ‘Anyway, I’m the one who’s got things to worry about. Not only am I on the run through no fault of my own, I’m a witness, too. I saw two men die. The law are going to be very interested in getting me to talk. The Holtzes are going to be very interested in making sure I don’t.’

  ‘But you couldn’t pin anything on them, could you? It was your friend, Tony, who did the actual shooting, so he’s the only one who could actually get in any trouble.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. The thing is, they might not see it like that. Especially if the coppers manage to trace the blood on the back seat of my car back to Fowler. If that gets public then I’m going to be on the Holtzes’ hitlist, aren’t I? As well as everyone else’s.’

  We didn’t speak for a few moments. She sat there, watching me now, puffing on her cigarette. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking behind the dark eyes.

  ‘I feel partly responsible for what happened,’ she said eventually. I didn’t bother telling her that she was partly responsible. At that moment I needed all the friends I could get. ‘You can stay here for a couple of days if you want, until things die down.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Do you want a drink? A proper one?’

  ‘Yeah, I think I need one. What have you got?’

  ‘Most things. What do you want?’

  ‘A brandy, please. And a beer, too, if that’s all right.’ I thought that I might as well take advantage of the hospitality on offer, not sure how long it was going to be lasting. She didn’t look like she’d taken offence and smiled as she got up and kicked off her shoes. Her toenails were painted a bright red, which they always say is a sign of passion. I began to stop thinking about my current woes and instead concentrated on more immediate possibilities.

  She went into the kitchen to make up the drinks and I took my shoe off and casually followed her in. ‘You’re looking really good, you know,’ I said, thinking that I was going to have to buy a book on chat-up lines or at least put more thought into them. The thing is, I’ve always been a man who preferred the more direct approach. If I thought I was in with a chance – and to be honest with you, I reckoned Elaine owed me one – I tended to go straight in for the kill.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, pouring the brandies. ‘You’re not looking so bad yourself. You seem to have improved with age.’ She gave me a quick once-over, like she was checking out a dress. ‘You’ve bulked out as well. It suits you. You were always a bit too skinny in school.’

  Cheeky mare.

  I took the brandy with one hand and moved the other round towards her shapely rear, thinking that I was taking a bit of a risk here, since she didn’t seem like the sort of person who’d suffer unwanted attentions in silence, and if she kicked me out I really was bolloxed because I had pretty much nowhere else to go. But as the hand made contact, and I gave the left cheek a gentle stroke, she shot me a look that said that after all the fucking mishaps of the day – and by God there’d been a few – I’d finally struck gold. Our lips met Mills and Boon style and her fingers crept up my inner thigh.

  Not everything had changed since school, then.

  Saturday, fifteen days ago

  Gallan

  ‘Do you ever stop work, Sarge?’ asked Berrin, nursing his black coffee. ‘Turning up at the Arcadia on your tod at half eleven at night, getting involved in a scuffle, and then coming to work next morning. That’s the sort of thing you’re meant to do when you’re like eighteen, isn’t it?’

  ‘I was trying to recapture the fading spirit of youth. I won’t be trying again for a while.’

  ‘So, did you get anything else from Elaine Toms?’

  ‘Nothing of any use. She said she hadn’t heard a word from Fowler, and she claimed she didn’t know who Max Iversson was.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him with her so she could be telling the truth. There just seemed something a bit coincidental about it.’

  It was nine o’clock on Saturday morning and Berrin and I were the only people in the Matthews incident room. I hadn’t left the club until quarter to one and I was tired. However, I didn’t look as bad as Berrin, who was carrying a mean hangover, and whose breath smelled of long-dead fish. About the only thing he’d got remotely enthusiastic about in the ten minutes since we’d got in was the altercation I’d had with Iversson. He’d found it particularly amusing that the ex-para had chucked someone at me while they’d still been taking a leak. ‘Simple but very effective, I should think,’ was how he’d summed it up. Fair enough, I suppose. He was right.

  It was day six of the heatwave and day seven of the Matthews murder inquiry, and we had plenty to keep us busy. Knox, who wasn’t coming in until later, had dropped on my desk a note with a photograph of a hard-looking blonde with Myra Hin
dley’s haircut and the same sort of amiable, light-up-the-world expression. The note identified her as Jean Tanner, a former call-girl, two of whose partial prints had been recovered from Matthews’s flat, one of them on a coffee mug, suggesting she’d been more than simply a passing punter after some gear. Knox had supplied us with the address, somewhere up in Finchley, and had instructed us to go round, take a statement from her and find out what she’d been up to there. Like a lot of the work on a murder investigation it was routine stuff, but something that had to be done. He signed off by telling us to continue trying to track down Fowler, whose prints had also been found on a number of items in Matthews’s flat, even though he’d claimed the two had never socialized.

  Before we collared Ms Tanner, we drove over to the Priory Green estate to show her photo to Matthews’s neighbours and see if she was the blonde woman identified by two of them as having gone to his flat more than once in the past few weeks. This, at least, would give us something to throw at her if, for some reason, she proved uncooperative.

  The estate itself, a medium-rise collection of red-and greybrick buildings just north of the NatWest building on Pentonville Road, was leafy, quiet and relatively well kept. A few years earlier it had received a large cheque from the National Lottery’s Heritage Fund to spruce things up, and there was still a lot of building work going on. So far the money looked to have been pretty well spent, which isn’t always the case with construction projects. Priory Green had none of the menace of so many of London’s sixties- and seventies-designed council estates, those graffiti-stained fortresses with their mazes of darkened walkways so beloved of muggers everywhere, that for a copper always feel like enemy territory. Bad things might have gone on here, but they were done in quite a pleasant setting.

  Things got off to a good start as well. Both the witnesses – a young black woman with a very fat baby and several other yowling kids in the background, and an elderly man who insisted on haranguing us about the estate’s supposed litter problem – were in residence and able to confirm that they’d seen the woman in the photo going either in or out of the flat on several occasions, though not in the past couple of weeks. The elderly man thought he might have seen her three times, but he couldn’t be sure. While we were there we knocked on a few other doors to see if we could jog some memories but, where anyone bothered to answer, we were given the kind of welcome usually reserved for Jehovah’s Witnesses, and no one could provide any help.