by Ian Williams
Back in London at 10:59 a.m. on Edgware Road all was quiet. Well as quiet as it could be on Edgware Road. There were still two lanes of traffic in either direction. Buses stopped and started impatiently, taxi drivers nipped in and out of lanes in order to move that extra one centimetre towards their final destination. Other car drivers beeped their horns incessantly, talked casually on their mobiles whilst others had the music on full volume and all the windows down, intent on letting half of London know that they liked Jay Z, Beyonce, Delphic, hard core rap music, hard trance music and even the latest warbling’s from the Middle East about God knows what, well actually lets face it, probably about God.
The café, on the corner of George Street and Edgware Road was quiet. There were some Middle Eastern men playing dominoes, sipping on monstrously strong sugary tea whilst imbibing a shisha, the smoke from which chased the myriad of cars buses and bikes down Edgware Road as the wind caught hold of it on their way past the café. The Cafe itself had a plain brown sign. It was dimly lit inside so it was not the easiest place to look into from the street, which is probably what the Bobo gang liked.
Inspector James Fitzsimmons was surveying the scene. It was his operation this morning and he wanted it to go well. There was a blue transit van with twelve policemen sitting inside about one hundred yards up George Street. There was also a Police van en route with another twelve officers inside coming down the Edgware Road. James was going to time it so both vans arrived at the same time. The idea was simply to get in there as quickly as possible. The police from the police van would storm the shop whilst the transit van police team would break open the door of the flat and get up there as quickly as possible. There were also a couple of plain clothes officers in their cars stationed around the building so they could keep an eye out for anybody leaving the scene in a hurry. Everything was set.
‘GO GO GO GO GO’ shouted James into his radio. The blue transit van stormed down George Street and skidded to a halt just as the police van drove up the pavement and parked right in front of the Café. At the same time James ran across the road and actually led the charge into the shop. As he threw open the door he saw out of the corner of his eye the other team break open the side door which accessed the stairs and led up to the flats above, perfect timing.
In the café, nobody moved which, wasn’t hard as there was nobody in there apart from the table to the left. It was on a raised platform away from prying eyes. James quickly split the officers up, four to secure the front of the shop, four to search the kitchens and four to follow him over to the table in the corner. There was no need to rush, everything was calm. At the corner table sat the scary looking Piotr Przemek A.K.A. ‘P’, the casual and trust-worthy looking Yevgeny Dubcekh A.K.A ‘Y’ and to the right the devious and defiant Lech Walesey A.K.A ‘L’. All three of them were dressed in blue jeans and designer T shirts. On the table sat their BMW keys along with a whole host of others, the addresses and usage of which would be good to find out about along with bulging wallets, sunglasses, mobile phones and Blackberry’s.
‘P’ nonchalantly sipped his coffee, looked Inspector James Fitzsimmons straight in the eye and casual as anything, without a hint of irony enquired ‘Have you got the wrong address officer?’
‘I don’t think so Mr Przemek.’
‘It’s pronounced Shemek you idiot’
‘If I actually gave a flying fuck I would try that again. Anyway Mr Przemek (this time getting it right) we need the three of you to come down to the station to answer a few questions in our ongoing enquiries.’
‘And what are the questions about?’
‘A whole host of things really. For instance how is this one of the most profitable cafes in London yet no one ever uses it, why is there a brothel upstairs in flats that you own, how can the three of you drive top of the range BMWs when you aren’t actually registered to pay tax’ James paused for effect ‘Oh and also to ask you about the murder of James Benjamin Langan’
Finally there was a flicker of emotion. As ‘P’ was about to answer James saw his eyes following something behind him. Out of the kitchens came four officers attempting to restrain three rather angry kitchen staff. None of them spoke English or understood what was going on. There had been quite a noise in the kitchens and it seemed that these three probable illegals had put up some resistance. They continued to shout angrily and flail about like an angry fish caught on a fishing line. That was until ‘P’ shouted at them. The words were incomprehensible but they were delivered with a short sharp point of the finger and angry stare. All three of them stopped in an instant.
Just as the situation inside was calming down, outside it was just beginning to kick off as the flotsam and jetsam were expunged from the flats above. There was quite an eclectic mix of women wearing very few clothes to embarrassed looking men in various states of undress. The only one of them who wasn’t putting up a struggle and causing merry hell was actually dressed in full S&M gear including gimp mask. He had been handcuffed…or actually he may have already been handcuffed and perhaps was enjoying it a little bit more than the others.
A couple of hours later and things were getting complicated. ‘P’ ‘Y’ and ‘L’ were all in separate interview rooms. None of them had spoken and in-fact refused to speak until their lawyers arrived. When their lawyers arrived it was obvious they were top draw. Immaculate blue pin striped suits, expensive watches, official looking brief cases and an air of superiority gained from a large bank account and in-depth knowledge of all things legal. They were going to make Ian and the other investigating officers look like a bunch of five year olds who’ve eaten too many sweets and have got a bit over excitable and boisterous.
The interview team were having a meeting in the chief super intendants office. The Chief Super was trying to keep an element of calm on the proceedings however he was getting caught up in the heat of the moment as well….
‘SO CAN I JUST CONFIRM WITH YOU DI CARRAGHER EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO CHARGE OUR THREE POLISH FRIENDS WITH…?’
‘Erm’ retorted Ian meekly. ‘Hadn’t thought that far ahead chief to be honest, I have only just got back from Bristol, I’m knackered’
An exasperated collective sigh was let out by the rest of them.
‘So we just release them do we? After an operation involving over twenty officers, we have arrested a number of alleged prostitutes and their clients, including I might add somebody in a gimp mask who is actually refusing to take it off.’
Ian smirked along with his other four colleagues. ‘Well look lets interview them. We will use the separate interview rooms. Let me take a go at the madman Piotr Przemek a.k.a P. Doug, Rob you go into Interview room 2 and see if you can rattle Yevgeny Dubchekh a.k.a. Y. He is definitely the weak link. Jacob, Joseph you can take Interview room 3 and Lech Walesey. But be careful, he’s the clever one, it will be a real test but you can use all of those qualifications of yours to see what you can find.
Everybody nodded in agreement. It was 5 p.m. They realistically had about two hours to see what information they could glean out of the Bobo gang. There was a knowing nod amongst them all as files were collected, ties straightened, shirt’s adjusted, white plastic cups drained of machine brewed coffee before being crushed with a determined fist and thrown into the bin. They all entered the interview rooms in unison.
Ian entered Interview room 1. Piotr and his lawyer were conspiratorially conversing in hushed tones. The abruptness of the polish language was evident and there was an air of cockiness in their demeanour. Ian introduced himself as DCI Carragher and went to shake the hand of Piotr’s lawyer. The lawyers hand was proffered with an element of resistance as he simultaneously handed over his business card and introduced himself as Simon Wall of Wall, Hardwick & Baines Solicitors, office’s in Canary Wharf.
Ian stared at the business card as the two of them sat down. He had already been told who the lawyers were and was impressed. Wall Hardwick and Baines, WHB for short (not to be confused
with pencils of course) were famous, or rather infamous. In the Met it was almost a sure fire guarantee that they were top draw criminals when anybody from WHB turned up, however to actually have the founders was another step up, obviously business was booming for the Bobo gang.
Ian was about to begin when Wall stepped in and matter-of-factly stated ‘DCI Carragher please note my client is here of his own accord, he will answer a limited number of questions and if you have not completed your questioning by 6 p.m. then we will be leaving’
Ian glanced at the two of them repeatedly, before letting out a loud sigh of indignation and firmly stating ‘And can YOU please note Mr Wall that I am investigating multiple murders of which your client seems to be inextricably linked in numerous ways.’
Ian focused his attention on Piotr. ‘AND please note that my questioning will be direct and to the point about such evidence and if I have not finished in time I will charge him and keep him in overnight…however with a little bit of co-operation we can get the questions completed and you can be home in time for dinner MR Przemek.’
There was silence between the three of them as they sized each other up, wondering what to say, where to probe, how to handle the next hour.
‘So Mr Przemek, it appears that you have been running a brothel in the upstairs area of your building above your café, could you please comment on this’
Piotr sat there, stock still. Arms crossed, head slightly down, he glared at Ian like an angry Rottweiler through a cage. There was a slight pause before Mr Wall interjected ‘Please note my client knows nothing about this, the upstairs area was actually rented out to a Mr Smith some years ago, here is a copy of the deeds. We were as surprised as you were when you raided the place and found all of those alleged prostitutes and their clients’
‘And I don’t suppose you have proof of this alleged tenant of yours do you?’
‘I took the liberty of bringing a copy of the lease with me officer, here is a copy for your records’ Mr Wall handed over a file which contained a standard lease agreement signed by a Mr Smith’
‘And as far as the rent payments go these were included in all tax returns I suppose?’
‘Of course DCI Carragher, my client wouldn’t dream of not paying all of his taxes, I have a copy of the accounts if you would like to see them?’
‘No actually don’t bother, I can see you have all of this covered. Lets’ get onto one of your other businesses Mr Przemek, The Edgware Road Loans Company’
‘And what about this business DCI Carragher?’ enquired Simon Wall
‘It seems your funding methods and loan percentages are rather extortionate Mr Przemek’
‘My client knows nothing about this. All rates are clearly laid out in the form that the customers sign. Tell me DCI Carragher if you have anybody who has complained we would be delighted to follow up with my client’s customer care department’
‘I’m sure you would Mr Wall although I am not sure fists and threats are the standard norms for a customer care department Mr Wall’
‘I believe that is slanderous DCI Carragher. My client does not take kindly to accusations of improper practice, again if we could have the names we could investigate, however if you have no corroborating evidence I believe this line of questioning is at an end D-C-I Carragher’ Simon Wall emphasising the last part for impact.
Ian took a deep breath; he knew this initial questioning was virtually irrelevant. The likelihood of the Bobo gang actually killing Saul Barraghan was considered far fetched anyway. The raison d’être for any loan shark is to bleed the victims dry over a long period, also having reviewed the amounts Saul had only lent a small amount, it was irrelevant. What Ian was really interested in was the Bobo gang’s interaction with James Benjamin Langan, the surveillance camera footage from the ‘Booty club’ showing them entering the club and defiantly, obviously, interestingly looking directly into the lens as if staring into the eyes of James himself.
‘So when did you hear James Benjamin Langan had been brutally murdered Mr Przemek?’
Finally there was a change in the demeanour of Piotr, he stifled a satisfied smile, but the pleasure in his eyes gave him away. Simon Wall noticed this and quickly drew Ian’s attention ‘In what respect would my client have known or indeed wanted to know this DCI Carragher’.
Ian made a fuss out of looking through files, folders, papers in order to try and relay the fact he had mountains of evidence against Piotr, however it wasn’t working. ‘Well lets see shall we, you are an ‘alleged’ drug dealer’ Ian put up his hand to delay a response from Simon Wall ‘you run a loan sharking company and have developed a requirement to own bars and strip clubs which are all impinging on James Benjamin Langan’s turf. We have evidence of you flagrantly wandering into his nightclub, The Booty club and our various informants around London say you were making headway into his illegal empire and the two of you were essentially at war.’
The last statement hung in the air for a while. Piotr was desperate to say something but his lawyer was keeping him calm collected and assured. ‘My client will not respond to hearsay and rumour DCI Carragher, if you have hard evidence please show us so we may more accurately respond’
Ian silently and deliberately pulled out a crime scene photo. It was a close up of James Benjamin Langan’s face, the holes where his eyes had been were illuminated by the powerful flash of the camera, the otherwise dark holes showed up the blood red sinews and tissue at the back of his head, the blood had dried and was streaked across his face ending at his earlobe where it had dripped onto the floor. His mouth hung open and the tongue was swollen, but there was no look of horror on his face, he had been dead way before this, looking further down the gruesome photograph James’s neck hung open with a clean cut right across his Adam’s apple, you could almost see down his throat at what he had eaten for dinner.
The clean detail and gory closeness of the image made Simon Walls face twist in horror, his measured demeanour broken in an instant as he stood up, taking in deep breaths as he fled to the other side of room.
In front of Ian, Piotr leaned forward. He was studying every detail, committing every last sinew and splatter of blood to memory. He looked on fascinated and satiated like a lion sitting in front of newly slaughtered prey as the last desperate breaths of the fallen animal are taken before the lions pounce for their feast. He looked Ian straight in the eye and smiled, he couldn’t resist commenting and whispered to Ian ‘When you find the killer, tell him I said thank you.’
And that was it. Piotr looked at his lawyer. A simple nod of the head confirmed he had enough and wanted to leave. Simon remembered he was a lawyer again and asked ‘So if you are not going to charge my client then I guess we are finished here DCI Carragher’
Ian knew it was pointless to carry on. He had gleaned no further insight into the possibility that the Bobo gang had killed JB Langan; he just hoped the others had more luck. So Ian finished the interview, Simon held out his hand for a final handshake and Ian simply ignored it and him, he turned the recording off and stated in as calm a voice as he could muster ‘You do realise Mr Wall that you are no better than the clients you represent. The Rolex watch may be gold, the suit may be tailor made but you are in a very dangerous position and one day one of your clients will seek revenge when you mess up.’ Then turning to Piotr ‘We are after you and your gang Mr Przemek, we know what you do, we know how you do it, we know who’s involved and one day, we will catch you, but for now…..you are free to go gentlemen’ Ian managed one of his warmest and most sarcastic of smiles as he opened the door and passed the two of them onto the duty officer who escorted them out of the building.
He walked into the office adjacent to interview room 1 and saw the rest of them sitting there in dejected silence. Chief Superintendant Bishop looked up and with a hopeful expression asked ‘any luck son?’
‘Sorry chief, nothing, we knew he was the hardest one to crack and that lawyer of his knew what I was goi
ng to ask before he did. Any luck with the other two?
‘Nothing I’m afraid, the other two didn’t even answer any questions apart from confirming their name. Apparently they are over here on holiday would you believe, visiting Piotr who is looking after them. We quizzed them on the length of time they have been here, what they have been doing, where they have been staying what they do for money but its all nonsense. Let’s face it, we’ve messed up. We have nothing. We will keep digging and maybe put them under surveillance to make their lives a bit more difficult but in the end, unless we get a break somewhere else, this could well be a dead end’
‘But they have to be involved Chief, it fits. I know we only have circumstantial evidence at best but we know they have been at war, we know the Bobo gang have been winning and stealing business away from JB Langan. Okay so they may not be involved in Saul Barraghan’s death but if they are not then are any of these murders even linked? It could just be coincidence that we have had three brutal murders in a couple of weeks. London is a crazy place, nothing surprises me any more, in fact the only thing that would surprise me is if we managed to get through a weekend without a stabbing, murder, drug incident, fighting, robbery and all the other mad stuff that we can never seem to control. At the minute we have the square root of fuck all and are struggling, what the hell are we going to do?’
Chapter 13 – ‘Sorry darlin’