The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1)

by J. F. Burgess

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tom, you OK?’

  ‘Bit knackered mate, rough night.’

  ‘I can’t imagine. How’s Isabel?’

  ‘Still under observation’

  ‘Shit mate, I’m really sorry to hear that. If there’s anything you need just ask?

  ‘Appreciate it, John. You’ve already done enough mate,’ he said gratefully.

  ‘I’ve got news. Patrol were called out to an abandoned BMW on the fields behind the Heath Hayes estate. Apparently kids have been playing in it for a few days. Someone tried to torch it but botched the job. The perp stuck a rag in the petrol tank, but a bloke training his greyhounds disturbed him. One of the dogs attacked him. Turns out he legged it before he could light the rag. The dog walker’s identified him as a black male in his thirties. God only knows why he didn’t report it sooner.’

  Tired and impatient, Blake said, ‘Don’t want to sound rude, mate, but where’s this leading?’

  ‘Trust me, it’s relevant. You said Isabel vaguely recalls a BMW and two black guys. We did a routine trace, which revealed the car is stolen. After scouring footage within a fifteen-mile radius, this vehicle’s been picked up by a camera on Leek Road at the Milton crossroads leading up to Bagnall, on the day Isabel was taken.. Maybe I’m clutching at straws, but this has to be worth checking out. SOCO have recovered prints from the vehicle. I ran a PNC, drew a blank, but got a match for both sets on Interpol’s UK feed; two brothers from Kenya wanted for murder and kidnapping in Belgium. Both are illegals. That’s too many relevant facts to be coincidence?’

  ‘Shit! I think you’re right.’

  ‘Brussels police are still after them for the murder of a kidnap victim. A rich diamond merchant’s wife, who they shot after discovering the majority of their ransom money was fake. If we can identify them as known associates of the Benzar brothers, we may be onto something.’

  ‘You reckon they could have used them for Isabel’s abduction?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘I’ll bring Ibrahim Benzar in for questioning. See if we can rattle his cage. I’ve asked Coleman to clear a search warrant for his home and businesses; it’s being processed now. I know you’re on leave, but I think we can swing it for you to be present at the house search. This will sound callous but is there any chance you can get Isabel’s DNA, so we can test it against DNA found in the car?’

  ‘If it helps nail these bastards, I’ll get it over to you later today.

  CHAPTER 73

  Ibrahim Benzar sat behind his desk in the office at the back of the Slipware Tankard bar, scanning high-end villas in Ibiza. All the meticulous heist planning and his brother’s latest fuck-up had drained him, he desperately needed a break.

  A knuckle wrap on the door disturbed him. ‘Not now, I’m busy.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Benzar, but the police want to speak with you,’ his bearded barman said nervously through a gap in the door.

  ‘I told you if the police call I’m not here, you idiot.’

  ‘I know, but they threatened to arrest me and storm the office if I didn’t cooperate.’

  ‘Keep them at the bar. I’ll be out in a minute.’ He panicked, before frantically speed dialling Bryant Preston, his solicitor.

  ‘Bryant, it’s Ibrahim Benzar. I think I’m about to be arrested. Be at Hanley police station in twenty minutes,’ he said forcefully.

  Ibrahim shut the laptop down and picked up his phone. But before he could even slip his jacket on DS Murphy, DS Jamieson and PC Haynes barged his office.

  ‘Mr Benzar, can you accompany us to the station? We want to question you in connection with your brother’s escape from custody.’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Let’s just say you’re helping us with our enquiries at this point,’ DS Murphy said, not letting on about the kidnapping.

  ‘Cuff him, PC Haynes,’ Jamieson said.

  ‘What’s with the handcuffs?’

  ‘Just a precaution, Mr Benzar,’ PC Haynes replied.

  Within twenty minutes Ibrahim Benzar sat next to his lawyer opposite DS Murphy and DS Jamieson in interview room two of Hanley police station. With an air of defiance he shot the detectives an arrogant look. DI Blake sat in the observation room down the hall staring angrily at Benzar on a twenty-inch monitor. He was finding it hard to resist the urge to barge in and rip his head off. Fortunately for the suspect Chief Inspector Coleman was sitting by his side.

  ‘Right, Mr Benzar, here’s what we know. On the eleventh of this month at 9.20 a.m., your brother Yusuf, aided by a high-powered motorcycle, escaped police custody from outside this station, causing a serious road accident. We suspect his escape was facilitated by the organised gang he associates with. This group used Detective Inspector Blake’s daughter as leverage in a vile abduction plot. These people threatened to harm her if he didn’t cooperate without informing his colleagues, compromising his ability as a policeman to act accordingly. The outcome of this kidnapping was near fatal. One of the kidnappers brutally knocked her down in a vehicle as she tried to escape. As a result Isabel Blake is now on life support in Royal Stoke.’

  Jamieson cut in. ‘However, before she was readmitted to hospital, Isabel told us two black men driving a silver BMW abducted her. Do you have any association with Frederick and Jozef Simbala?’

  ‘Never heard of them!’ he dismissed.

  ‘We’ve run a PNC check on you. Unfortunately you don’t have a record in the UK, but like the Simbalas you’re also on Interpol’s database with a criminal record for money-laundering and racketeering in Turkey. You served a four-year prison sentence in Diyarbakir Prison.

  Benzar glanced at his solicitor, who nodded.

  ‘That was a long time ago. I run legitimate businesses now.’

  ‘I’m afraid we only have your word for that and, until we can confirm this, you’re a key suspect in facilitating your brother’s escape and Isabel Blake’s abduction,’ DS Murphy stressed, glancing at his lawyer.

  Again, he turned to Bryant Preston before answering. ‘I had nothing to do with Yusuf’s escape,’ he said defiantly.

  DS Jamieson cut in. ‘DI Blake received several calls from his daughter’s abductors. Having spoken to you over the phone before in your mini-market, he’s convinced you were the man blackmailing him?’

  Rattled he said, ‘That’s a serious accusation. Where’s your evidence?’

  ‘Our tech team have examined DI Blake’s phone records. The GPS mobile triangulation of the blackmailer’s calls was suspiciously close to your home address – 56 Wade Road, Etruria.’

  ‘Are you serious? That could have been anyone.’ Benzar’s solicitor continued taking notes before consulting his client.

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s a valid line of enquiry. We’ve spoken to DI Blake’s mobile provider. They’ve informed us that the phone used was a pay-as-you-go, with several numbers, which shows the caller tried to avoid being traced. Can you confirm your whereabouts on the tenth of this month, between ten and eleven in the morning?’

  ‘I was at my martial arts gym, the Dojo.’

  DS Murphy could tell by his quick fire response and twitchy body language he was back-peddling.

  ‘Where’s your gym?’

  ‘Just off Marsh Street, Hanley.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm this?’

  ‘No, I was on my own; my instructor doesn’t start work till twelve-thirty.’

  ‘Did you drive to the gym that day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s your vehicle registration?’

  Benzar leaned towards his solicitor for acknowledgement; he had to answer.

  ‘ABL I3.’

  ‘We’ll check CCTV footage.’

  A worried expression appeared on Benzar’s face.

  DS Murphy’s phone rang. ‘OK, thanks for letting me know, will do, thanks Casey… That was PC Evans confirming we have a search warrant for your businesses and home address. Is there anything you want to
tell us before we proceed?’

  ‘Bastards!’ His nostrils flared. He glanced at his solicitor for intervention, but Preston just nodded in agreement with the officers.

  ‘Take it that’s a no, then?’ DS Jamieson said sarcastically.

  CHAPTER 74

  Over the next couple of hours, three teams of four officers led by DS Murphy simultaneously searched Ibrahim Benzar’s properties. At his home – flat 56 on Wade Road, Etruria – DI Tom Blake joined Murphy, and, since the property was empty, Coleman couldn’t complain he was in breach of his current leave status. The flat was almost a carbon copy of his brother’s a few streets away. Judging by the colour scheme and furniture layout of the contemporary interior, it looked like the same designer. Only this time it was a two-bed with a bigger bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi bath.

  ‘Tom, you start in here, while I take the bedroom,’ DS Murphy said, switching roles with his DI.

  ‘OK, boss!’ Blake saluted, mockingly standing in the centre of the open-plan living room kitchen.

  ‘You really should be at the hospital, Tom.’

  ‘Going this afternoon. Can’t sit around doing nothing while Izzy lies there, covered in tubes. It’s driving me insane!’ Blake said, just about to rummage through a high-gloss black cabinet next to the huge white leather sofa, but before he could open it his phone rang. He tapped the green answer button.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr Blake, it’s Sister Owen from the Intensive Care Unit at Royal Stoke. Great news, Isabel is awake!’

  ‘I’m on my way now!’

  Elated he dashed towards the front door and shouted, ‘John! Isabel’s awake, I’m going. Let me know how you get on here.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, give her my best wishes.’

  Disappointingly, the combined search of Ibrahim Benzar’s flat and businesses yielded nothing incriminating. The CCTV footage in and around the city centre roads leading to the Dojo hadn’t picked up his car on the day of his brother’s escape. The crafty bastard claimed he’d dropped it off at Waxed handwash a couple of streets away, for a full valet. PC Evans called them to confirm this, and predictably they said it was there all day. The blackmailer’s call couldn’t be linked to him either and therefore had to be dismissed.

  They’d failed to find a connection between him and the Africans. Instinctively both DI Blake and DS Murphy knew he was the organ grinder but didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with anything. They released him from custody later that day with a warning not to travel outside Stoke-on-Trent for the next forty-eight hours, knowing criminals such as Ibrahim Benzar rarely got their hands dirty. Often there was a hierarchy to organised gangs, comprising multiple levels; the boss, senior advisers, bent accountants, techs and foot soldiers. Therefore, stealth, surveillance and informants all played a major role in bringing them to justice. But since they’d questioned two of the main players, one of which had escaped, the next course of action would be to pay Benzar’s accountant a visit.

  CHAPTER 75

  ‘Mr Preston, we know you’re in there? Open the door or we’ll be forced to ram it through,’ DS Murphy shouted through the wide-panelled Victorian door of the accountant’s third floor Chambers situated in Albion House on Chambers Street, Hanley

  A paranoid Malcolm Preston heard the screech of tyres outside and knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the cops ransacked his filing cabinets looking for links to Ibrahim Benzar, who’d warned him not to hang around if they came calling.

  Without hesitation he yanked down the loft hatch and swiftly retrieved the telescopic maintenance ladder, clambered up, dragged the ladder back and shut the hatch. Then he frantically crawled through the loft space into the empty office opposite, which exited on to the fire escape running down the rear of the building onto the car park. As wood splintered, and the door banged open, he fled from the car park in the caretaker’s battered Fiat Panda. Since the rusting chariot was worth less than executive relief at the knocking shop, he always left the keys in the glove box. Ironically he’d boasted for years that no one would nick the heap of shit. If he could get to Tesco he’d dump it, then jump into one of the shopper’s taxis waiting outside. He’d be on platform one of Stoke station, ready to board the hourly London Euston train.

  ‘Looks like he’s already scarpered, Sarge,’ PC Haynes exclaimed.

  ‘Question is, how did he know we were coming. Something’s not right. It’s the second time a suspect in this case has escaped.’ It’s almost like someone is tipping them off.’

  ‘I’m not so sure, Sarge.’

  ‘PC Evans only called about five minutes ago pretending to be a potential client. Preston claimed he was quiet and could see her straight away so where is he?’ Murphy responded scanning the room.

  ‘Get your point. No one passed us on the stairs,’ Haynes said.

  ‘We’re three floors up! There’s only one way he could’ve escaped. Through the roof,’ Murphy said pointing to the loft hatch.

  ‘Grab one of those chairs, Roger, see if you can get it open? Crafty bastard might still be up there.’

  DS Jamieson lifted the top moulded plastic chair off a pile of three stacked in the corner, then positioned it under the hatch and stood on it. ‘Can’t reach. How tall is this accountant?’

  ‘I don’t know, but one thing is for sure he’s not Peter Crouch,’ Murphy said glancing up at his outstretched arm, which was a good five feet short of reaching the hole in the hatch.

  ‘Look for a pole with a hook on the end?’

  After a few minutes of foraging Preston’s office the four officers drew a blank.

  ‘Must have taken it with him. Evans, get down to reception; see if they have anything that will do the job?’

  Minutes later she returned with a red-faced, portly bloke in his early sixties who stood puffing like a steam train in a paint stained overall.

  ‘This is Roy Cooper. He’s the caretaker for the Chambers.’

  ‘I’m getting too old for those bloody stairs. This young lady tells me you want to access the loft? Where’s Malcolm? He’s usually here until four.’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to establish, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘You wunna find him up there. Is he in trouble?’

  ‘All depends on what we find.’

  Regaining his breath the caretaker tugged out a thin telescopic rod with a hook on the end, from his pocket. He extended it, opened the hatch and clawed the ladder down. Murphy found the torch on his phone and climbed up.

  Leonard Vale left the secret surveillance HQ above the Euro Mini-Market in Piccadilly discreetly by the back entrance. He’d only moved a few feet along the passageway leading onto the car park when a broad figure wearing a balaclava frightened the life out of him. Leonard froze to the spot as the sinister figure approached.

  ‘What you up to, Ginger, sneaking around in back alleyways? Having a crafty wank?’

  ‘Who are you, what do you want?’ Vale said, shitting himself.

  ‘Tell me who you’re working for, geek?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s put it this way, I know you don’t work in the shop. I’ll give you five seconds to tell me what you’re doing up there, before I start cutting off fingers.’ the man said wielding a small, razor sharp blade in his right hand.

  The blood drained from Vale’s face.

  ‘Please, I can’t tell you; my boss will kill me, literally.’

  ‘Have it your way.’ the man said grabbing his left wrist tightly, before hovering the blade millimetres above his index finger. The man grabbed him around the throat and pinned him to the wall. ‘Stop pissing me around,’ he retorted.

  ‘Ger… off, your st… rangl?’ Vale spluttered through choked breath.

  The man eased his grip.

  ‘OK, OK. Don’t hurt me, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘What you doing then?’

  ‘Surveillance,’ Vale blurted, fearful for his life.

  ‘On what?’


  ‘Can’t say.’

  The man tightened his grip again.

  ‘The Potteries Museum.’

  ‘Why?’

  Vale raised his right hand, unable to speak, face white through lack of oxygen.

  The man released his grip.

  Vale gulped air, ‘Sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Come on, I won’t tell anybody.’

  ‘I can’t. No chance.’

  The man turned then rammed his fist into Vale’s stomach. Winded, he keeled over, breathlessly writhing around in agony on the ground.

  ‘Tell me or I’ll cut your fucking throat?’

  Holding his stomach, Vale rose gingerly to his feet. ‘OK, OK,’ he capitulated.

  ‘He’s pulling a job.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Potteries Museum.’

  ‘You taking the piss?’

  ‘No, he’s robbing the Staffordshire Hoard.’

  ‘No way? If I find out you’re telling porkies, I’ll come to 28 Lawton Road and cut you up while your asleep.’

  Vale was shocked, and scared this stranger knew where he lived. ‘Just leave me alone!’

  ‘Dunna worry? I don’t associate with fucking orange losers,’ the man said, holding the blade to Vales throat.

  ‘How’s he getting the gold out unnoticed?’

  ‘We have a man working on the inside, he’s smuggling it out,’ Vale blurted, before revealing the plan, and dates of the robbery in more detail.

  Balaclava man took it all in. ‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll cut you up and feed you to the pigs, understand geek?’ he said walking away.

  Tormented by the thought this psycho knew his address he turned around, but the passageway was empty.

  CHAPTER 76

  ‘DS Murphy, we’ve just received a call from a member of the public. A woman says she recognises our CCTV suspect in the Gibson murder case. She reckons his name is Carl Bentley,’ PC Evans said.