Marius

by Laurence Todd

  We only had Mates’ word at the moment, which he’d deny if it was mentioned, so an arrest wasn’t going to happen just yet.

  “So this job for the IRA, then, organising the stealing of cars: did Ali Chackarti ask you to do that or was that your own bright idea?” Glett asked casually.

  Something changed in Duncan’s demeanour. From the very slight change in his body language, the way he shuffled uncomfortably for a split second, I could tell we’d struck a nerve. It didn’t last long, but I’d noticed it. I also noticed he stared at Glett a second too long, almost like he knew him.

  “Dunno what you’re talking about,” Duncan said. “Anything else?”

  “What about what I just said?” Glett asked, smiling.

  Duncan waited three seconds, then stepped back inside and slammed the door shut.

  After Glett and I had spoken for a few minutes, he left but I remained in place. I contacted Special Branch office, got through to Smitherman and asked for a tap to be put on George Duncan’s landline telephone, and also his mobile. It was quite likely he didn’t use his home phone for business, but we had nothing to lose by doing this. It was a safe bet he’d talk on his mobile, though. I explained that Duncan was quite likely acting beyond his remit in the Chackartis by sending an order down the chain of command for someone to go and boost two cars, both of which had ended up being packed with explosives. Smitherman agreed with my request and said he’d spin the wheels and get things started.

  Glett and I had pondered the idea of a direct approach to Ali Chackarti himself, telling him his organisation was being used to support what we believed to be an IRA sleeper unit, and also naming names. But we’d decided this would be counterproductive, not least because we had no tangible proof, and those concerned, Duncan, Mates and White, would simply deny any involvement. All we had on most of these people was simply the word of someone else. In Chackarti world nobody made it to a ripe old age if they made a habit of talking to police.

  The other deterrent was the very real likelihood the person we were after outside the family would simply go to ground, and this I didn’t want. We had Gary White on car theft but, push coming to shove, he’d deny he was acting on orders, Mates and Duncan would both deny giving any orders to steal cars, and we’d have played our hand and have nothing to show for it. But someone outside the family had asked him to arrange for two cars to be lifted. I wanted to know who.

  *

  Back to the O2 car park. I had Chandler’s drawings with me. I was hoping Tyler Watts might be able to recognise someone in the pictures. I parked up and approached his tea stand. I noticed Tyler wasn’t at his usual station behind the counter, though Chappy was there. He saw me coming and a look of recognition spread across his face. I noticed he was also looking apprehensive. Why would he be worried by my presence?

  “Chappy, how you doing?” I beamed.

  “Fine.” He nodded cautiously. “You want a tea?”

  “Not at the moment. Tyler not around? Where’s your old man?”

  “Seeing the bank manager. Back around late morning.”

  “No problem, maybe you can help me.” I produced the pictures Chandler had drawn of what the McGreely family might look like today. I pointed at Cormac’s and John’s pictures. “You recognise either of these two?”

  I only picked up on what followed because I’ve several years of police work behind me, questioning people to elicit information and judging their responses, but, as I laid the pictures on the counter, something about Chappy’s body language changed. His hesitation, his almost languid if I must shuffle, immediately told me to look at his eyes. I did. I watched him as he cast his gaze downwards.

  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen these two blokes before, either of them.” He was trying to sound definitive.

  “You sure?” I nodded to Canary Wharf. “I’m told that’s where they work, and your dad says they’ve bought drinks from here regularly on their way over to the station.”

  “They might’ve done, but I don’t recognise them,” he said after a few more seconds.

  The interesting thing was that he hadn’t even looked at the pictures. Even though he appeared to be looking down at them, I noticed his eyes were focusing on the top of the counter, just above the pictures. It was the same image as someone making an announcement on TV, when you get the impression they’re talking directly to the camera but, if you look closely, their eyes are focused slightly off-centre, usually to the right, and that’s because they’re reading words from an autocue. This suggested to me Chappy knew the two faces I was showing him. For the moment I didn’t push it, but I’d keep it in mind.

  Why was Chappy so circumspect about looking at these two pictures? He was usually like his dad, Tyler, a cheerful cockney selling teas, coffees and snacks to passing punters. I remembered being here one time, watching them acting almost as a cockney music hall double act, amusing punters with their rhyming slang and their patter. I remembered the bemused expression of someone when Tyler’d nodded towards his son and jokingly said, “I’ll kick his bottle and glass, he don’t stop sodding about.”

  Tyler’d said the man had bought drinks from his stall, and I had reason to suspect the man in question was one of the McGreelys, but Chappy was now denying all knowledge of them. Tyler wasn’t there to ask, but there was something about Chappy’s demeanour I couldn’t isolate, and I just knew it felt wrong.

  Before I drove off, I contacted the office and requested up-to-date information about Chapman Watts from the database. Something about his apprehensive manner and his not looking directly at the two pictures wasn’t kosher.

  Chappy was now twenty-two and living with his parents. He’d no criminal record, but I was very surprised to learn the Gangs and Organised Crime division had him marked down as working on the fringes of the Chackarti family, mainly low-level activities like driving and collecting packages. He wasn’t known as being at the muscle end of the family. But he was suspected of being part of an organised car theft ring, stealing cars to order.

  Stealing cars to order. Gary White had said he’d boosted the two cars with a friend. White was a small-time player in Chackarti world. Could his mate have been Chapman Watts? Would Tyler know what his son did out of hours?

  To Stepney in record time, with the aid of a siren and the very occasional lapse into something bordering on dangerous driving. Jimmy McGlinchey opened the door.

  “You want Gary? He’s in there.” He stood back and I entered.

  Gary White was in the small lounge, sitting on the couch and blankly staring at some late-morning television show featuring a celebrity chef wittering on about how many different ways there are to cook a lamb shank. He half turned away and looked very worried when he saw me enter the room. I stood in front of him, blocking his view of the screen. He looked up at me with a pained expression.

  “What you want now?” He sounded extremely nervous. “I haven’t said anything to anyone about yesterday. I’m on police bail, I’ve been here the whole time.”

  “One question; you told me, when you stole those two cars, you had a mate with you.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded, looking concerned.

  “I want his name. Who is he?”

  Even though the answer was just a name, I was asking him a difficult question, and we both knew it. In Chackarti world, you didn’t move up to bigger, better and more lucrative things by blabbing to the police. It was a question of honour and principle for people like White. Stonewall the police, give them nothing and you’re on your way. On the other hand, given what I knew about him, and that he’d already been charged, he had to ask himself how badly he wanted to take one for team Chackarti.

  “Your mate’s in some serious shit,” I said, “and we need to find him.”

  He remained silent for several seconds. Time to refocus him.

  “Gary, you remember me saying someone goes down for this? Well, it’s either you or him” – I stood back and produced a pair of hand r
estraints – “and you’ve five seconds to decide which one of you it is.”

  He didn’t speak; he just looked down at the floor. Three seconds ticked by.

  “Tell ’im, you stupid little bleeder. You wanna go to the nick?” It was Jimmy McGlinchey, sounding angry. I hadn’t realised he was even in the room. “You think that prat wouldn’t sell you out?”

  White took a few deep breaths and sighed.

  “It’s Chappy Watts,” he said quietly after a few moments. “Chappy Watts,” I repeated.

  “Yeah.” He nodded mournfully.

  “Okay. Where do I find this Chappy Watts?” I already knew where to find him, but I didn’t want White knowing this.

  “Dunno where he lives, but he works at some tea place, him and his old man, down by North Greenwich tube station.” White then recited a mobile number which I wrote down.

  “Anything else about Chappy I should know? You help me out, you’ll be doing yourself a big favour, Gary. Remember what I said yesterday?”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment, then sighed. “We use his dad’s lock-up for car breaking occasionally.”

  “What?” I was stunned. Tyler was involved?

  “His dad’s got a lock-up garage in Bethnal Green. When cars get nicked, it’s one of the places we take them to spray them another colour, or change the wheels or registration or whatever. Someone then collects them, takes them on to whoever’s selling them on.” He shrugged as though it were all so obvious.

  “What, his dad’s involved as well?” I dreaded hearing the answer.

  “No, we just rent the garage from him. He probably thinks we keep motorbikes there. I told him I was a biker and there’s nowhere safe to park it round this way.”

  I felt a small sense of relief. But did Tyler genuinely not know, or did he know, or suspect, and simply turn a blind eye? If so, was he being paid to keep his eye turned the other way? White was associated with the Chackartis, so, if my speculation was right, Tyler could be as well. I sighed but maintained my poise.

  “Thanks for this, Gary. Chappy knows I’m coming when I get there, I’ll be back for you,” I said with certainty, “and I guarantee you won’t like it.”

  I left the flat, and left Gary White to face the wrath of his stepfather, who’d been somewhat displeased about everything he’d heard and was tearing into him as I walked away.

  Could this be why Chappy hadn’t wanted to look at the pictures? He already knew the person but didn’t want to say he did. This confirmed my suspicion about the picture Chandler had drawn. Someone recognised it.

  In the car, my phone buzzed. It was DI Glett.

  “It’s just come over the wire. Matey’s dead.”

  “Matey?” I blurted. “How?”

  “Found at the top of the alleyway next to Las Vargas, about ten minutes ago, been shot in the chest, probably died instantly. I’m on my way there now.”

  “Meet you there.”

  I hit the siren again and sped off towards Wood Green.

  *

  A crime scene had been erected by the alleyway adjacent to the club, with flashing lights on police cars, blue and white scene of crime tape displayed across the entrance, and an ambulance parked with three paramedics standing by, waiting for police to give them the nod to remove the body. There was a policeman standing by the roadside, keeping back the ghouls hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever had happened in the alley, though most locals knew there was always something or other occurring around Las Vargas. Fights or drug deals in the alleyway, or ten-minute relationships being clumsily consummated, were not exactly unknown in this area. I showed ID and was allowed to enter.

  There was a body on the floor covered with a blanket. Two men in white overalls and masks were painstakingly searching for clues amongst the litter and the debris. I could see two plain-clothes officers, a man and a woman, standing by the body. Neither of them was Glett. I identified myself, and asked what had occurred.

  “Far as we can tell,” DC Lauren Bunn said, “the deceased came out here to have a cigarette, someone was waiting and popped him, put a couple in his chest. We’re told whoever it was drove away in a car parked down there.” She pointed to the edge of the alleyway.

  “Anyone see it? Any witnesses?”

  “Uniforms are canvassing. There’s always lots of people coming and going down this alleyway, and we’re hoping someone noticed something and tells us.”

  I looked up and down the alley and remembered this was where I’d prevented Stanley Simpson, Matey’s predecessor, from being shot.

  “Why’s the Branch interested in Barry Mates?” DS Ian Knight asked, nodding at the white sheet. “He’s just a crook, isn’t he?”

  “I spoke to him yesterday about something connected to a Branch investigation,” I replied. As I was speaking I noticed Glett coming out the side door.

  “Didn’t know the skipper was here, did you?” DC Bunn whispered to her partner as Glett approached me.

  “No, I didn’t,” DS Knight whispered back. “When’d he arrive?”

  Glett nodded down the alley. I followed him.

  “Been asking around inside. Apparently, Matey gets a call on his mobile, someone’s coming down here to have a word with him about something. He tells someone in the club he’s going outside to have a fag and meet this person. Next thing, someone comes out to put stuff in the recycling bin and . . .” He nodded at the covered body. “There’s no mobile on his desk, in his jacket or on the body.”

  “Figures. Anyone in there think it was suspicious?”

  “No. Lot of conversations take place out here. Less chance of being overheard. Didn’t seem to worry Matey, he came straight out here, no problem.”

  We both looked around for a while.

  “But why cap Matey now?” he asked.

  “We spoke to Duncan earlier, didn’t we?” I reminded him. “The IRA was mentioned. You clock how reticent Duncan became at that point? That tells me Duncan knew what whoever had the cars lifted wanted them for, and the only person in the Chackartis who can connect Duncan to the stolen cars is Matey. The guy I’ve got for the original car theft doesn’t know Duncan, and he said Matey asked him to do what he did.”

  “So, with Matey out the way . . .” Glett began.

  “Duncan’s in the clear,” I responded.

  He nodded. “Yeah, and your car thief takes the fall. But would Duncan really take out one of his own? Him and Matey would’ve been friends for years. How big does this thing have to be for Duncan to kill a friend?”

  “If he’s covering something up, who knows? It’d depend on how much clout or influence the one who wanted the cars lifted has. It’s obvious that person isn’t in the Chackartis, so with Matey out the picture, no one can point a finger at Duncan.”

  “And we can’t even pull Duncan in, can we?” Glett asked. “He’ll no doubt be alibied up to his neck for every minute of today, and whoever Matey got to steal the cars isn’t likely to roll over on the Chackartis, is he? Not if he wants to keep breathing.”

  I didn’t mention Gary White had already begun to do this. I was going to press him further, maybe offer him a deal, lesser charges with the likelihood he wouldn’t go inside if he agreed to point some fingers and make some statements for us. Even with Matey dead, he could still be useful to police.

  “Perhaps not,” I said, “but we can still upset the bastard, can’t we? Break the bad news to him about Matey?”

  *

  Back to the road with the view of the Ally Pally. I was driving around London so much these days I felt, if I ever turned in my detective’s badge, I could always pass the Knowledge and become a London cabbie.

  We could see Duncan’s car in the driveway as we parked at the end of his road. I contacted Smitherman to ask about the taps on Duncan’s home phone and mobile, but the warrant authorising the tapping had yet to be issued. Bureaucracy marches at its own pace.

  We approached the front door. He opened it before we could knock.

&nb
sp; “What you two want now?” He sounded exasperated.

  “Some bad news for you,” Glett began. “Did you know Barry Mates is dead?”

  He looked impassive, barely moving.

  “It’s true,” I said. “Died about two hours ago. Someone shot him from close range, got him right in the chest. Bad news, eh?”

  “Yeah, I knew he was dead,” he said with a deadpan expression. “Some bastard’s gonna pay for this.”

  “You don’t seem too upset about it, though.” Glett again.

  “You mind my asking how you knew that?” I asked. “News hasn’t officially been released yet.”

  “Lotta people in the club, ain’t there? Got a call from one of them, didn’t I?”

  “Who specifically? We’ll ask him or her how they knew and take it from there.”

  “Look, you didn’t come here just to tell me about Matey.” He was now annoyed, and it showed in the way he tensed up. “What’re you two really doing here?”

  “What you been doing today, George?”

  “No questions without my brief. Told you that earlier.”

  “Okay, no questions, we’ll just talk and you listen.” Glett had a malicious glint in his eye. “Those cars you got Matey to organise the lifting of, they were exactly right for what those IRA bombers wanted them for, carried just the right amount of explosives, so I can see why Ali Chackarti trusts you as much as he does. That was really superb organisation, mate.”

  A venomous look spread across Duncan’s face. I suspected if either of us had been on our own, Duncan would have gone for us. He was fuming.

  “I don’t know what you two’re talking about, so if you’re not here to arrest me, then get the fuck off my property.” He nodded towards the road.

  Glett didn’t move. He held Duncan’s glare and moved closer till his face was about eighteen inches from Duncan’s. He had a pair; I’ll say that for Glett. Not many people would have the stones to do what he was doing for too long in Chackarti world. I began to position myself so I could draw my weapon if needed.

  “You and I both know how Matey bought it, don’t we, Dunc?” Glett made the name almost sound like an insult. “You had it done. You couldn’t take the chance he’d name you as the person at the top of the family who’d asked him to organise stealing the cars. Or did you do it yourself?”