Marius

by Laurence Todd

  For a second or two, it appeared Duncan was going to start throwing punches, and I tensed myself and mentally adjusted my thinking. I was hoping, if it came to it, Glett and I between us could take him down, because I certainly didn’t want Taylor seeing me with more than one bruise.

  But Duncan tilted his head back and breathed deeply a few times. This suggested he’d had anger management counselling. Taking deep breaths, thinking about something completely unrelated and counting slowly up to ten was one of the first things they taught you.

  “Fuck off,” he said contemptuously, and he walked back inside his house and slammed the door in our faces.

  *

  Glett went back to Wood Green to discover what he could about Matey’s shooting. I drove back to the O2 and Chapman Tyler. On the way I wondered just how involved Chappy was in this mess. My knowledge of him from the files, plus what I knew about him as Tyler’s son, told me he was probably along just for the ride.

  I was absolutely certain in my own mind that both Chappy and Gary White were simply low-level functionaries, being asked to do whatever bits of dirty work needed doing. Neither of them, of course, would see themselves this way, but the truth was that they would be classed as expendable. Had they been caught whilst stealing the cars, it would have only been a minor hiccup. They’d simply say they were doing this for themselves. White knew Matey, as it was him who’d set the ball rolling, but I wondered what Chappy knew. Whatever the case, I knew, as did most other police officers, there’d be plenty more like these two losers out there, ready and willing to do jobs for the Chackartis in the hope of currying favour with people like Matey and Big Dunc.

  If Chappy was involved, this raised the question of whether Tyler Watts knew what his son was doing, and who with. I’d always thought of Tyler as a slightly shady cockney chancer, probably with his fingers in a few iffy deals here and there, holding stolen goods for someone for a small percentage, but basically dishonestly honest, if that made any sense. I didn’t know whether Tyler knew Jimmy McGlinchey, but the two had a fair amount in common, from where I was standing. So the idea Tyler might be involved with the Chackartis, even in a small way, was daunting. I debated whether to come straight out and ask if he knew what his son was doing, but decided against this for the moment.

  I parked on the Millennium Way again and walked across to Tyler’s refreshment stand. He was back from the bank and serving drinks to a few passing workmen in dirt-covered overalls. There was no sign of his son. I waited for him to finish.

  “It’s the old bloody Bill again,” he said with a smile. “Cor, look at the shiner.” He gestured to the vivid bruise under my right eye. “You upset your girlfriend again?”

  “No, her dad. He saw me put my hand on her knee.”

  We both grinned at my poor attempt at humour.

  “You wanna cup of Rosie Lee?”

  “Yeah, why not? Slice of lemon, please.”

  “Fuckin’ lemon,” he scoffed. “What’re you like?”

  But there was something forced about his smile.

  “Thanks.” I paid for the tea and looked around. “Chappy still in bed?” I didn’t let on I’d seen him earlier.

  “Nah, he’s just taken off somewhere. He was here just now, but someone calls him and he says he’s gotta do something. Sods off, don’t he?”

  “So where’s he gone this time of day?” I asked casually.

  “Fucked if I know. Excuse me Latin.”

  I produced the pictures Chandler had drawn. “You recognise either of these two guys?”

  He gave the pictures careful scrutiny. “Yeah, it’s that same guy you showed me yesterday, ain’t it?”

  Well, that sounded like confirmation that I was looking for the McGreelys. “It is, yeah. You seen him since?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I ain’t seen him since last week.”

  “I showed these pictures to Chappy earlier and he said he didn’t recognise them.”

  “That’s odd.” He frowned slightly. “He’s been here when this one’s bought drinks. He’s spoken to him. Why would he say that?”

  I debated whether to tell Tyler but decided now wasn’t the time.

  “Who are those two, anyway? What they done?” He was now starting to look concerned.

  “Look, when Chappy gets back, don’t tell him I’ve been here, alright? I’ll catch up with him at some point.”

  Tyler agreed to say nothing. He still didn’t look happy as I left.

  *

  In the car, I swore loudly about Gary White and put it out on the wire to have him picked up and brought in for questioning. Tipping off Chappy, obstructing police inquiries, as well as car theft, not to mention the damage to my cheek: he was going down.

  I was about to drive away when Glett contacted me. He leapt straight in. “Whoever shot Matey was a pro.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Matey took two bullets from something like a Sig Sauer at close range. Whoever did it had a suppressor, which is why nobody’s heard anything. Probably dead while he was still standing upright. Somebody definitely didn’t want Matey to talk.”

  I processed this information for a moment. Your average London criminal with a gun isn’t likely to have a Sig Sauer, not least because they’re hard to come by. The Sig was the weapon used by specialist assassins like Phil Gant. Taking out Matey with a Sig Sauer, once it became known, would send quite a clear message. To me it said, whoever this person was outside the family who’d asked Duncan to organise obtaining cars, he had access to top-quality talent.

  “His phone’d gone as well, hadn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, almost certainly in pieces now so they won’t be able to triangulate the call, see where it came from. Police found nothing in the alleyway and are canvassing the area, but I don’t hold out any hope they’ll find anything. Everyone round that way knows what goes on in Las Vargas. Nobody will have seen or heard anything, guarantee it.”

  “Okay, thanks for the update.”

  *

  I thought about the case on the way back. Two car bombs and one casualty, an own goal. Stolen cars used in each instance. Through Charles Doyle we find the car thief, who points us at someone who’s something in the Chackarti family, who’d asked him to get two cars, and he in turn points us at someone even higher. I had also learned from Doyle the Chackartis were extremely displeased at their personnel being used for purposes related to terrorism, so this whole thing was being organised by someone outside the family. Matey had confirmed this when he’d said Big Dunc had asked him to organise the thefts as a favour, and to keep quiet about it. And now Matey had been taken out of the picture.

  Glett had mentioned the IRA when we’d spoken to Duncan at his house earlier today. This suggested Duncan, somewhere along the line, had to have been involved in Matey’s killing. Either he’d pulled the trigger, which was highly unlikely, or he’d told whoever had requested the cars about our somehow getting onto him. This person had put three and three together, realised only Matey could identify Duncan, and had sufficient juice to organise what was essentially an assassination. The link gets broken.

  But Duncan was just a glorified thug, hired muscle dressed in smart clothes and living in an area with a desirable postcode. He had about as much political savvy as a fire hydrant, and the idea he was helping whoever it was out for political or ideological reasons was too ludicrous for serious consideration.

  Whatever the case, taking out Matey meant, for the moment, unless Duncan confessed to being involved, we were at a dead end. We knew or could surmise most of the situation, but could prove little.

  I wondered if Taylor ever had this problem: knowing something about something but, in her case, being unable to write it up because of the fear of a libel writ being issued, either against her as the writer or against the newspaper. Just thinking about Taylor eased my frustration.

  *

  I was told Gary White had been apprehended by two police officers as he was leaving hi
s flat and, after a brief struggle, had been taken into custody at Brick Lane police station, the nearest to where he’d been caught, so I drove there quickly. On the way over I had an unworthy conversation with myself about being left alone with White and kicking the shit out of him, partly because of the inconvenience he’d caused, but also to even the score for the bruise under my eye. I decided against it, however, because I knew what Smitherman’s response would be if my actions ever got back to him. He’d support any reasonable retaliation, but I knew he wouldn’t condone unlawful violence for revenge purposes.

  The room I was shown into was one of the bleakest in any police station I’d ever been to. It was probably last painted just before the Queen’s silver jubilee, and the frosted glass window had smear streaks running across it from someone picking their nose and wiping it on the glass. What kind of people did they arrest round here? More importantly, why hadn’t anyone cleaned it off?

  White was brought in, looking like his girlfriend had told him she’d been diagnosed with a sexually transmitted disease and therefore he was also in the firing line. He was shown to a seat by the duty sergeant, who then turned and left.

  But for the presence of CCTV recording events in the room, I’d have been sorely tempted to smack him just once. But I had to be content with giving him a dirty look.

  “Pretty stupid move, that, Gary, tipping off Chappy Watts. We’ve now gotta look for him as well, but at least we’ll know where to find you, because you’re gonna be in custody.”

  He took in a sharp, surprised breath.

  “I also owe you for this,” I said, pointing to the bruise under my eye, “so I’ve no reason to do you any favours. I gave you a chance and you’ve blown it. You remember me telling you someone goes down for those two bombs and someone dying? Well, Gary, the music’s stopped, pal, and you ain’t got a seat.” I took great delight in saying that. His expression became ever more downbeat.

  “I’m sorry ’bout that,” he said quietly, nodding towards my face. He spoke as though he’d not heard what I’d said. “I thought you was someone else. There’s people after me, that’s why I was hiding at Helen’s, and the way she screamed, I thought you was one of them.”

  “Now why would anyone be after such a sweet guy like you?” I scoffed. Frankly I didn’t care who was after him, but I decided to hear him out.

  “They’re after Chappy as well, that’s probably why he’s hiding someplace. See, we did this other car last Monday night up in Stoke Newington . . .”

  “What, you stole another one?”

  “Yeah. This one was for us, though. We weren’t asked to do it. We just did it, like. I took it to one of the lock-ups and told the bloke there we were doing it for Matey. I was hoping we could get paid for it, finder’s fee, like.” He almost smiled. “You nick a decent motor they can sell on, you can get a few hundred doing that, and I was skint. That’s why we did it. Thing is, though, I didn’t know we’d nicked a car belonging to an off-duty copper, did I? Apparently the copper sees the car being driven away, and he reports it being taken. The word gets passed down and the message gets put around, don’t touch the car, don’t do anything to it, get it back to this copper as quick as possible. Matey hears about it and gets royally pissed off, says he’s gonna kick the shit out of me and Chappy ’cause we caused a lot of aggravation. That’s why I was at my bird’s place when you found me; they don’t know her address. How’d you know where she lived?”

  “Someone in the Chackartis told us,” I lied. “How else you think we found you? But, the thing is, you’ve got something else to worry about. Matey’s now dead.”

  His eyes opened wide in astonishment. His mouth followed a second later.

  “It’s true, shot late this morning outside Las Vargas. Don’t know who capped him yet, but you know what this means, don’t you, Gary?”

  “No.” His voice suddenly sounded very weak. I saw an opening.

  “Means you’re a loose end,” I said slowly, smiling. “Matey asked you to nick a coupla cars, right? But what if he’s told others what he’d done, you know, people higher up? This whole thing’s being run and organised outside the Chackartis, you aware of that? The people who run the family, they don’t wanna get involved in terrorist stuff. The thing is, you’re in a position to point a finger at Matey, who’s well connected in the Chackarti family. These people clearly knew about Matey, and they’ve taken him out. So, you really wanna take the chance they don’t know about you and Chappy? You really think they’ll baulk at taking out a pair of high achievers like you two cretins?”

  He swallowed hard, which wasn’t easy with a dry mouth. I gave him a few seconds to panic even more. I was enjoying his discomfort.

  “You’re in the big league now, Gary,” I said. “They play for keeps here, and they don’t mess about or take prisoners either. So your only chance of emerging from this in one piece is to tell me everything you know about it.”

  He did. He said he’d been told by Matey to lift a couple of cars, which he’d done with Chappy. He’d passed them on to Matey, as he had said before.

  “Thing is, though, I did see who took them. I don’t know his name but he’s a big bloke, hard-looking case, and I know he’s something up in the top of the family hierarchy. He turns up with this smart-looking fat geezer who looks the cars over, nods his agreement and they leave. Couple geezers I don’t know drove the cars away.”

  “Who was the smart-looking guy?”

  “Don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’d never seen him before. I don’t think he’s anything to do with the family.”

  I produced Chandler’s drawings again. I pointed at Cormac McGreely’s picture. “This guy, perhaps?” I was hoping.

  He looked closely. “No, wasn’t him.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t part of the family?” I put the pictures away.

  “There was, I dunno, just something about him, something about the way he carried himself and the way people like this big geezer deferred to him, and people like him and Matey don’t usually defer to anyone. Hard to explain, he was just different, y’know?”

  After a few other questions, I suspected this was all he knew. For the moment it was enough. The desk sergeant took White away to the cells to be charged with offences related to the unauthorised taking and possession of cars.

  *

  Late afternoon. I was writing a report when I received a surprising phone call. It was from Harry Ferguson.

  “How are you, Robert? You any nearer finding these maniacs yet?”

  It’s not usually standard procedure to talk about an ongoing investigation into a sensitive case such as this with persons not directly involved with the case, but Ferguson was still part of the tribe. He’d been active in the secret world and formulating strategies for pursuing and thwarting terrorists while my mother had still been showing me how to use a toothbrush. I could always use the input of a specialist.

  I explained about the cars and finding who’d stolen them, and I indicated the Chackarti family, but I didn’t name names. I also mentioned MI5’s belief of a sleeper cell and their suspicion that Cormac McGreely was still alive.

  “McGreely? Thought he died years ago. Didn’t he get turned into a stick of charcoal, so to speak, down in the west country somewhere all those years back?”

  “That’s what we thought, but it would appear the rumours of his timely demise are greatly exaggerated.”

  I gave him the paperback version, explaining how a witness had suggested that the crash which had supposedly killed the McGreely family may not have been an accident, leading to police requesting a forensic team, who’d made the discovery the other two persons in the car with McGreely had been shot first, and neither was a child.

  “A witness, you say.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “and someone got out the car before the accident. Don’t know who, but, until we can get confirmation, we think he’s still out there, and we’re looking for him.”

  “Hmm, tricky.”
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  “The bombs last week have been identified as being the work of someone associated with the IRA, and, according to the army guy we spoke to, they’re almost certainly Cormac McGreely’s dirty work. They bear all the hallmarks of bombs he’s put together, so that’s who we’re looking for.”

  “Your bloke’s sure about this?”

  “Yeah, it was him who discovered Semtex had been used in the second bomb by the Festival Hall.”

  “Semtex? The IRA gave up their stock of it. It’s all decommissioned, isn’t it?”

  “Someone’s obviously kept their own private store of it, then,” I suggested.

  “McGreely always was a slippery bugger. It’s how he managed to stay ahead of police all those years before he was burnt. Anyway, thought I’d see how you were progressing. I’m over by Vauxhall Cross, the River House, on Albert Embankment. Had a meeting earlier, and thought I’d check in with you.”

  The River House was the code name for MI6’s brand spanking new HQ on the Thames.

  We had a brief chat about various issues for a few minutes.

  “Thanks. Good talking to you. Take care, Harry.”

  *

  I contacted Glett. Police had done an extensive canvass in the area around Las Vargas, but all they’d found had been plenty of wise monkeys. No one had seen anything or heard anything, and therefore no one could say anything. More likely they wouldn’t say anything. It was common knowledge in the area that Las Vargas was more than just a club where people drank and watched sports on TV, and nobody would want to be known locally as the one who’d pointed a finger at it.

  The message then came through that Gary White had been charged with various offences relating to the taking and driving away of vehicles, but, to my surprise and contrary to what I’d suggested, had been released on bail for a magistrates’ court hearing in the middle of next month.

  But the day hadn’t been a complete waste of time. I now knew Duncan was involved in this somehow, and he was to become a priority target. I was convinced he was involved in the murder of Matey. He also had to be a point of contact for the mystery person who’d needed the cars. Duncan had organised the cars, so he’d know where they were going to. If we could find this mystery person, we’d have the bombers.