Gant!

by Laurence Todd

  “Christ!” Clements exclaimed. “You saying she had them killed ’cause they ripped off her car?”

  “No, nothing like that. She’s not a suspect. She just happened to be the owner of the car they stole. I’m just trying to ascertain what was in the bags that were stolen because I think whatever was there was a factor in their killings, but Ms Frost was not very helpful in that regard.”

  “So, who did kill those two?”

  “I was there but didn’t see who did it.”

  “You were there? You saw it go down?”

  “Yeah, I did. I saw someone earlier who’s a known killer. A little while later the Phippses are shot dead. I’m almost certain it was him but I didn’t see him do it and I can’t prove it. MI5 spoke to him and he was cleared so it’s a dead end for the moment.”

  “MI5 don’t normally get involved in routine killings like this, do they?” Clements was lapsing into investigative journalist mode. He could sense something in what he was being told.

  “That’s right, they don’t. Which is why it’s strange that the person concerned should be seen by the security service.”

  “Is this why you were asking about mercenary soldiers yesterday?” His eyebrows went up, sensing something in the air. I sipped my beer and didn’t reply. He continued, “What kind of killing was it, some kind of contract hit? If these guys on the front of yesterday’s paper are the losers you say they are, who’d want to bump them off like that? Sounds like a cold-blooded killing to me.”

  “It was. Straightforward murder as far as I’m concerned. CID is investigating but it’s unlikely they’ll get to the bottom of it. As I said, I’m sure I know who killed them but I don’t think that person will ever be brought to justice. I’m looking into what it was that might have got them shot in the first place.”

  “Don’t suppose you wanna spill your suspicions to a poor humble hack?” He looked hopefully at me, like a dog expecting to be given a treat.

  “For the moment, no. That stays with me.”

  He sat back and sipped some more beer.

  “You could help me out, though,” I said.

  “Oh yeah, how?”

  “Find out all you can about Debbie Frost. You know, who her friends are, her habits, where she goes, how she spends her evenings, where she does her shopping, what she eats for breakfast. Anything like that would be a big help. I can’t do it as this isn’t a Special Branch matter yet, and I’m supposed to be on holiday, but anything you can dig up, I’d be grateful.”

  “I can do that. I know one or two people I can grill about the lovely Ms Frost. I can probably have something for you by this time tomorrow, maybe even sooner.”

  “Thanks for that.” I gave him my mobile number.

  Back in the office I poured a coffee from a pot that had probably been made before I left to go on holiday. It was still warm and tasted like sour chicory.

  I made notes about what I knew. It didn’t take long. The only certain fact was that two men were dead. I suspected I knew their killer but had no proof. I’d learned from talking to people who knew him that Louis Phipps was expecting to make money from the proceeds of his crime but the car owner had said she’d lost nothing of value. The bags in her car had never been recovered either. Rhodes had said Gant was after the Phippses for blackmail but I suspected they thought blackmail meant letters delivered to coloured people. Gant was a top-notch hitman and I wondered what the real reason for his involvement was.

  There seemed to be lots of pieces of information floating about but I couldn’t seem to connect any of them together. Something didn’t make sense here and I didn’t know what.

  It then dawned on me that, when I’d arrived at Mickey’s bar, Gant had seen me enter and contacted someone with a description of the person entering, and it had come back as me. Who might Gant know who also knew who I was? The only person who came to mind was Gavin Dennison, who would almost certainly know of someone like Gant because of his work at Prevental. Could it have been him Gant called?

  I dialled Prevental and asked for Gavin Dennison. I gave the name Phil Gant. After a few seconds I heard Dennison’s voice.

  “Phil, How you doing, mate? What do you need?” I rang off. He’d not be able to trace the call.

  So it was him.

  I was curious about what was in the two bags. I suspected it was whatever the bags contained that had got the Phipps brothers killed but, without Gant or the bags, I couldn’t say for certain. There was also the fact that a DCI and MI5 had been involved after the Phippses’ arrests.

  It all added up to one thing. I was confused.

  Smitherman was still at his desk despite it being early evening. He was just back from a meeting with several senior officials at the Home Office. As Head of Special Branch the demands on his time were considerable, which was one reason why his job was unappealing to me and I wouldn’t take it if begged on bended knee by the Queen and offered a fortune in gold bullion.

  I knocked and entered his office. He looked up from his laptop.

  “I see enough of you when you’re supposed to be here,” he said almost resignedly.

  “I’ve been looking into the Phipps case the other night. Something doesn’t add up.”

  “What might that be?” He stopped what he was doing and gestured for me to sit. I did.

  I told him what I’d been doing over the past two days, where I’d been and whom I’d spoken to, though for the moment I left out his son-in-law. Smitherman was still under the impression we were not friends, which I was happy to go along with. He listened intently whilst I spoke, looking directly at me. He nodded and took a sip of water when I finished.

  “You do know this isn’t our case, don’t you? CID’s handling it. There’s nothing so far to suggest this is anything other than an ordinary murder investigation.”

  “Yeah. I spoke to DI Harrow outside the bar. I told him who the shooter was but so far as I know, he’s still walking about free as a bird. I think the two guys were killed because of what they found in the bags they took from the car they stole.”

  “Do you have any idea what that might be?”

  “Nope, but it was supposed to be really valuable, according to people I spoke to earlier today.”

  “You say you also spoke to Debbie Frost.”

  “Yeah, this afternoon.”

  “You do know who she is and what she does, don’t you?”

  “I should do. I spoke to her about it.” I grinned. He didn’t.

  “This is serious, Rob. As I said yesterday, Gant is untouchable unless we get solid evidence that puts him at the scene. Yes, I know you saw him about ten minutes before the shootings, but you didn’t actually see him shoot, did you? We both know what any half competent brief would make of that one in court.” He shook his head. “I know about Gant. He’s been on the watch list of the security services for a while but, so far as is known, he’s never operated in this country. He has no form in the UK so, without proof, or at least a better than reasonable suspicion of any involvement or complicity in these deaths, we can’t move against him.”

  “What doesn’t make any sense to me is why someone like Gant went after the Phippses. I know of some of the kills he’s done and there’s usually some issue of principle or state security involved. Hard to imagine either of those covering killing Louis and Paulie Phipps. I still think it comes down to what was in the bags. It’s whatever was there that got those two killed and I think CID are gonna be chasing their own tail on this. I don’t suppose they’ve found anything yet?”

  “Nothing I’ve heard of. There were no witnesses other than you and your friend and you’ve both been cleared of any involvement. They’ve been investigating but haven’t come up with anything substantial in the way of leads.”

  “They won’t either. We both know who did this.”

  “You could be right, but I don’t approve of my officers breaking down doors to look for whatever it was you were after, especially when they’re not even follow
ing up a Branch case, and even more so when they’re with someone who’s not even a police officer any longer. Did you even find anything to justify what you did?”

  “Found a God-awful mess, that’s about it.”

  “But nothing substantial.”

  I shook my head. “No. If Phipps has hidden whatever he found in that case, it’s not in the flat.”

  Smitherman sat at his desk and looked at me. I knew he was pondering whether to praise my diligence and dedication to duty during what, last Friday evening, had begun as a week’s holiday, or threaten me with a written warning for not following standard police procedure. I was hoping he would come down on the side of the former. He exhaled. I was in luck.

  “I’m going to give you some leeway on this. We’ve not had any complaints about heavy-handed police conduct so I’ve only your word it occurred. I’m assigning this aspect of the case to you, looking into the blackmail angle, so you’re not likely to tread on CID’s toes, especially as they’re looking for a likely suspect for the killing. You were even at the scene of the crime and, since then, you’ve uncovered a few things, so I’d like you to follow them up. If there’s any evidence of anyone in Government being blackmailed, it’s important I’m told as I’ll have to bring MI5 into the picture. You understand?”

  I said that I did.

  “So, what’s the first step?”

  “I’m going to focus on finding out exactly what Phipps was supposed to have found that he was going to use for leverage against whoever. That’ll mean going into Phipps’ life in detail, finding out who he’s been hanging out with and where, and seeing what they know about this. It’s likely he dumped the bags somewhere but if he kept whatever was in them, then it has to be stored somewhere. That’s what I’ll have to try and find first.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “As we’re now looking into this case, could you have a word with your pal, Warren. Ask him why MI5 interviewed Phipps about a car theft?”

  “Given the car’s owner, and the position she holds, it’s not a big surprise they’d want to know what’s happening, but I’ll see what he knows.”

  Back on the PNC looking at the life and times of Louis Phipps yet again. I only knew him for a few hours and I’d developed a healthy contempt for him. For someone who was essentially a nonentity whilst alive, he was taking up a lot of my time now he was dead.

  I was interested in the timeline relating to the events leading up to his untimely demise. He’d stolen Debbie Frost’s car on January 18th and been arrested three days later. It seemed odd that his interview had been partly conducted by MI5. That wasn’t the norm for what looked like routine car theft. He was charged and bailed to appear in court on March 26th where he’d received a suspended sentence. That was six weeks back. In that time whatever he’d taken from the car had not been recovered and it was my belief that the failure to recover this item had led someone to hire Gant. What had he been up to in the meantime?

  The only address listed was the one Mickey and I had searched earlier and we’d not found anything out of place, in the sense of not belonging there. Maybe we’d not looked closely enough.

  I scanned all the entries for him. I was familiar with his unimpressive list of criminal misadventures. I wanted to know more about anyone he was known to be close to, anyone who could give me an idea of what the Phipps brothers had been doing lately. I don’t know why I was surprised but the file listed their mother as still being alive and living in Kentish Town. I wondered if she’d been notified about the death of her sons. Only their mother could possibly love the likes of the Phipps brothers.

  I noted a few names and addresses and decided to make a start on them that evening.

  The Phippses lived in Brixton and one friend listed had an address nearby so that was the place to start. I was looking for someone named Cyril Nwojo, aged 22, who was listed as having been arrested on drugs charges alongside Louis Phipps. I drove back to Brixton and parked in Loughborough Road, near to where I was looking for. The house was one in a line of terraced houses and, from the outside, every bit as seedy as where Phipps lived, down at heel and with a downwind air of squalor and urban decay. Gentrification had evidently not extended to this road. Parked in front of the house was a car with a number of its tyres slashed and the windscreen cracked sufficiently to prevent anyone driving it.

  I rang the bell. The door was answered almost immediately by a surly looking, dishevelled black man with unfocused eyes and wearing a faded Bob Marley T-shirt and a pair of discoloured jeans. He looked about as pleased to see me as he would seeing a hooded member of the Klan at the door.

  “Yeah, what you want?” He spoke almost perfect estuary English.

  “Police. Looking for Cyril Nwojo,” I said showing him my ID.

  “You Drugs Squad?”

  “Special Branch. That’s a step upwards in class from what you’re used to dealing with.”

  The man stared at me for the regulation few seconds so I could take in that, so far as he was concerned, a visit from Special Branch wasn’t any big deal.

  He then stepped aside. I entered.

  “Go straight on ahead.” He nodded towards the end of the passageway. I did.

  We went into the kitchen. He turned the music off. There was a pleasant smell of whatever had been cooked recently permeating the air. The dog lying on a basket in the corner simply turned over when I entered. Some watchdog.

  “So, what do you want with me? I ain’t done anything.” He sounded nervous.

  “You’re a friend of Louis Phipps,” I began.

  “Yeah, I am. What’s he been up to now?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. Louis’s in a spot of bother concerning a car he stole. It seems he also stole something from that car that’s very important and could land him in more trouble than he’s currently in. It’s very important we find what he’s taken. I can’t talk to Phipps himself just yet so, as you’re his friend, perhaps you can enlighten me. When did you last see him?”

  He pursed his lips as though internally struggling with whether to answer my question. His better half won out.

  “Sometime last week. He was staying nearby and dropped in.”

  “How did he seem to you?”

  “Nervous and agitated, he was worried about something.” “Did he tell you what about?”

  Nwojo looked pensive and distracted. His eyes flickered back and forth, as though he was thinking hard. It didn’t appear as though this was something he did on a regular basis.

  “Look, man,” he finally said, “I don’t wanna get involved in this. Louis said it was heavy, something about his being blackmailed into doing something for some police guy and it not working out.”

  “Whoa, back up,” I blurted out. I was surprised at what he’d said. This was wholly unexpected. The blackmail I thought I was looking into was Louis Phipps on someone else. But this man had just said that it was the other way around. What was going on here?

  Cyril Nwojo looked as though he wished he’d never spoken. He was tapping his fingers nervously on a packet of cigarettes. He opened the packet, took one out and lit it.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. Oh God, this is intense, man.” I sat down at the table and looked directly at him.

  “Well, you said it and I want to know the rest. So, I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything Louis Phipps told you when you last saw him. This is important, more so than you could possibly realise.”

  Cyril Nwojo looked up after a few moments’ thought.

  “You’ve gotta keep my name outa this. He told me all this in confidence, y’know? If he knows I talked to the police about it . . .” His voice tailed off.

  “I promise I won’t say a word to Louis about this. Not one word.”

  This would be a very easy promise to keep as I didn’t know any mediums. Just as well as I didn’t believe in them anyway.

  “Alright.” Cyril stubbed out his cigarette. “He came here one ni
ght last week, Wednesday I think, and was, y’know, quite agitated. I asked him what’s the matter, and he said that, a while back, he didn’t say when exactly, he got pulled over by police for something. But instead of taking him to the station, he got took someplace private, he didn’t say where. This police officer says he knows all about what Louis and his brother Paulie have been doing and was gonna drop them right up to their necks in it.”

  Simeon had said Phipps had been asked to steal the car, but Cyril Nwojo was now saying this was as a result of Phipps being coerced into doing so.

  “What had they been doing?” I interrupted him.

  “Oh, the usual; stealing anything not nailed down, moving stolen goods, bit of dope dealing, getting into fights, stuff like that. Louis’s always got something on the go.” He almost smiled.

  “He buys his drugs from Simeon, doesn’t he?”

  “You know about Simeon?” His eyes opened slightly wider.

  “Everyone does,” I lied, “so, if that’s where you buy from, go someplace else as he’s under constant police observation. Anyway, go on.”

  “Alright, as I says, this police guy, apparently he tells Louis he’s in a position to do him a favour.”

  “Like what?”

  “He said that, if Louis could do a job for him, he’ll ignore what he’s been up to and forget all about it if it works out.”

  “What if he’d refused?”

  Cyril stared at me as though I were an idiot. “What do you think? The guy tells him he’ll throw the fucking book at him if he doesn’t cooperate.”

  “I see. So what was this job?”

  “He wanted Louis to steal a car for him.”

  I had the uncomfortable feeling I knew where this was going.

  “What car?” I asked neutrally.

  “Never said. He just said about stealing it.”

  “Steal it from where?”

  “Car park by Waterloo. He was to steal it and take it someplace. He never said where.”