“DS McGraw, Special Branch. I’m told that Simeon Adaka has been found dead. He had information about a case I’m investigating.”
“Adaka was a known drug dealer. I’m surprised the Branch had any use for him.”
“What’s the situation here?”
“From what I can gather, the deceased came back with his girlfriend and found someone searching this room. Place was all torn up so we’re assuming he was searching for something. He appears to have got into a fight with whoever he found and, from the look of him, came off a poor second. Beaten to death he was. Body’s right there.” He nodded down.
I saw a lump on the floor covered by a white sheet. I knelt down and pulled back a corner of the sheet. It was indeed Simeon Adaka and he showed all the signs of having been on the receiving end of a vicious beating. His nose was broken, his lips were swollen and his left eye was heavily bruised and completely shut. He looked like the victim of a car crash.
“Someone clearly didn’t like whatever drugs this guy was selling, eh?” another officer laughed. Pierce fixed him a stare and the man shut up.
“Do you know what whoever did this might have been looking for? Place is a tip and we haven’t yet ascertained what, if anything’s, been taken.”
I did know but for the moment did not share that information.
“No, I don’t. I know he was a drug dealer. Perhaps it was connected to that.”
“You see his face? That’s a little more than looking for a few spliffs. No, that was personal. Whoever did that was looking for something which I think they didn’t find, which is why they did a number on the victim.”
“Any ideas on who did this?” I asked.
“Uniforms are out canvassing and asking questions but I’ve no results yet. Whoever did it seems to have got clean away for the moment. I don’t suppose we’ll get much help from the people round here though.” He said this almost dismissively.
I looked down at the forlorn shape of Simeon Adaka. He’d come home at the wrong time and found someone in the room and, as a result, was now dead. He was only involved because Louis Phipps had given him something to hold onto that he was convinced was valuable, and the fact that someone had beaten him to death convinced me it was valuable. What had Louis Phipps got himself involved in?
“Did the girlfriend see who did this?” I asked.
“She heard the victim call out to someone. He ran into the room and she heard a struggle. She got her mobile and called 999 and then, as she was calling us, some big bloke rushes past her, bumping into her and knocking her against the wall. She’s got a nasty lump on her forehead but she’s physically alright apart from that.”
“She didn’t see a face, I’m assuming.”
“No. Just said it was a big bloke. She only saw his back.” I thanked DI Pierce and asked to be appraised of the situation as it developed. He agreed.
Back to the office. As I drove through the early evening traffic I considered a few points. Simeon Adaka had died a nasty death because he couldn’t give up what he’d passed up to me. Phipps had stolen this package from a car owned by Debbie Frost. Last night I’d seen her in the company of Richard Rhodes. He was a big guy and I didn’t doubt he was capable of doing what had been done to Adaka. I could connect those two together. She knew him. He knew Gant. Could she have been involved in the hiring of him to kill the Phippses? Where to find Rhodes now?
I contacted a friend I knew in the Drugs Squad and asked for any information on visiting Colombian drug lords as Rhodes had said he was working as a bodyguard for one. Such people would be routinely monitored whilst in London so I knew a watch would be kept on whoever it was. He came back and told me the only one known to be in London at present was Ruis leCuellio, currently visiting from Bogata and staying at a hotel in Knightsbridge. I thanked him and hung up after promising him a beer for his help at some point.
Finding leCuellio would mean finding Rhodes walking behind him. I phoned the hotel and found that the man concerned was still in residence. I drove to the hotel. At reception I was told that Señor leCuellio and his entourage had gone out for the evening to see a show in the West End but he didn’t know which one or what time they were expected back.
In the corner of the massive lounge bar I spotted someone who I just knew was a police officer. Stake-out duty means having to wait around, often for some considerable time, and it produces a look of glazed monotony in the eyes, which radiates the impression of being interested whilst being bored rigid at the same time. I could spot the look a hundred yards away. It’s the police version of the thousand yard stare. This man had it. He was killing time idly flicking through a newspaper and glancing at a television screen. I sat opposite him.
“So what time you on duty till?”
“Who might you be?” He asked.
I identified myself and the reason I was there.
“Sergeant Bales, Drugs Squad. LeCeullio and his gang have gone to see something at the National. Fucking drug dealing scum. The money they get from selling their filth, they wear leather shoes for the first time in their lives and stay in places like this. Bastards. You know how much a suite costs in this place? My whole fucking pension would just about get me a suite here for a week.”
“They being tailed?”
“Yeah. There’s someone behind them. He’ll come back here then I go off duty.”
“When they left, was there a big English guy with them?” “What, Rhodesie? Usually he’s with them but not tonight. As it’s a cultural evening they’ve not taken him with them. I thought the only culture these fucking dagos ever encountered was put in the poisoned crap they sell.”
“You obviously know Rhodes. Has he been with leCuellio all today?”
“Far as I know that’s where he’s been.”
I stood up. “Rhodes comes back here, call me.” I gave him my mobile number.
“Sure thing.”
I left him to his boredom.
I was on the Branch database again, this time looking up all the details pertaining to Christian Perkins. There was a lot to read. Every actual or intending Member of Parliament has a file kept on them by MI5, which goes into considerable detail about their political beliefs and also their past lives. Friendship patterns, employment, countries visited, criminal record, known sexual perversions if any, written works in the public domain, plus details of any issues that person might be an expert in or keen upon. Is this person likely to vote for removing nuclear weapons from British soil? Is he/she a known racist? This helps the intelligence service when compiling a briefing for certain ministers who’re considering appointments that might be security sensitive and involving access to secret documents. Any doubt is usually resolved by the MP concerned being denied the clearance to take the post in question.
Christian Perkins certainly had a chequered political history. He was now 66 and had been a Tory MP since the 1987 General Election. Despite the Tories being in power for the next decade, Perkins had never been offered any kind of ministerial position in Government. He had been a businessman since leaving the army, running a firm importing fine wines into the country from Australia and the United States amongst other places, which he placed with a range of top hotels. He still had a controlling interest in the firm but it was now largely under the control of his family.
He’d joined the army straight from university and reached the rank of staff sergeant but had decided not to extend his commission further once his time was up. I paused at that point. This was interesting. If this timeline was correct he was still a serving soldier when he was photographed talking to volunteers like George Selwood about armed insurrection and taking over the country.
Wasn’t this treason? Didn’t the oath a soldier swears upon enlisting have bound that person to serve the Crown in the form of Her Majesty’s Government? As far as I could recall, the soldier’s Oath of Allegiance did not specifically mention Government but the Constitution of the United Kingdom, such as it was, referred to the Crown in Pa
rliament. If what I’d read wasn’t treason, it was quite probably sedition at least.
Whatever, this was one for the lawyers. What I’d found was that Perkins had been a serving soldier at the time he was making speeches about overthrowing the established order in the form of the Labour Government. I wondered who else knew about this. But there was no reference on his security files to indicate there’d been any awareness of this activity. How was that possible? How could a private army of over a couple of thousand buy weapons and train to use them in pursuit of anti-democratic aims and yet MI5 get no hint of this?
I continued reading. He was assiduous in his pursuit of right wing ideology and was a member of several bodies aimed at influencing the Conservative Party to continue moving in that direction, such as Clear Blue Water. He was also influential in speaking out against what he continued to perceive as the underlying left-wing menace the country still faced and was a frequent guest of Conservative student groups at universities across the country.
There were several pictures of Perkins taken at events where he was either a speaker or attending as a delegate, with most showing him smiling benignly whilst shaking hands with young admirers or else in full oratorical flow. But my attention was caught by a picture taken at an election rally in 1992. Perkins was standing amidst a group of young people wearing blue rosettes and holding election literature. Standing two away from him was a smiling young woman in blue jeans and a cream coloured jacket. Debbie Frost. Her hair was still jet black and was up in a bun. She looked like a teenage girl about to blossom into the beautiful woman she now was. The radiant smile was still there as was the hint of mischief in the eyes. There were several other pictures of the group, including one of Perkins and Frost standing next to each other.
I could now connect her to Christian Perkins. That she knew him was undeniable but was this just a young politically ambitious student networking alongside an influential figure in the party or had she connected with him on another level? I cross-referenced her name against his. Over the past seven years they’d both been present at several annual party conferences and had been at the same fringe meetings. Nothing strange about this; she worked for the party and he was an MP. But they’d also been present at a number of weekend seminars organised by party sympathisers. They’d also been part of the same team that had been on a fact finding mission to Bulgaria when the possibility of increased trade with what was previously an Iron Curtain country was being considered as Bulgaria was in line to become a member state of the European Union in 2014. Over a seven-year period I could put them together at a number of different events.
I had photographic evidence of him speaking to soldiers and the testimony of George Selwood that Perkins was involved in a seditious plot against the then Government of the day. Louis Phipps had been in possession of these photographs and he’d taken them from a car owned by Debbie Frost. Did this imply a greater connection between the two? If I were to confront her again, would she deny any friendship between herself and Perkins? Would he do likewise if I asked him about her?
As things stood I didn’t want to confront Perkins just yet. I had no real evidence other than the pictures, which I’d no doubt he could eloquently explain away. The manifesto he would probably say he’d never seen before and knew nothing about. There’d been no signature attached. I didn’t doubt either he’d deny sounding out Mosley.
My mobile rang. It was Sergeant Bales calling from the hotel.
“Rhodesie has just returned. From the look of him I think he’s had a few as well.”
“Is he with the Colombians?”
“No, he’s with another man. Don’t recognise this one. They’re in the bar.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t let them leave the hotel.”
Bales said he’d keep an eye out for them.
I reached the hotel quickly, taking the scenic route along Grosvenor Road, around Hyde Park Corner and along Knightsbridge. I parked in a no parking zone and entered the reception area.
I couldn’t see Bales anywhere so I asked the woman at reception if she knew where a Detective Bales could be found.
“The sergeant is being attended to in the office.” She sounded Canadian.
“Attended to?”
She called to a porter and asked him to take me to the manager’s office. It was part of a suite of offices behind the reception area. Bales was sitting against a wall with his head tilted backwards and holding a white bloodied handkerchief under his nose to staunch the bleeding. His white shirt had bloodstains down the front, as did his tie. He saw me looking at him and stood up.
“Should I see the other guy?” I asked, trying not to smirk at his misfortune.
“The two blokes, Rhodesie and the other guy, went straight into the bar, had a drink and went to leave. I intercepted them, told them I was a police officer and, as I was getting my ID out, Rhodesie sucker punched me with one to the schnozzle. They both ran off.”
His voice sounded metallic through a mouthful of handkerchief.
“Don’t suppose you saw which way?”
“’Fraid not, I was too busy bleeding.”
“You know who the other guy was?”
“No idea, but I heard them talking when they first arrived. Sounded like a yank.”
“American? You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
An American. Phil Gant?
I asked the manager to show me the CCTV footage for the lobby for the past hour. He had it replayed in the security officer’s little room. I saw two men arriving, one wearing a military jacket and holding a black beret in his hand, the other more casually dressed. It was indeed Mr Gant, the man I’d met in the alley outside Mickey’s bar Monday night. Unfortunately there was no sound recorded so I couldn’t hear a conversation. Rhodes had told me he was friends with Gant. But I was looking for Rhodes because of my suspicion he was party to the killing of Simeon Adaka. If he’d been with Gant and could prove it, maybe that theory was out the window.
I needed to find Rhodes. This was now a routine assault investigation. I called it in to the incident room at Scotland Yard and asked for a lookout to be kept for a Richard Rhodes, wanted in connection with an assault occasioning actual bodily harm on a police officer. I gave a description and a warning to be vigilant approaching him as he was likely to be dangerous.
F I V E
Friday
There'd been no sightings of Richard Rhodes overnight but at least his name was now in the system. It would mean he wouldn’t be able to shadow Ruis leCuellio, so losing his cushy little sinecure making it safe for some Colombian bigwig to flood the streets of the capital with even more of his filth. As a drug dealer known to be connected to a large cartel back in Colombia he’d be under constant surveillance, so if Rhodes was dumb enough to show up behind him, he’d be arrested immediately.
I contacted West End Central and asked for Detective Bales. Despite his late night and his bop on the nose, he was at his desk. I enquired about his nose.
“Fine. Been hit on the nose before, smarts for a while but it’s alright now. Wife thought the bruising around it made me look sexy.”
“You still following the Colombians around today?”
“No one is. LeCuellio and his scumbags checked out at seven this morning and, as far as I could make out, are now on their way to Amsterdam, no doubt to negotiate the selling of more of their shit. Why aren’t we allowed to kill people like that on sight?”
“Where they flying from?”
“I’m guessing Gatwick, that’s where their taxi’s heading for. They probably aren’t flying Cheapo Airways either. Fucking scumbag’s probably flying first class with champagne all the way. You know what the fucking bill was for him and his entourage at the hotel? It’d take me three fucking years to earn what he just paid for a few weeks there. We play by the rules, those bastards shit on the floor in front of us and we’re expected to fucking walk in it and say thank you.”
“Yeah. Life suc
ks, doesn’t it? Thanks for the heads up.” I left him to his bitterness.
Special Branch maintains a permanent presence at all major airports so the departure of Ruis leCuellio and his family would be noted and his destination passed onto Schiphol in Holland. But he wasn’t my concern. I wanted to know where Rhodes was. But initially I decided it was time to add a little pep to Christian Perkins’ day.
Before leaving I contacted DI Pierce. I identified myself as the Special Branch officer at the scene of Simeon Adaka’s death yesterday and asked if any progress had been made.
“No one’s been arrested, if that’s what you mean. The girlfriend calmed down a bit and gave us a statement. Said they came back and Simeon heard someone moving about and making a noise in the main room, so he goes in and argues with the bloke there, then a fight breaks out. Like I said, she only saw the back of whoever killed Simeon. Supposed to have been a big bloke wearing some sort of military type jacket and a scarf covering half his head. She said she never got a look at his face.”
“Does she have any idea what this guy might have been after?”
“Funnily enough, I thought to ask her that. We do do police work down south, you know,” he said, somewhat sarcastically. “She said she doesn’t know. I asked if it could be drugs related, as Adaka’s known to be a dealer in the area. She thinks it might have been something to do with whatever Simeon was looking after for a friend of his.”
“What was that?”
“Claimed not to know. The friend was someone called Louis Phipps. You know him?”
“I know Louis.”
I decided not to tell Pierce about what Adaka had passed onto me just yet. It didn’t seem like the right thing to do before I’d confronted Christian Perkins. I also decided not to share my suspicion as to who the likely assailant was as he was already being pursued as a result of bopping Bales on the nose.
Gant! Page 15