‘On receipt?’ Palmer interrupted. ‘Nothing upfront?’
‘No,’ Knight carried on. ‘There is so much of the stuff available from South America that the cartels reckon they can lose a third to customs searches and the DEA and not worry. The profit is huge. Most of it comes in by private Cessna – so-called business flights landing at small provincial airports in the dead of night, or fishing boats taking it onboard in the middle of the ocean beyond the Border Control boats and landing it with their fish.’
‘I thought a lot of it came with so-called mules in air travel baggage? Or swallowed?’ Gheeta said.
‘No, what comes in that way is tiny. Some of the smaller gangs still do that, but not the big boys.’
‘Tiny?’
Knight laughed.
‘Well, not tiny to us I suppose. Somebody swallowing a quarter of a kilo of charlie has about ten thousand pounds street value inside them, and some swallow a lot more than that.’
‘Or stick it up their arse,’ commented DS Patel.
‘Oi!’ Palmer said, waving a finger. ‘Ladies present.’
‘Sorry.’
Gheeta smiled and turned to Claire.
‘We’ve heard a lot worse than that in this room, haven’t we Claire?’
Claire nodded.
‘We have indeed, a lot worse.’
They both looked at Palmer.
‘Carry on Knight,’ he said quickly.
‘Okay, so you will now have got the impression that Wellbeck is not to be underrated. We reckon he moves about thirty kilos onto the streets a month.’
‘That’s a lot of money.’
Palmer seemed impressed, and in fact he was. He had often been impressed – now and in the past – by the way criminals organised themselves and their very business-like ways. He had once suggested, albeit flippantly, at a meeting of DCS’s that perhaps some of the government ministries could take a leaf out of the criminal business book. It went down well with the other DCS’s, but not so well with the ACs or Home Office staff that were present.
‘Yes, a lot of money – and the Wellbecks aren’t going to let anybody else snaffle any of it. They hit hard and leave no trace.’
‘Right then,’ said Palmer. ‘We need to find that red Transit and tie it to Wellbeck. We know it has fake number plates, but we have tyre prints from the Jack Bernard crime scene – find those tyres and we find the killer. Be nice to have a look inside that scrap yard. Do the Wellbecks know you, Knight?’
‘No, we always wear balaclavas on raids.’
‘Good. Right then let’s get going.’
He pointed to his new recruits.
‘Split into pairs: Harvard and Trent, you two do surveillance on the Arifs’ takeaway, see who’s going in and out, get some pictures; Patel and Russell, same at the scrap yard. Send the pics back using laptops Sergeant Singh will give you, then Claire can run them through our face recognition programmes. You never know, we might pick up a mug shot that rings bells.’
He turned to Gheeta and Knight.
‘You two need to purchase something at the car parts counter at the scrap yard when it’s open, and keep your eyes peeled for a red Transit.’
‘I can film it, Sir,’ Gheeta said with a smile. ‘We will be in civvies so I can use a lens broach and data recorder.’
Palmer looked at the others.
‘She never ceases to amaze.’
CHAPTER 14
Saturday was a nice day and the late autumn sun was out, which had a lifting effect if you were stuck in a car all day watching a surveillance target. DS Singh met DS Knight at a public car park a few hundred yards away from the scrap yard.
‘Nice car,’ said Knight, coveting Gheeta’s hybrid Range Rover. ‘Serial Murder Squad obviously pays more than Organised Crime.’
He pointed to his five-year-old Fiesta. Gheeta laughed.
‘I have a generous daddy.’
This was partly true. Gheeta was a director in the family IT and surveillance components company, built up by her father and now run by her two brothers; the car was part of the remuneration package she got annually as a ‘consultant’. The other part was the fifth floor Barbican apartment overlooking the Thames. Palmer was aware of this supplementary income and wasn’t bothered one bit – except on the days that he parked his seven-year-old Honda CRV next to the Range Rover in the Met car park and quickly had to suppress a twang of jealousy.
‘Hang on a minute while I fix this.’
Gheeta was wearing a three-quarter length coat with large shiny buttons. The top button hid a camera with a lead inside the coat to a digital chip battery and transmitter in an inside pocket, that sent the signal onto the Team Room where Claire and Palmer waited. She had contact with them via an earpiece hidden beneath a large bobble hat that she had pulled down over her ears, and a small microphone engulfed in her scarf. She finished and smiled at Knight.
‘Bit like a human edition of a dashcam, eh?’
She spoke into the mic.
‘Singh to Team Room, can you hear me?’
Claire came back.
‘Loud and clear, and we also have a picture.’
Gheeta nodded to Knight.
‘All ready to go.’
Being Saturday the scrap yard was very busy, with customers queuing to purchase car parts and staff scurrying around inside the warehouse pulling them off the shelves. Beyond the sectioned-off public part three swivel cranes were working, lifting the remnants of stripped vehicles into crushers and the crushed cubes that came out into large skips. Rows of stripped cars, vans and lorries awaited their fate.
‘Impressive, eh?’ Knight said to Gheeta.
‘I didn’t realise it was so big. You can’t tell from outside.’
She walked slowly, trying to get as much footage as she could down the line to Claire.
‘Pity we can’t get around the back.’
She nodded towards the office block which blocked the view of half the yard.
‘You getting this, Claire?’
‘We are, good clear picture too.’
They joined the queue in the warehouse for parts and shuffled forward to the counter in line. Knight asked for a Fiesta windscreen wiper motor.
‘Mine’s on the blink.’
The salesman went off and a few minutes later came back with one.
‘How’s that then?’ he said with a smile. ‘Fully guaranteed to work and been overhauled and tested. Ten quid.’
Seeing that it would have been over sixty pounds from Ford, Knight was very pleased and paid. They left the warehouse and walked slowly round the public yard.
‘No red Transit in view, but we can’t see behind the office block. Could be back there.’
As they walked slowly towards the gate, the door to the office block opened and Wellbeck came out with two men. Gheeta stopped and turned, pointing the button camera their way.
‘We have personnel coming out of the office.’
Knight knelt and pretended to tie a shoe lace as Gheeta kept the camera on the three men. Knight identified one with surprise.
‘Jesus! That answers a few questions!’
‘What does?’
Knight turned his face away from the trio.
‘Wellbeck’s the smaller one in the smart suit. The one talking to him is DI Kirby, my senior officer. Christ! No wonder we never found anything here on the two raids we did – Kirby’s warning him, the bastard. Make sure you get pictures of them together. I don’t know the other chap.’
‘I do.’
Palmer’s voice came on Gheeta’s earpiece.
‘Keep on him as long as you can. His name is Ronny Robards, I thought he was dead. Must be in his eighties by now.’
‘Why would he be here, Sir? Is he in the scrap business?’
‘Sort of,’ Palmer said, sounding worried. ‘He blows things up.’
CHAPTER 15
When Gheeta and Knight got back to the Team Room Claire replayed the camera film. Palmer had it stoppe
d at Ronny Robards and got her to enlarge it.
‘Yes, that’s him.’
Palmer was sure.
‘Got quite a long charge sheet, hasn’t he?’
Gheeta had pulled it up on her monitor.
‘But nothing for fifteen years?’
‘I think he’d had enough after his last spell inside,’ said Palmer. ‘Told me he was going to retire and enjoy his garden. He grew prize chrysanthemums – I remember we arrested him one time just after he’d collected a gold medal at some flower show.’
‘You said ‘he blows things up’. What did you mean?’
‘Just that, Ronny was the top man if you wanted a safe blown open or a demolition job. His heyday was in the eighties when the banks installed time reactive safes and vault doors; you couldn’t pick the locks or force them open anymore, so the only way was bang! Then when the ATMs came in he was in great demand to blow the front off them so the villains could reach in and take the money. Then they got more secure and Ronny was out of work, except when a security van was targeted to be robbed and he would blow the back doors off for a fee. He was good, he always knew how much Semtex or gelignite to use; seldom injured anybody.’
‘So what is he doing with Wellbeck?’ Gheeta asked.
‘Yes, that’s the worrying bit,’ Palmer said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think he just popped in for a cup of tea and a chat about old times, that’s for sure. I think we ought to keep a good watch on the Arifs’ takeaway.’
He turned to Claire.
‘Get a picture of his face out to Harvard and Trent at the takeaway. If he shows up there, we know the plan is probably to blow it up.’
He walked to the Progress Chart on the wall which Claire had updated with pictures of the Arifs and Wellbeck. Lines of access ran from Wellbeck to the victims, and from the Arifs to Court. Gheeta joined him.
‘The Arifs must be pretty confused by now, guv. They’ve lost their Deliver- Eat scam and they know that Wellbeck has declared war on them. What do you think they’ll do?’
‘People like that don’t give a damn about a few delivery lads being taken out Sergeant – plenty more with mopeds to fill the gaps. They’ve probably got a tie-in with a couple of the postcode gangs to do the delivering, so no user is going to go without their little packet of fun.’
He checked his watch.
‘Right, that will do for today. I have an important celebration to attend – not important to me, but Mrs P. will not be pleased if I don’t make an appearance. We’ve got the two surveillance teams in place so if anything breaks they can get hold of us.’
‘What about Kirby, sir?’
Knight was still angry.
‘Let him run,’ said Palmer. ‘He doesn’t know we are after Wellbeck, and if we get Internal Affairs to pull him now Wellbeck will know something is up. Keep it between us for the time being.’
‘Okay, I think I’ll hang about and pop down with Harvard and Trent,’ said Knight. ‘Give them a bit of break.’
‘Okay, up to you. I want twenty-four-hour surveillance on the takeaway, so send one of them home to get some sleep and he can relieve the other one in the morning. Give Patel and Russell a bell at the scrap yard to do the same. And try and get a few hours at home yourself.’
Palmer was a little worried.
‘If Ronny Robards turns up at the takeaway to order a meal, don’t let him get inside the place. Arrest him on suspicion, and don’t be too rough – no throwing him on the ground to cuff him. Semtex is pretty unstable.’
He gave Knight a wry smile.
‘Long wants you back in one piece.’
Gheeta stood up and slung her laptop into its shoulder bag.
‘I think I know a way of getting into the scrap yard and having a look round without being seen.’
Palmer waved a stern finger at her.
‘No, no way are you to go near that yard, absolutely not.’
Gheeta smiled.
‘I’m touched by your concern guv, but I won’t be scaling the wall or anything like that. I won’t even be going near it. But a drone could get right inside.’
Palmer thought for a few moments. He knew from past experience that Singh’s use of technology had, on more than one occasion, solved a case. He looked her in the eye.
‘Okay, I’ll leave that one to you. Now, I must go – see you all in the morning. I know its Sunday, but time and crime never stop. Goodnight, all.’
CHAPTER 16
Palmer fancied a pint. He wasn’t a canapés and wine person, and after all he wasn’t driving as he had booked a cab to bring him to Benji’s party from home so he could indulge a bit. Nodding and making polite conversation as Mrs P. guided him around the large function room wasn’t his scene at all, but he suffered the small talk to keep her happy. Benji had been glad to see him – so glad was his welcome that Palmer had to give him a fixed glare to stop getting a peck on the cheek; Palmer’s cold fixed glares were legendary, they could freeze the sun. Once the tour of the guests had finished he told Mrs P. he was off to get a pint and made his way to the bar, where Councillor Monty Montague was holding court with some of his junior staff from the council offices. Councillor Monty Montague was the last person Palmer wanted to see, the epitome of everything he disliked in a person.
Being an abrasive-tongued senior and longstanding member of the council gave Montague the idea that what he said mattered; it didn’t of course, but council staff do like to keep in with their paymasters, so whatever he said they were bound to mutter agreement with. When Benji was elected to the council on an independent ticket at the last local elections, Montague found he had an opposition member who would question his pronouncements if the facts were not correct; and an awful lot of councillor Montague’s pronouncements were not factually correct. Battle lines had been drawn.
Palmer had no time for his sort and had quite openly told him that he would vote for a brick rather than Montague when Montague had asked for his support in his quest to become the local Police Commissioner. Palmer couldn’t think of anybody worse qualified for the job, except the current Police Commissioner for his area, who – like most PCs – was a failed lawyer who had stood for election as an MP and been beaten, and pulled the old boy network strings to land the cushy PC job.
‘Ah, Detective Palmer.’
Montague greeted him with a slimy smile.
‘Good evening Councillor Montague,’ Palmer replied, without even looking at him.
‘Are you enjoying the evening with Councillor Benjamin and his friends?’
‘I am, yes.’
He waved a hand to the bar staff chatting at the end of the bar, one of whom came up to serve him.
‘Pint of Boddington’s, please.’
‘I didn’t think you were one of them, Palmer.’
Montague winked to his listeners.
‘One of what, Boddington drinkers?’
‘One of Benjamin’s lot.’
Montague nodded towards the function room.
‘More poofs in there than in a furniture factory.’
He laughed, but didn’t seem to notice none of his hangers-on laughed with him. Palmer turned slowly from the bar towards Montague his expression registering the distaste he felt for the remark.
‘Mr Benjamin is my next-door neighbour Councillor Montague, a great friend to me and my wife and has been for many years. No, I am not ‘one of them’ as you so crudely put it – I am, as you know, a Detective Chief Superintendent at Scotland Yard. One more silly peep out of you like the last one and I will arrest you in front of your friends here, put handcuffs on you, and charge you with making homophobic and aggressive hate comments in a public place. Then I will call up a car and have you taken away. Understand that, Councillor? Do you?’
Out came the Palmer glare. Councillor Montague suddenly found himself bereft of company as his hangers-on seemed to disappear like mist in the morning sun. He was red-faced. He leant towards Palmer.
‘You’ll regret that, Palmer.’
Palmer put his face very close to Montague’s.
‘Your breath smells. Piss off.’
Montague hurriedly pissed off. The barman, having witnessed the exchange, smiled at Palmer.
‘Thank you for that, Mr Palmer.’
‘For what, son? I didn’t do anything.’
‘You did, sir. I’m gay and in a civil partnership. You just boosted my faith in the police.’
Palmer raised his glass to the lad and took a gulp.
‘Never lose faith, lad. It’s a thin blue line, but it will never be broken by the likes of him.’
He went back into the function room carrying his pint, to rejoin Mrs P. with a noticeable bounce in his step and half a smile on his face.
Mrs P. looked at him with knitted eyebrows.
‘What have you been up to, Justin Palmer? You look like the cat that got the cream.’
‘Nah, more like the cat that got the rat. Can we go home soon, princess? The Arsenal game is on Match of the Day.’
CHAPTER 17
‘It’s not very big, is it.’
Palmer stated the obvious. It was Sunday morning, and he, Claire and Knight were looking at the drone Gheeta had brought into the Team Room and placed on a table.
TAKEAWAY TERROR: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series. Case No.8 Page 6