Driving into Darkness (DI Angus Henderson 2)

by Iain Cameron

  Danislav Shalberov owned several chemical plants, petrochemical installations, oil terminals and a fleet of tankers, spread around the globe and they operated through a variety of holding companies based in Lichtenstein or Liberia, but no matter how complicated these arrangements might be in the eyes of the law or tax experts, they were all ultimately owned by the Kirov Chemical Company located somewhere in this building.

  He had a reputation as a no-nonsense tyrant who rewarded employees with high salaries and generous perks but he had no patience with fools or for incompetence, and thought nothing of firing anyone if they fell short of his high standards and if they were Russian, sending them back there.

  An article in one of the Sunday supplements portrayed the Russian as peripatetic, jetting around the financial and oil capitals of the world signing deals or sailing to meetings aboard his large, ocean-going yacht. This made Henderson wonder what sort of man they would be meeting as he lived a life of unbelievable luxury, matching the moguls of ancient India or Middle Eastern oil sheiks and staying in five-star hotels, eating in Michelin-starred restaurants and acquiring whatever took his fancy. This included a five million dollar diamond necklace for his second wife, the international model and size 0 stick insect, Heidi Boniface. It wouldn't take long to find out, as Shalberov had just walked into the room.

  ‘Good morning Detective Inspector Henderson, Detective Sergeant Walters. Welcome to Grantwood, my home and the centre of my worldwide business interests.’

  He spoke in crisp Oxford English with no trace of his Moscow origins. Wearing a light grey suit with a tailored blue shirt and no tie, he looked younger than his picture and younger than his reported thirty-eight years, but his handshake felt firm, his presence confident, and his gaze steady and inquisitive, qualities Henderson would have attributed to an older, more seasoned negotiator and businessman.

  ‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, Mr Shalberov,’ Henderson said.

  ‘I’m happy to do what I can to help.’

  Following a quiet knock on the door, a young girl walked into the room and placed a silver tray containing a coffee pot and three cups. She poured the coffee and without uttering a word, left and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

  ‘So, Inspector, my secretary tells me you are interested in the sale of Markham Microprocessors and our proposal to buy it.’

  ‘Yes we are. Following the murder of Sir Mathew Markham, we are interviewing everyone who knew him in an attempt to build up a picture of the man and to determine if the sale of the business had anything to do with his death.’

  ‘This is very interesting as newspapers are saying he was attacked by a gang of carjackers who I believe are now in jail. We have them in Russia also. They follow people when they go into smart shops and attack them when they reach their car, weighed down with many shopping bags. They can be violent too and have been known to kill the car owner if they do not hand over the keys. You obviously do not believe these people are responsible for killing Sir Mathew or you would not be talking to me.’

  ‘In my experience, newspapers often jump to conclusions before the facts are fully laid out, I’m afraid,’ Henderson said. ‘Let’s just say there are differences between the attack on Sir Mathew and the way the carjackers have operated in the past and these concern me. Can I ask, what is your interest in buying Markham Microprocessors? Much of your business is in larger, heavier forms of engineering and as far as I know, Markham currently doesn’t do any business with your company.’

  ‘I see you have done your homework Inspector, highly commendable. I first met Sir Mathew at an Institute of Bankers dinner at which the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr Stanley gave a rousing speech when he told us what a fine place the United Kingdom is to do business in, which I believe it is. I offered Sir Mathew an open invitation to come here to my home for a meal and a few weeks later, he came to lunch. It was then he told me all about his plans to retire and perhaps to sell the business and I must say, I liked what I heard.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘I met him only twice but I have talked to him several times on the telephone and so I would say we were friendly, but not so close. The last time I spoke to him was some two weeks before he was killed. His death saddened me, he was such a fine man.’

  ‘How would Markham Microprocessors fit into your business plans?’

  ‘It is perhaps not so well known in the west, but I do have some interests in the electronics industry as I own component manufacturers and we supply two of the major mobile telephone companies in Russia. At the moment, none of them use Markham chips but I see this as a big opportunity for us to make the leap into creating our own brand of smart phone. Markham is a wonderful company and not only do I want to own it, but I want to keep it out of the hands of the Japanese and the Koreans.’

  ‘Oh really? Any particular reason?’

  His face hardened. ‘I hate those little yellow bastards and their dog-eating friends, the Koreans.’ He then launched into a long tirade about the spread of the yellow peril from the East, the atrocities committed in the Russo-Japanese war of 1905 in which his great-grandfather and many of his family were killed, Japan’s dominance of the modern electronics business and some other stuff Henderson didn’t understand about finance.

  It lasted a full ten minutes but although the words were coarse and bitter, they were delivered in a crisp, articulate style.

  ‘How important is taking over Markham to your on-going business strategy?’

  He leaned towards Henderson. ‘When I want something, I am willing to pay whatever it takes, but if by some miracle I do not acquire Markham Microprocessors, my acquisitions team and the head of the unit, Dmitri Usilev will all be sent back to Russia and they will never be seen or heard of again.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘It sounds like a threat to kill in my book,’ DS Gerry Hobbs said. ‘Mind you, if Shalberov does carry it out, we won’t find Usilev’s body lying around here so it won’t be our mess to clear up.’

  The senior officers in the Sir Mathew Markham murder team were sitting around Henderson’s small meeting table, DS’s Hobbs and Walters and DI Henderson, reviewing the completed company interviews and a mass of information gathered by the web-based research team.

  They had been at it for over an hour and Henderson was coming to the conclusion it had all been a waste of time as even though many of the reports included sound examples of greed, arrogance and vanity, they found nothing to suggest any of the Markham bidders would stoop to murder.

  ‘Well, as we haven’t got a obvious candidate,’ Hobbs said, ‘we should make a list of the ones who strike us as being the most suspicious and spend more time following them up.’

  Hobbs looked at each of the faces but found little enthusiasm. ‘I’ll make a start. I think Shalberov deserves to be there.’

  ‘Why?’ Walters said. ‘He’s just an aggressive businessman. There are half a dozen people like him in this pile.’

  ‘True,’ he said, ‘but he’s known to be a serial sacker of staff and even though there may be no substance to the threat he made about murdering Dmitri Usilev and his acquisitions team for their failings, rumours have dogged the guy for years.’

  ‘Such as?’ she said, a sceptical look on her face.

  ‘Well, when he first acquired his vast collection of former state assets after the break-up of the Soviet Union, he did it in collaboration with a business partner, called,’ he looked at his papers, ‘Christov Futerov. He put up the finance but no sooner was the ink dry on the deal, than Futerov died in a water-skiing accident. This placed Shalberov in total control of all the businesses and as you saw boss, he’s never looked back.’

  ‘Yeah but–’ Walters said,

  ‘There’s more,’ Hobbs said. ‘It says here in this newspaper report, one of his mineral crushing plants in Kirov was dogged by strikes and closed for the third time in a month by workers led by a militant socialist called Vladimir Lukyanov. W
hile out drinking in a bar in Kirov Oblast, Mr Lukyanov was set upon by a group of men and kicked to death. Ever since then, the plant has been strike-free.’

  ‘I’m convinced,’ Walters said. ‘Put him on the pile.’ ‘I would also add to the list,’ Walters said, ‘the guy Phil Bentley and Sally Graham met in Manchester, Liam Fletcher, the Managing Director of Fletcher Electronics. His background is dodgy and there are strong rumours the money he needed to start his business came from dealing in drugs.’

  ‘He sounds a nice fella,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘He built up the small electrical business his father used to own into one of the largest component manufacturers in the North West by lavishly entertaining corporate buyers. They moved into the big league after a couple of aggressive takeovers, including one in Newcastle when the MD who was the founder of the company and reluctant to sell, drowned in a river near his home.’

  ‘He sounds suspicious, put him on the list,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘Any more?’ Henderson asked. ‘No takers? Well I would like to suggest one.’

  ‘Who?’ Hobbs said.

  ‘William Lawton.’

  ‘Come off it sir,’ Walters said, ‘he was big pals with Mathew Markham and the whole family.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s known Suki all her life,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘There are two reasons. One is this Financial Times report, dug up by Seb Young.’ He held it up for them to see. ‘It says Lawton has been putting together a consortium to buy Markham Microprocessors on the quiet because he felt sure Sir Mathew was going to sell it behind his back.’

  ‘I never knew about this,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘There’s more. One of the members of his consortium is none other than our good friend, Dominic Green.’

  ‘What? Unbelievable.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ Walters said. ‘Dominic Green? ‘What the hell does he want with an electronics company?’

  Green had been ‘Public Enemy Number One’ in the Sussex region long before Henderson moved there. Everyone in the building knew how the one-time slum landlord and owner of squalid bed-sits and DSS hostels became a multi-millionaire and rebuilt his public persona into a generous benefactor and friend to the rich and famous. In business, he was a shark swimming in a pool of goldfish as he treated tenants, landowners, squatters, protestors and anyone else who got in his way, with the same contempt and disrespect for their legal rights, as any feudal landlord would have done in the Middle Ages.

  ‘None of his businesses are connected with the electronics industry,’ Hobbs said, ‘and as far as I know, none are even what you might call high-tech.’

  ‘It might be possible,’ Walters said, ‘that Lawton knows exactly what he’s capable of, and is using him to intimidate anyone who gets in his way.’

  ‘Let’s take it a stage further,’ Henderson said. ‘When the dust settles on the will and the inheritance and all the other stuff, Lawton could well be the main beneficiary, as he would still be Managing Director of the company and if his consortium takes over the business, he could own a slice of it as well.’

  The door to Henderson’s office burst open.

  ‘Good afternoon everyone,’ Chief Inspector Harris said.

  ‘Good afternoon sir,’ echoed those seated.

  Across one arm he held a coat and his face looked flushed, as if it was cold outside or he was angry. ‘I would like to speak to Detective Inspector Henderson, in private if I may.’

  ‘Leave your stuff here,’ Henderson said over the noise of scraping chairs, ‘we’ll continue later.’

  When the door closed, Harris turned to face the DI who was standing and leaning against the small meeting table.

  ‘Angus, what the hell’s going on? Harris said.

  ‘In respect of what exactly, sir?’

  ‘I’m talking about the wild goose chase you’ve been sending the murder team on these last couple of weeks. That’s what.’

  ‘Wild goose chase? I don’t think so sir. We’re investigating a murder and trying establish motive for the killing of Mathew Markham.’

  ‘Don’t give me this bloody crap. Sir Mathew's murder has been investigated and McGovern and his team are in the frame. So where’s your problem?’

  ‘They didn’t do it, sir. Their alibis are sound. I sent you the email I received from DI Speers. He agrees with me.’

  ‘Alibis my arse. It’s a put-up job by their mates, that's what it is. It’s a classic case of nobbling the witnesses and given time, you and Speers will unpick their stories. This is what you should have been spending your time on and not running off to London and bloody Cambridge talking to businessmen.’

  ‘I don’t see it like that. We can’t build a murder case against McGovern.’

  ‘Now listen to me, Inspector,’ he said, poking a finger at Henderson's chest. ‘I will relieve you of your command if you persist with this nonsense because you’ve wasted enough time and resources already. I want you to charge Rab McGovern with Mathew Markham’s murder and let the CPS loose on the evil bastard. The media will love it and you’ll be a hero. Disband the team at once and allocate them to other duties and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation. If you don’t, I’ll have your badge and you’ll be lucky to score a security guard’s job at Sainsbury’s.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘Good afternoon Detective Inspector,’ the receptionist said, smiling. ‘Back again so soon? Excuse me, where are you going?’

  ‘William Lawton’s office,’ Henderson said, running up the stairs. ‘Don’t worry I know the way. Open the upper door if you please.’

  Henderson didn’t hear the next thing she said but he was sure she would be lifting the phone to call Lawton. He heard a click as the security door opened and without pausing, he walked past a startled Jules, opened Lawton’s office door, and strode in.

  Lawton was talking on the phone while a tall, well-dressed man sat in the visitor’s chair at the side of his desk. Henderson paused a moment to take in the scene as Jules rushed into the office and pushed by.

  Henderson moved to the desk, intending to put an end to Lawton’s call or wrap the cord around his neck when he heard him say, ‘got to go,’ and put the phone down.

  Henderson placed both hands on the desk, and over and eyeballed him, his face cold and angry. ‘I need to see you now, Lawton.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mr Lawton,’ Jules said, resplendent in a bright pink sweater and patterned yellow and blue spotted shirt. ‘He just pushed past me, there was nothing I could to stop him.’

  ‘It’s ok Jules,’ Lawton said, ‘I’ll handle this, now go back to your desk.’ He turned to his visitor. ‘Mason, I’m sorry for this little...interruption. Could I ask you to step outside for five or ten minutes? I’m sure Jules will look after you.’

  ‘No problem, William,’ he said in a Texan drawl. ‘I need a comfort break, in any case.’ He looked at Henderson. ‘You sure you're gonna be ok?’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mason. Mr Henderson is a policeman.’

  ‘Where I come from,’ he said, raising his sizeable bulk from the chair, ‘these are the very people you need to worry about.’

  He walked to the door and closed it with a bang.

  Henderson turned to Lawton. ‘You slimy toad, Lawton, you’ve been keeping something from me,’ he growled.

  ‘What...what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Mathew Markham wasn’t murdered by the carjacking gang as the newspapers seem so fond of saying, but by someone who would gain by getting him out of the way. Someone like you, for instance,’ he said pointing a finger at the Managing Director’s shocked face.

  ‘This is preposterous, Inspector. Mathew and I were great friends. I would never do anything like this to him. Your accusation is quite frankly, outrageous. I should report you to your superiors for making such wild allegations and…and to my lawyer for slander.’

  ‘Are you denying you set up a secret consortium to buy Markham after Sir Mathew put it up for sale?’


  ‘I...I...suppose now it has been reported in the financial press, I can’t deny it, but he was going to sell it from under my nose, from under all our noses. I had to do something to stop him.’

  ‘Like killing him?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I had to stop him selling it to someone else, this why I set up the consortium. There is no other reason.’

  ‘What do you care who owns the company? It’s just a job.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s more than that. This is a prestigious British company and I couldn’t let it fall into foreign hands, could I?’

  ‘More like you were frightened of losing your job and all this,’ he said spreading an arm wide.

  ‘No, no. I...’ For the first time since he had known him, Henderson saw Lawton fluster. It was not a pretty sight but from his point of view, it was where he wanted him to be.

  ‘Why did you team up with Dominic Green? Don’t you know Green’s reputation? He’ll have you for breakfast.’

  ‘He’s a changed man Inspector. He’s a respectable businessman, despite whatever tripe The Argus writes out about him.’

  ‘A respectable businessman, my eye,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘You’re in league with a viper and you don’t even know it. He’ll take you places you don’t want to go and before long you’ll be talking to me from a seat inside one of my interview rooms.’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Green would have something to say about that. In any case, this consortium is not only about him as there is also Sir Stephen Pendleton, Jacques Trudeau, Fred Hallam–’

  ‘Yes, and Barry King, another crook. Mr Lawton, are you telling me an almost fifty per cent drop in Markham’s share price doesn’t greatly benefit your cause?’

  ‘The share price has recovered a large proportion of those losses since Mathew’s death, I’m pleased to say, but it’s true, the price fall would have saved our consortium a couple of hundred million but remember, it benefits everyone else bidding just the same. However, this is all academic now, as I’m leaving Markham and the business is no longer up for sale.’