by T J Walter
Rose, who’d had the luxury of a good night’s sleep, greeted him brightly. He managed to grunt a response. She immediately picked up on his mood and there was little conversation on the journey to Leman Street.
Arriving at the Incident Room, they found they were the first to arrive. Derek Short had overslept. In a strange way, this made Brookes feel better; it was reassuring to find that others also had difficulty keeping up the pace.
There were two messages on his desk. The first said that at 10pm the previous night, a Jason Wilson had boarded an Air France flight at Paris Orly Airport bound for Aine Cesaire Airport, Fort De France, on the Caribbean Island of Martinique. He’d been travelling alone, carrying just hand luggage. Airport security cameras confirmed that it was Fleming.
Brookes cursed.
Rose, who was busy brewing coffee, glanced at him but diplomatically said nothing.
Seeing her glance, he said, ‘Fleming is on a flight to Martinique. It will be a hell of a job getting him back from there; the French are not known for their co-operation.’
‘Is there anything I can do, sir; I speak French.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Do you indeed? How good is your French?’
‘Pretty good, sir.’
He held out the message. ‘OK, there’s a phone number here for the police at Orly Airport. Give them a ring, see what else they can tell us; Martinique is one of their colonies, isn’t it?’
‘I think it’s called an overseas department actually, sir. I’ll give them a ring.’
Brookes looked at the other message.
It said simply, Phone Commander Aitcheson at CO ASAP.
Brookes cursed again, this time under his breath. Aitcheson was the head of SO, (Special Operations), the department that ran all of the Met’s specialist crime squads, including Organised Crime and Fraud. Picking up the phone, he dialled Aitcheson’s direct number. The phone was answered immediately; Aitcheson was another early bird.
He said, ‘Thanks for calling me so promptly, John. I need you here at The Yard for a nine am briefing. I’d like to speak to you before, however; how soon can you get here?’
Brookes looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got one matter that won’t wait, sir; give me ten minutes. If I leave then I should be with you by eight thirty, traffic permitting.’
‘Good; this is important, don’t be late.’
As Brookes put the phone down, alarm bells were ringing in his mind. Aitcheson was the top detective in the country and was good. But he was also known for keeping a tight rein on detectives under his command. The last thing Brookes needed at this moment was interference from above. Bringing his mind back to the present, he heard Rose chatting away on the telephone in fluent French. When she finally put the phone down, she walked over to him with a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand and the message in the other.
Putting the coffee on the desk in front of him, she said, ‘They were very helpful, sir. The flight takes about eight and a half hours. It should have arrived at Aine Cesaire Airport on the island no more than an hour ago, if it was on time. The officer I spoke to said that he would get onto the island’s police and ask them to find out where Fleming went from the airport. Apparently the island isn’t that large and it’s not the tourist season, so they should be able to trace him. But they won’t be able to detain him without an arrest warrant. The officer took our number here and said he’d give it to the Martinique Gendarmerie and ask them to let us know if they find Fleming.’
Brookes took a tentative sip of the hot coffee. ‘Well done, Jacqui, that’s brilliant.’ He paused, taking another sip. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go to The Yard for a briefing. I need you to stay here and hold the fort until Derek Short arrives; fill him in on the developments. If you get any more news, call me on my mobile.’
Rose glowed with pleasure; for the first time since she’d joined the team, she actually felt she’d made a useful contribution.
Seeing this, Brookes smiled. ‘I know I’ve been a bit hard on you this first couple of days, but as you can see it’s been a bit hectic. Things will improve, I promise you.’
‘There’s nothing to apologise for, sir; I didn’t expect a red carpet.’
*
Arriving at New Scotland Yard, Brookes went straight to Aitcheson’s office on the first floor.
In his early fifties, the commander had a roly-poly figure and steel grey hair that defied every effort to control it. Thick horn-rimmed glasses and a bristling moustache gave him the appearance of an absent-minded professor. Brookes guessed that if the man had chosen an academic path, he would no doubt have achieved that. As it was, he had a sharp, incisive mind, the street sense that made him a formidable detective, and the management skills that made him an excellent leader.
He rose to greet Brookes with a smile and a handshake. There were two other men already seated at the commander’s small conference table. One was Brian Collins, the other was introduced as Superintendent Bill Griffiths from the National Organised Crime Squad.
Coffee was served and Aitcheson got straight down to business.
‘John, your murder enquiry has presented us with the opportunity we’ve been looking for. It seems that you have discovered how Raymond Silver is sanitizing his profits. I must congratulate you. Richard Mann of Fraud tells me that we are talking in the region of at least fifty million pounds; all in the form of valuable properties throughout the world. I’m sure you realise that catching your killer and questioning him about his link to Silver could help bring him down.’ He added, ‘I hear this Fleming managed to slip through your fingers and escape abroad; is that true?’
The implied criticism was obvious and Brookes’ temper rose.
Through clenched teeth, he said, ‘It is true that he left the country before I had enough evidence to arrest him, yes, sir.’
‘And he flew to Paris; is that the latest you have on him?’
‘No. I had a message this morning saying that he was on an overnight flight to Martinique in the West Indies, sir.’ The emphasis on the word ‘sir’ was more pronounced than he had intended; he was having difficulty controlling his temper.
Aitcheson glanced at Collins. It was that glance that gave Brookes the clue as to why Aitcheson appeared to be critical of his actions; Collins had put the boot in, making sure any blame would not come his way.
Aitcheson turned back to Brookes. His expression showed that he too had realised what Collins had attempted to do.
In a far more conciliatory tone he said, ‘What’s your next move, John?’
‘I’ll go after the bastard of course, sir.’
Aitcheson nodded. ‘Good, I thought you might. You will need some help so I’ve pulled together all the departments involved. You’ll meet them all in a few moments. But before we do that, I’d like to bring you up to date with the international scene.’ Turning to Griffiths he said, ‘Bill, will you do that, please?’
Bill Griffiths spoke with the broad Scouse accent of his native Liverpool. ‘First, John, let me give you the background to what we do. I’ll start with the international scene. Interpol has come a long way since its formation in nineteen twenty-three. It now has one hundred and eighty-four members. You know it was started to facilitate the extradition of criminals from one member state to another. Well that works very smoothly now. They have even managed to get round the politics; we’ve had examples of the successful extradition of major criminals between states that have no diplomatic relations.
‘Interpol keep a database of international criminals and crimes at their headquarters in Lyon that we all dip into. If your fugitive is found in a member state, we should have no problem getting him back here.
‘Now the EEC; with the free movement of people between member countries the police have had to get their act together. Europol was formed; they have their headquarters in The Hague. They have two functions, both advisory. They have developed an intelligence network and they facilitate cross-border police operations. They don
’t get involved in operations themselves but we have found them very useful in our fight against crime. So, that’s the international picture.’
Brookes nodded, having already known most of what he had just been told.
Griffiths continued, ‘But you will know that things have moved on at home here too. All the old inter-force rivalry was not helping us catch the villains.’ He grinned. ‘I’m sure you’ve experienced some of that when you’ve tried chasing London’s criminals around the country.’
Brookes politely returned the smile and nodded again.
Griffiths continued, ‘Now I work for the National Crime Intelligence Service, which is run jointly by the police and customs, and we target the major criminals. Raymond Silver is one of our targets. We can help you with him and The Financial Action Task Force will look into the money laundering. We will work alongside you.’
Brookes felt as if the man was trying to sell him an encyclopaedia and simply nodded again. Like most police officers, he was parochial and did not give his trust easily to those he hadn’t seen to have proven their worth.
Griffiths finished his sales pitch by saying, ‘What I’d like to do, John, is to set up a liaison with your team; we can coordinate our efforts and free your guys to concentrate on the murder suspect.’
Brookes’ mind was working quickly. He was shrewd enough to know that if interference from above was inevitable, it was better if he dictated the terms.
He chose his words carefully. ‘That’s fine with me, as long as catching Fleming remains the priority. Brian here has already leant me a good DS, Paul Moore. He can be our liaison man unless Brian had any objection.’
Collins laughed. ‘That’s sneaky, John. You make it difficult for me to take him away from you.’ He paused. Then, ‘OK, OK, you can hang on to him for a while.’
Aitcheson had a smile on his face, watching the interplay between the two and knowing its cause. He looked at his watch.
‘Right, in ten minutes we are in the briefing room to discuss the way forward. Is there anything else you want to ask before we go in, John?’
Brookes replied diplomatically, ‘No, sir. I’m grateful for the help you are offering.’ He was relieved; he had no interest in this foray into politics and simply wanted to get on with the job in hand.
*
At 9am, the four detectives joined the others already assembled in one of The Yard’s briefing rooms. Commander Aitcheson chaired the meeting.
Introductions were made; in addition to Bill Griffiths, Brian Collins, and John Brookes, Detective Superintendent Bill Parlour represented the Serious Fraud Squad, Detective Inspector Sally Hinds attended from the force’s Interpol office, and Phillip Green from The Yard’s Press Liaison Office.
Aitcheson got things started. ‘On Saturday, a young woman was murdered. Excellent detective work by John and his team discovered a connection between the killer and laundering of the profits of organised crime in London. John’s first priority is to catch the killer, who has fled abroad.
‘John’s investigation has brought to light the method Raymond Silver uses to launder his profits. Fleming, the murder suspect, is also the money launderer, so his capture takes on even greater importance. The murder of a young woman is serious enough in itself. But when you think of the money involved, all the proceeds of crime, you will see there are further implications.
‘John’s team has discovered that Fleming was in frequent contact with this Silver. Clearly, he may have valuable information that could help us bring him down.’ He turned to Brookes. ‘John, please fill in the details.’
Brookes led them through the investigation to date, answering their questions as he went.
Next, Collins described the criminal empire run by Silver. Bill Parlour filled in details of the finances of Luxury Homes Abroad and the enquiries his officers were conducting. Bill Griffiths made his input, for what it was worth. With the possible exception of the commander, the other detectives in the room were cynical about the effectiveness of outsiders operating on their territory.
Aitcheson summarised, ‘The unfortunate murder of Alison MacPherson has given us an opportunity. We need Fleming in custody here. With a murder charge hanging over him, we can prise information from him that might well bring down Silver. The implications go far beyond this country and we need the co-operation of police forces abroad, hence Interpol’s involvement.’ He turned to DI Hinds. ‘Sally, what can you do to help?’
She looked up from a pile of papers in front of her. ‘Well, sir, you know this has only fallen into my lap this morning, so I can only talk in general terms. As far as the properties abroad are concerned, Fleming’s company has bought villas and houses in twelve different countries. Seven of these are Commonwealth so their laws broadly reflect ours; if we can prove to an English court that the properties were bought with the proceeds of crime, their courts will probably co-operate and help us confiscate them. The other five – USA, Spain, Portugal, Greece, and Monaco – all have different property laws and attitudes towards money laundering; I will have to get our legal bods to look into those. Certainly they will all want hard evidence in order to co-operate.’
‘Tracing Fleming’s movements is a different problem. Martinique is a French colony and the French are very prickly about outside interference, especially from we Brits. Fortunately, I get on well with my counterpart in the French Gendarmerie; hopefully he will know someone in Martinique. If Fleming moves on in the Caribbean, things may become even more difficult. Caribbean politics are difficult thanks to our colonial ancestors.’
‘How difficult?’ Aitcheson asked.
‘Bearing in mind that they are now mostly independent states and populated by the descendants of slaves, the leftover resentment towards the former colonial powers makes them very prickly. Add to this the fact that most are young developing democracies, which insist on long drawn out bureaucratic procedures, and you begin to see what we are up against. And that is to say nothing of corruption. If this man Fleming has the right contacts and is willing to spend money, he could disappear without trace in some banana republic.
‘That’s the good news; others won’t co-operate at all. Countries like Cuba and Haiti won’t give us the time of day. If Fleming manages to reach one of those islands, we have very little hope of getting him back. If he gets to the mainland of South America, the picture is even bleaker.’
‘Have we any idea where he is likely to go from Martinique?’ asked Aitcheson.
Bill Parlour replied, ‘His money seems to be in a bank on the Cayman Islands, and he has property in Jamaica. But with Silver on his tail, he’s hardly likely to go to where he’s known to have contacts. Bearing in mind that he’s English, it’s possible that he will head for an English-speaking country.’
Brookes interrupted, ‘What about the Cayman banks, Bill? Won’t they co-operate?’
Parlour shook his head. ‘Even though the Caymans are still British, international banking laws are strict on customer confidentiality. It won’t be easy getting anything from them.’
‘Difficult maybe,’ Brookes insisted, ‘but surely not impossible. If we provide evidence that his money is the proceeds of crime, there must be some legislation that requires their co-operation.’
Parlour still looked sceptical. ‘I’ll get a legal opinion and get back to you.’
Aitcheson added, ‘I think John’s right, Bill. I’m sure there is some statute that can help us here.’
Parlour nodded. ‘I’ll look into it, sir.’
Brookes turned to Hinds. ‘Fleming is obviously en-route to somewhere; how will we trace him onwards from Martinique?’
She nodded. ‘That depends how he travels. If he used an airline, we can trace him from the passenger lists provided he used a name we know, or by the more laborious route of scanning airport security videos if we only have a photograph. But there are hundreds of boats and ferries that trade between Martinique and the other Caribbean islands. If he chooses that route, he will be di
fficult to follow; he doesn’t seem to be short of cash, and money talks, especially in the smuggling world.’
The detectives sat deep in thought for a while.
Then Aitcheson said, ‘We are obviously going to need the help of the French police; who do we know that might be sympathetic, Sally?’
‘As l have said, sir, I get on well with my opposite number in the Gendarmerie; hopefully he will come up with someone in Martinique.’
‘What about at this end; how’s your French, John?’
‘Not good, sir. But I discovered this morning that a young DS who’s just joined the team, Jacqui Rose, is fluent.’
‘OK, you must take her with you.’ Turning to Hinds he said, ‘Sally, see what you can find out and make the travel arrangements; I’m sure you will accompany Mr Brookes and his DS.’
She nodded, ‘Yes, sir.’
Aitcheson then addressed Collins and Parlour; ‘It goes without saying that you both continue to give John your full support.’ Then back to Brookes, ‘Keep me briefed on progress and if there’s anything you need that you can’t get, come back to me. Be careful what you release to the press on this or they will blow it up and we’ll have everyone running for cover. I want a result on this one and sooner rather than later. Thank you all.’
*
Chapter 12 – On Martinique
‘You cannot choose your battlefield,
The gods do that for you
But you can plant a standard
Where a standard never flew.’
Nathalia Crane. The Colours
When Brookes arrived back at the incident room, Short greeted him with a sheepish grin.
‘Sorry about this morning, boss, I forgot to set the alarm.’
Brookes put on a frown. ‘You’re lucky, Derek; my old boss would have fined you a bottle of whiskey.’ His frown turned into a grin. ‘Forget it, man, we’re all human.’
Short looked relieved. ‘How did the meeting go?’
‘OK; Aitcheson approved my plan to go after Fleming. In the meantime, Paul Moore stays as liaison officer. I want you to put the murder docket together while I’m away; make sure it’s watertight. I may need a copy to get Fleming extradited from wherever it is he’s running to. And I want you to keep after Silver and his gang; even if they weren’t actually complicit in the murder, they’re the cause of it.’