by Karl Holton
Urna nodded in agreement. “We have an opportunity with this meeting later. The money that Moraru has taken from the Moldovan banks is significant and we know he needs someone help to secure it. Jasper thinks that Hanson is trying to work with Moraru. We must stop him.”
“If we kill Hanson that will be the end of it,” Lomax stated. “We know where he is in London now … why don’t we just get on with it. We can make it part of Raske’s jobs.”
“Agreed,” said Urna, sitting back in his chair. “There’s something else … about our meeting with Moraru today. I’ve already spoken to him and there’s something that he wants.”
“Really, what’s that?”
“I don’t know yet but he told me that it will help us secure the deal with him.”
Chapter 17
Day 9
Wicklow Street, London
6.36 a.m.
Benedict took his finger off the button on the electric coffee grinder and the flat became familiarly silent. This simple but sudden change in sound was a mental signal meaning that ‘all the devils are here’. He was reminded of that moment when he found his father. Dad … Dad. The laconic expression had felt worthless as he recounted the seconds after finding his father dead on the floor of the kitchen.
He was a boy of eleven when it happened. For two years it was officially recorded as suicide, only to be subsequently changed to an accident. His father had been cleaning a gun he had in the house from his time in the army. He remembered the tall female social worker who visited him at his foster home and told him.
The fact his father’s death was recorded incorrectly had initially poisoned his young mind. But this had only lasted a year, before it absorbed him, making him fixate on a question; why had they got it so wrong? He eventually discovered that it was because of a poor initial assessment of the scene and the evidence, including his father’s wounds.
When he’d left school and gone to Cambridge to study philosophy his aim was to look for truth. As he matured during those years certain things had changed, but that search had never left him.
He tipped the ground coffee into the cafetiere and filled it with boiling water. He flicked through some updates on his phone while waiting for it to brew. Those first intense fumes of the day filled his nose.
As he started to pour into his cup, the front doorbell rang.
He looked at his watch as he got to and opened the door. “Morning, Wallace.” He turned and started walking back towards the kitchen still looking at his phone.
Wallace stood at the door for a moment, realising he wasn’t going to invite her into the flat. “You do know it is considered polite to ask people if they want to come in?”
He looked over his shoulder but kept moving. “It’s my way of keeping out vampires … or witches.”
She rolled her eyes and followed him into the kitchen where he’d pulled a cup out of the cupboard, placed it in front of her and poured coffee. “Thanks.”
He finished his drink, refilled it and picked up the cup.
She looked at him. “You knew I was coming here, didn’t you?”
He took a deep breath filled with coffee. “Did you want to catch me without clothes on?”
“Sorry?” she retorted.
“Yes, of course … you’re a detective aren’t you,” he said, before laughing at her.
She shook her head at him. How can he be so annoying in so few words? “You’ve seen some of the emails already. You know what’s happened.”
He continued laughing. “I know something has happened in Essex and we’ve got to go there.”
She offered him a snide smile. “You’re a cock.”
He poured them both another drink then looked down at her feet. “Now they’re sensible shoes. Who are we chasing today?”
Her eyebrows raised up. “I call these my ‘nut squashers’ … would you like me to show you how they get their name?”
He stepped back and showed her the palms of his hands. He stared at her and shook his head. “Why are you a copper, Wallace?”
She wondered if the question was from a fellow officer or a philosophy student. “I like to get answers.”
“Don’t tell me … there’s an answer to everything?”
She shrugged, noticing but ignoring the dismissive tone of his voice. “I think so.”
He sipped his drink, locking eyes on her. “Men will believe what they want to be true.”
His gaze was briefly uncomfortable before it became obvious he was analysing her. This was an example of why he came with a warning when he interviewed people; he can’t help himself. She turned away and looked around the kitchen. It was much cleaner than she expected it to be but she wasn’t sure why she expected anything else. “Do you ever eat?”
He nodded. “On the odd occasion; normally when I’m hungry.”
She felt like saying ‘oh fuck off then’ but she noticed a small print picture on the wall. It looked like an old Japanese print. I’ve seen this before. She walked up to it.
“Hokusai; the Great Wave … with Mount Fuji in the background,” he said.
She turned to him. “Don’t you have a thing about Japan?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She sipped her coffee. “Watkins told me you do Judo or something.”
“You spoke to Watkins about me?”
“Of course I did. If I’m going to spend any more time with you I insisted on knowing more about you. Watkins was more than happy to talk about the old days when you both worked together. We concluded that you are indeed a prick.”
Benedict took a deep breath. “What else did he say?”
“He told me that your dad taught you Judo from a young age and that you were good.” She noticed his face change and wished she hadn’t mentioned his father. Watkins had told her about the accident.
He sipped his coffee.
Involuntarily her eyes moved towards his chest. Everyone in the police knew that Benedict was the guy who’d had skin taken off him by the ‘Rotherhithe Artist’ three years ago. She took refuge in the Hokusai print again. “Seriously though, he rates you and I don’t think he wants you doing what you’re doing with these other guys. What are they? MI5 or something? He thinks it’s a waste of your talent. He believes you’re a murder detective and you shouldn’t fight it.”
Benedict’s mouth went up in the corner. “Watkins has other motives.”
She turned back to him. “Maybe he does … but I like him.”
He drank the remnants in his cup. “Now I’m worried about you.”
“Not like that, dickhead. He cares. Beyond all that thunder I get the feeling he really wants to do some good. The way he spoke about you … it’s obvious he thinks you’re the same.”
He coughed out a laugh thinking about his old boss. During all their cases they’d had the time to analyse each other a lot. He’d compared their beliefs and philosophy many times. “I’m not like Watkins.”
She turned back to the Hokusai. “Certainly not on the outside,” she whispered.
Chapter 18
Day 9
HM Treasury, Horse Guards Road, London
8.03 a.m.
Hanson looked at Pip sitting beside him in the huge meeting room. She exuded confidence. This is her type of meeting, he thought.
He’d been called late last night and asked to come to a meeting at the Treasury office. The person calling him politely suggested that Pip should come along which he knew was a demand. Hanson had insisted on knowing who they were meeting, but he knew better than to ask for the subject.
The man who’d shown them to the room put their drinks down in front of them and then left.
“I’m not sure why they wanted you to come along, Pip.”
Pip glanced around the room. “They had to inject some class into the meeting.”
The two were laughing as the meeting room doors flew open. Two men and one woman marched into the room. The man leading the group walked straight up to Hanson
and held out his hand. “Mr Hanson, thank you for coming here at such short notice. I’m Simon Devries, the Director General of Financial Services.”
They shook hands.
Hanson grimaced as a sharp pain drove through his back. He felt himself close his eyes for a few seconds before it all subsided. Pip was looking at him as his eyes reopened.
Devries continued talking as everyone sat down. “Can I introduce Peter Turney, who is …” he paused, looking at Turney, clearly unaware of his official title. “Well he looks after Hedge Funds at the Financial Conduct Authority and Melissa Conte who’s from the Bank of England.”
Pip noticed both Turney and Conte’s intense embarrassment at Devries lack of knowledge. She shook her head. “I believe you both work in Supervision. Mr Turney you’re the Director of Supervision for Investment, Wholesale and Specialist at the FCA. Miss Conte, I believe you’re with the Prudential Regulation Authority and an Executive Director of Supervision … if I’m correct.”
They both smiled at her.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Devries. “They told me your name, Mrs —”
“Miss …” she said. “Why don’t you call me, Pip. It will keep things easy for you.”
“Excellent, yes, let’s,” he said, as Turney placed a file on the table and passed Devries a piece of paper. “Now, Mr Hanson, Her Majesty’s Government have a situation and we’ve been told that you’re the best person to help us.”
Hanson remained still in his seat. “Anything for queen and country.”
“Yes, of course.” Devries said, putting on his glasses and looking at the piece of paper. “I believe you know a Mr Benedict.”
“I do.”
“Well it seems that he’s stumbled upon something; some money.”
Hanson stayed silent.
“He’s assisting the police with an investigation into a murder. He’s made a connection with what appears to be some dubious money that’s been invested in a hedge fund here in London,” said Devries, looking at Hanson over his glasses.
Hanson and Pip looked at each other and then returned to Devries.
Devries took his glasses off and pointed them at Hanson. “Can you get it for us?”
Hanson held his laugh, noticing Turney trying to interject. “Sorry?”
“We think this money should be handed over to us – the UK government,” Devries said.
Turney placed a hand on his file. “Excuse me, DG, may I explain?”
Devries looked at him. “Yes, do. But I want it clear that this money should come to us.”
Hanson noticed that one of Pip’s bright red lips was inside her mouth.
Turney placed his elbows on the table and stretched both hands towards Hanson. “What the DG is trying to say is that we believe this money has been laundered. If this is the case then we’d like your assistance to seize it.”
Hanson glanced at Pip, who was still biting her lip. “Do you know with certainty that these funds are from a criminal source?”
Turney raised a finger. “Well not exactly; you see —”
Pip ignited. “Hold on. You’ve asked us to come here this morning and don’t know if you have a good reason. That sounds a bit like you’re asking us to steal the money back for you.”
Hanson felt himself smile at the intensity of her fury.
Turney couldn’t stop his face changing colour. “The Fraud Squad has done an excellent job working on this around the clock. We have a huge amount of information, but we believe you might be able … to help us go further. MI5 became aware of this event and have told us that you’re very well informed in these matters.”
I’m going to kill Dawson for this, thought Hanson.
“We just need a little help to find the money, Mr Hanson,” Devries said. “Of course, if this ends up as a successful project then —”
Hanson glared at him. “With due respect, Mr Devries, please stop talking. There’s nothing that you can give me that’s going to convince me to help you. If I think this is the right thing to do, I’ll let you know if we’ll assist you and I’ll tell you what it’ll cost.”
Devries appeared to have a vocal blockage. Turney placed his head in his right hand.
Pip looked at Conte. “What exactly makes you think we should help?”
Conte sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “We have a hedge fund here in London that’s sent about 250 million dollars back to some secret investor. It’s disappeared down a wormhole of complex organisational structures and foreign banks that are refusing to tell us anything. There’s a very good chance this originated from criminal activities because the real investor is hidden. The idea it was placed illicitly inside this fund as seed money which ballooned to this extraordinary figure means we must act. The guy who originally sourced the money for the hedge fund has had his head blown off at a family barbeque in Hampstead. Your man Benedict spotted the connection and scared the shit out of these hedge fund partners so much they have told us everything they know … which is, sadly, not a lot. These funds could be used for all manner of future criminal activities, including the support of significant levels of terrorism. We’d like to work together and discover where this money has gone and what we can do about it.” She gave the two men beside her a glance before turning back. “I’m sure you appreciate that as the UK government and the bodies we represent, we could not be seen to do anything … inappropriate. We understand from MI5 that you and your team could be trusted and will work with … discretion.”
Hanson smiled at Conte and then turned to Pip, whose smile was broad. “What do you think?”
Pip licked her lips. “I like Melissa; I like her a lot.”
Chapter 19
Day 9
Towerfield Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex
9.40 a.m.
Wallace stepped forward shaking her head. “If you’ve got a problem with this then go and speak to your chief constable. Detective Superintendent Watkins has spoken to him. The decision has been made. He’ll explain it to you.”
“No way,” DI Tate stated, shaking a finger. “This happened in Essex and it’s an Essex gang. We know this firm and what they are involved in. I’ve got a DCI from Serious Organised Crime coming here who’s going to take over and lead the investigation. We’re going to be looking after it.”
She waved him away. “I know Watkins has spoken to your chief constable. Just make the call.”
Tate walked away from her, mumbling expletives as he started tapping on his mobile.
She looked around to see where Benedict had gone to; she saw him as he wandered out of the Horne gang’s office. He was talking to the forensics team members. They were pointing at the building across the road. She watched as he left them and stood beside the two bodies lying in front of the office.
As she walked towards him, he crouched down beside the body with the most intact head, lying face up on the ground. The clean bullet hole through the forehead hid the wide open wound at the back.
Benedict looked up at her when she arrived. “There’s something going on here, Wallace. We need these bodies to go to Grant right now once forensics have finished. I’d like her to go over them.”
“Any particular reason why?”
He paused. “I trust her to get it right.” He turned and looked at the large white cloth lying over the wide area where the head of the other body was spread. “Can you see what happened here?”
Her eyes caught the dried blood creeping beyond the white cloth on the floor. “It’s not really my type of crime scene.”
“Ok, why don’t you tell me about what was stolen?”
She looked inside the office, to see the Essex pathologist checking the head wound on one of the bodies. “We haven’t even confirmed a robbery has happened here.”
“Come on, Wallace,” he said. “Tell me what you think you see. What do you think was stolen from here?”
“Well if this is the Billy Horne we’ve heard about from Tate then this seems like an unlikely hiding pl
ace for a major drug stash. It’s not very secure and the construction of this building is low grade with poor security measures … it’s unlikely to be used for any long-term hide, but it could be a stopover.” She paused as she considered what she was saying. “Apart from the bullet holes, the building inside looks intact, so it doesn’t look like they needed to get inside when they did this. But every bit of CCTV has been broken on the estate, so whoever did it was organised and needed to cover their tracks. If I were guessing … it’d be a van that was nicked from outside.”
Benedict smiled at her. “You’re very good when you warm up.”
Tate had walked up behind him. “It’s a long time since anyone said that to her.”
Benedict turned to Tate, leaned into him and appeared to whisper in his ear; Tate’s eyes widened in shock as he sucked in a deep breath. Wallace thought Tate was about to rest his head on Benedict’s shoulder, but as he turned back to her Tate scuttled away.
Wallace looked at him, wondering what he could have said.
“Now, where were you?” said Benedict, thinking. “Right, why don’t you have a go at the whole scene?”
“It looks like the gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”
He sniffed out a laugh. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. Have you noticed something about each of these bodies … what do none of them seem to have near them?”
She shook her head. “No, what?”
“Guns,” he said. “None of them have a gun … so it wasn’t much of a gunfight. In fact, look across the street at that building.”
She looked.
“What don’t you see?”
Wallace stared and then the epiphany hit her. “No bullet holes … if these guys were shooting, where are the bullet holes?”
“Exactly … there was no gunfight,” he said. “These guys were taken by surprise and couldn’t even get to their guns. They had a bunch of them in a cupboard inside, but it looks like the sheer level of firepower stopped them getting to it.”