by Karl Holton
He looked around the office and all seemed normal. He stepped over to the door and walked out onto the forecourt. The van on his right had the Parker Shipping Company livery. She’d told him that this was the one they would use to pick up the delivery at City Airport.
His excitement was growing; he felt his heart rate rising and he took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. A memory of his father’s last words about Hanson shot through his mind. Nothing can stop you if you wish to succeed. Take nothing for granted. He is clever … very clever; you need to consider everything. With this man you must be ruthless.
Celso’s father was considered one of the great art thieves during the seventies and eighties. He’s always wanted to steal from Hanson but he’d never been able to make it happen. Today was the day he would achieve this and eclipse his father’s career.
In the distance, he heard a car stopping and then two doors opening and then closing. He reached into his pocket and took out the identification.
Two men walked through the large open gate at the front of the forecourt and he heard them question each other about him.
One of the men kept walking towards him. “Alright, who are you?”
“Can you tell me who you are?” he said, holding up his identification. “My name is Paul Downs from MI5.”
The man took the MI5 identification and looked at it. “I’m John. This is Terry. We’re delivery drivers for —”
“You need to show me identification, gentlemen. You’re not going anywhere until I see them.”
Terry moved back towards the gate, lighting a cigarette.
John handed him back his identification. “Why? What’s goin’ on?”
“Please just show me the identification documents. This pick-up at City Airport and delivery today is happening with MI5 security clearance. We’re going to watch this all the way. So I need to see your identification to allow you to be the drivers of this truck.”
John shook his head. “Have you spoken to Brenda in the office? She’ll tell you who we are.”
Celso shook his head. “No; there’s no one in there.”
“What? At this time, no way; she’s always here by now,” he said, walking past Celso and towards the door.
Celso glanced at Terry, who was drawing in a deep lung full of cigarette smoke near the gate. He stepped directly behind John into the building and then into the doorway of the office. His hand went into his jacket and silently pulled out the weapon.
“Where is she? She’s always ‘ere, never fail,” John said, facing the desk. He reached into his pocket for his mobile. “Let me call her.” He searched his phone and called the contact. As he raised the phone to his left ear, John started to whistle.
Seconds later, the mobile sitting on the desk rang and John started to turn round. He felt nothing as the bullet passed through his right ear and kept going. By the time it smashed through his mobile he was already dead.
Celso reached down and silenced Brenda’s phone which continued ringing. He then dragged John’s body behind the desk. He wasn’t concerned about fully hiding the body.
He stepped back to the door outside and looked at Terry. “Terry, can you come here? We have Brenda on the phone.”
Terry started walking towards him, flicking the cigarette out of his hand. “I thought I just heard Brenda’s phone ring. Did you hear it?”
“No, what did it sound like?” Celso said.
“John, did you just hear Brenda’s mobile?” Terry asked, as he stepped through the doors. He was startled as he saw John’s feet beside the desk. “What’s goin’ —”
The bullet that hit Terry from behind went through his neck.
Celso placed the body with the others after taking the official shipping company suit off the body of Terry. John was too small compared to him.
Brenda had shown him all the necessary paperwork, which he now had under his arm. He turned to leave the office, before one final look at the scene within as some words came to mind. Ruthless, father … Ruthless.
Chapter 26
Day 10
The Grange Hotel, Cooper’s Row, London
8.39 a.m.
The knock on the door of the Royal Suite didn’t worry Tommy Gibbs. He knew that the police would catch up with him at some point; it was just a matter of time. Anyway, he was ready for them.
He’d arranged his alibi inside the hotel. After leaving Johnnie yesterday, he’d come to the hotel here in the city, checked in and then left immediately by a rear entrance. He had a friend pretend to be him at an evening dinner meeting with six members of the gang who all stayed at the hotel.
After the raid on the Horne gang in Southend, he was hidden in a van and driven into the city. They swapped over in the hotel bar toilet, where the men had been drinking until he returned at one a.m. this morning. Then they spent an hour playing virtual golf on the machine in the hotel, making sure they were loud and ordered lots of drinks.
Now, he hoped his alibi would be complete when he opened the door to the guy delivering his full English breakfast to the room.
Tommy made sure his robe was closed and opened the door.
“Morning, Mr Gibbs. Room service,” said the young man at the door. “I have your breakfast, sir.”
Tommy smiled at him as he pushed in the cart which he placed close to the coffee table in the room. “That’s fine, son. No need to show me what to do with this; I’ve got it covered,” he said, tapping his stomach. He held out a ten-pound note to the young man.
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said, smiling as he left the room.
Tommy looked at the inviting breakfast and remembered his wife telling him never to touch a full English breakfast ever again. He picked up a piece of toast and dipped it in the yoke of the fried egg, devouring it as he walked over to the wide-open window.
He scanned the London morning, taking in the view of the Tower of London towards Tower Bridge. When he saw London like this, Tommy felt invigorated. He turned back to the breakfast, picked up a sausage and dipped it in the egg, before coming back to the window.
In his robe pocket his mobile vibrated. He took out the phone, which was telling him it was a message from Lomax. He opened it. ‘Must meet today. Around 5pm. Where will you be?’
Tommy considered the message, looking out into the distance across London. He hadn’t yet decided whether he should leave the hotel. But given this meeting, he decided he would need to go. He didn’t want to bring Lomax here or even let him know this was where he’d arranged his alibi. I don’t trust that fucker, he thought as he lifted the sausage to his mouth and bit half off, chewing and swallowing it quickly.
He had always had a weird relationship with his ‘gut feel’. Whenever he had sensed something as odd he generally trusted himself; right now he felt something was not right.
Tommy swallowed the rest of the sausage and licked his fingers. He held the mobile and flicked through his contacts, to one named ‘Dele Ali’, after the Tottenham footballer. He pressed ‘call’ and it was answered after one ring. “Hi Ali, it’s Tommy.”
Alejandro Daza was a drug smuggler based in Spain. Tommy had known him for twenty-five years and although they were in the same business they’d never done much business together. Ali was in a different league to Tommy. “Allo, Tommy, you supporting the Spurs now?”
“Of course not, they’re shit; the ‘Hammers’ are the only real London team. How many times do I need to tell you,” said Tommy, forcing out a laugh.
Ali noticed the laugh. “You ok, Tommy?”
“Yeah, I’m good mate. How’s the family?”
“All good,” Ali said. “My son, Jorge, is going to university in Madrid soon.”
“Fantastic news.”
Ali knew Tommy well. They’d spent nearly two years together in and around Marbella when they were young and single. He knew when something wasn’t right. “Come on, Tommy, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I need to ask you a question,” he said. “I think
I’ve got myself in a situation.”
“Ok, ask me my friend.”
“There’s a guy who I’m doing some business with and I’m wondering if you’ve heard of him. I think he represents someone big, but I’ve got no idea who it is. You might know, but he never says anything about them to me,” Tommy said. “But the guy I’m dealing with is a proper knob.”
Ali laughed. Tommy had taught Ali every version of English swear words, especially the ones he liked using. “What ‘is name?”
“Well I know him as Lomax,” said Tommy.
There was no response.
Tommy waited for a moment. “Ali, did you hear me?”
“Yeah … I heard you,” Ali said. “How did you meet this guy?”
“We started doing some business; small scale first and then he gave me an idea which we’ve just worked on.”
“How … ‘Qué diferente’, Tommy?”
Tommy knew Ali’s English wasn’t perfect, but between them they seemed to be able to work it out. “You mean different … yeah it’s different; not what I’d normally do.”
Ali didn’t need to ask his friend what that might mean. “You need to ge’ out of it, Tommy … right now.”
Tommy moved over to the breakfast cart and sat down on the large russet sofa. “What do you mean?”
“Tell the guy you want nothing to do with him. Just say you wan’ out and forget everything you know about ‘im,” said Ali.
Tommy felt himself gulp. “It’s not that easy.”
“You need to make it easy, my friend. This guy is … ‘el problema’,” Ali said.
“Who is he?”
Ali coughed, obviously nervous. “Have you ever heard the name … Jasper?”
Tommy eyebrows contorted. “No … who is he?”
“‘Es el contrabandista más grande del mundo’ … bad guy, my friend.”
“Smuggler … he’s a big-time smuggler?” Tommy said, reaching for the cafetiere and pouring a coffee. “What does he smuggle?”
“‘Cualquier cosa’” Ali replied.
Tommy laughed. “What do you mean ‘anything’?”
“Anyt’ing, drugs, weapons, money, people,” Ali said. “You need to end it.”
Tommy sipped the coffee, struggling to enjoy the deep strong taste the way he normally did. “How do you know this Lomax works for him?”
“Because he has a Lomax in every country, for every business,” Ali said. “His man is always called Lomax. This man is always … ‘peligroso’.”
Tommy knew that word because Ali used it about some of his girlfriends when he lived in Spain. The word was ‘dangerous’.
“‘Is man here in España is called ‘BajoMax’; he is bad guy … very bad guy.”
“I may not be able to get out of this, Ali,” Tommy said. “What should I do?’”
“‘Correr’, my friend,” Ali said.
Tommy knew this word. Ali would shout it when they tried to avoid big fights in the clubs of Marbella and Puerto Banus. He’d told him to ‘run’.
Chapter 27
Day 10
New Scotland Yard, Victoria, London
10.36 a.m.
“Come in,” shouted Watkins.
Detective Sergeant Frank Paulsen opened the door, stepped into the room and stood with his hands behind his back. “Morning, sir.”
“Alright, Paulsen?” he said, writing in his notebook.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
DS Paulsen worked in the Homicide team in the Met. He’d originally joined the Major Investigation Team (MIT) as a Detective Constable seven years ago, working with Danny Benedict.
“I believe you were working with our old friend Benedict last week,” said Watkins, still writing.
“Yes, sir.”
Watkins put down his pen and looked up. “Did it all go ok?”
Paulsen looked at Watkins, nodding. “Eventually; once we got enough of Benedict’s time it all got sorted out.”
“You like him?”
Paulsen shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I like him but we get on ok, sir. To be honest, I think I probably just annoy him a lot less than other people,” he said, looking downwards. “He’s a great detective … and we can all learn from him. You just have to put up with his attitude.”
Watkins smiled. Not many people would have been so cordial when referring to Benedict, he thought. “What are you working on at the moment?”
“The boss has got me looking at the body found by the fire brigade in that house in East Ham; the one that was burnt down yesterday at about three thirty p.m.,” Paulsen said. “They don’t think his death was down to the fire.”
Watkins' eyes tightened. “Have forensics been on it?”
“Yes, sir … no report as yet.”
“What have they said to you?”
“The Fire Brigade has said that the body position was all wrong if he’d been overwhelmed by a normal house fire. Forensics said they agreed it looked wrong. The body is with the pathologist.”
“When do you think they’ll report to you?”
“I’m expecting something soon. I was going to give them a call straight after this meeting, sir.”
Watkins nodded. “Do you know who it is?”
“Yes, he’s been identified as a John Davidson,” Paulsen said. “He works for HM Customs & Excise.”
Watkins picked up his pen and tapped it on the desk. “Have you found anything suspicious?”
“About what, sir?”
“Him or anything related to him?”
“No, nothing as yet,” said Paulsen. “I mean it could just be a simple accidental death which caused a fire in the house.”
“Ok, well keep on it,” said Watkins, sighing. “Look, I’m sorry about this but I want you to help me with something. Benedict is looking at something and at the moment he has a DI Wallace from the Flying Squad working with him. I want you to get involved in what they’re looking at. It’s big and I’m worried they don’t have enough murder team involvement. Plus, I know Benedict will be happy to see your face.”
Paulsen scratched his head. “I know DI Wallace. You’ll need to speak to the boss for me, sir.”
“Of course, don’t worry about him. I’ll sort that out,” said Watkins, placing his large hand on his desk. “You need to tell me if anything odd happens. I know he’s a friend but I need to know what happens. If I’m going to protect Benedict I need to know anything odd. Understand?”
Paulsen looked at Watkins and smiled. Many years ago, Benedict had said, if all else fails, trust Watkins. Paulsen sensed this was one of those moments. “Of course, sir; I’ll let you know if I see anything.”
“Good man,” Watkins said. “We’re going to attend a team meeting this afternoon at Holborn. Is that ok?”
“Sure,” Paulsen said.
“Right, I’ll let Wallace know and —”
The phone on Watkins’ desk rang. He pressed the answer button and held up a finger to stop Paulsen leaving. “DS Watkins.”
“Hello, DS Watkins, it’s the pathologist assistant, Mr Crabtree. Sorry about this but do you have Paulsen with you?”
Watkins looked at Paulsen. It was unusual for the pathologist office to search out a detective who was in a meeting with a detective superintendent. Watkins pressed the speaker button on his phone. “Yes, he’s here.”
Paulsen stepped towards the phone. “Hello, Mr Crabtree. Do you have some news about the body?”
“Yes, very much so. I’m afraid you have a murder victim.”
Paulsen and Watkins stared at each other.
“Are you sure, Mr Crabtree?” asked Paulsen.
“Well if the deceased was capable of stabbing himself in the back of the neck, slicing under his C3 cervical vertebra and shattering his hyoid bone,” Crabtree said, the men noticing the brief laugh. “Then it may not be murder.”
Chapter 28
Day 10
Holborn Police Station, London
12.20 p.m.
/> Benedict walked into the small office and leaned against a waist-high cupboard in the corner, looking up at the ceiling. Wallace’s office was far too small, he thought. They both knew they needed to do a proper catch-up.
He touched his beard. “From your email it seems you and the team are making progress.”
Wallace finished the email she was typing. She pressed ‘send’ and looked up at him. “Alright, tell me.”
He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“You’ve been brooding about something since we left Watkins’ office together yesterday. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind,” she said, holding out her hands. “I mean if I bug the shit out of you and you cannot work with me then just say it.”
He laughed. “No. Don’t worry, I know that’s what I’m like … that’s not what you’re like.”
Any compliment from Benedict made her roll her eyes and search for the sarcasm.
He sighed deeply. “There’s a couple of things you need to know. Well actually that’s not right … there’s a couple of things I want to tell you.”
She sat back in her chair. “Ok, what are they?”
He looked at her. “Don’t you want to know why I want to tell you?”
She shook her head. Typical, she thought. “Until I know what these things are, it’s difficult to know what I might want to ask you about them.”
“Sorry, yes … stop talking shit,” he said, talking to himself.
She smiled at him.
“I saved a woman named Alice Hanson a few days ago when I went into that house in Fulham. She’d been kidnapped by an assassin on behalf of the Ukrainian Bratva,” he said, rubbing his hand. “I know you know about the connection with your Hatton Garden investigation but how much do you know about what happened in that house?”
She could see he was struggling to explain whatever it was that he wanted to say to her. By now she knew that this created a bizarre mental state for Benedict; it somehow muddled the cerebral clarity he craved. “Well I know that there were two dead people in the house that you walked out of alive with the woman you saved … and I know that it has something to do with your new MI5 friends. But beyond that …”