by Iain Cameron
‘I take it you’re thinking ahead as to how we present this case to the CPS, is prosecuting them in the public interest?’
She nodded. ‘They might say it’s only bottles of wine. Solving this will only benefit the rich.’
‘If the fraudsters were selling a couple of bottles a month I would say no, but this is a big operation. Harvey did some calculations based on the ledgers he saw inside the place and reckons they’re netting between five to six million a year, and they’ve been at it for four, maybe five years.’
‘If it’s that big an operation, how come no one noticed anything until Miller came along?’
‘Apparently, rich people don’t always drink it.’
‘What? They buy the stuff to show it off?’
He nodded.
‘Oh to be so rich.’
‘Finding out who’s behind it is proving a more difficult question. We know the château that supplies the wine for the fakes is owned by Daniel Perry–’
‘His involvement worries me, and probably explains why the operation has been so successful. He’s a dangerous guy who isn’t frightened of anyone. Officers I know at the Met believe there’s a lot of bodies out there that we don’t know about but they won’t investigate him.’
‘As I said, Perry owns the vineyard, and don’t forget Chris Fletcher used to work there.’
‘Therefore, you think his death is connected with the fraudsters?’
‘Could be. Also, Harvey Miller was attacked by a couple of guys in France and he thinks one of them was Jim Bennett–’
‘The guy running the parcel business?’
‘Yep, the other guy is as yet unknown. Also, the barman on the ferry said he saw two men following Chris out the bar not long before he disappeared.’
‘Ok, you’ve given me a couple of good points I can try and mollify the ACC with. What about the technicians working on the bottles and labels? What do we know about them?’
‘Nothing. It’s not the sort of skill they’re likely to advertise for in the Situations Vacant page in The Argus.’
‘They might be getting them from prison, ex-cons skilled in fraud and forging.’
‘I counted five stools in the photograph of the workbench inside the laboratory, and if I asked every detective in the building to name a forger, I bet they couldn’t come up with more than two.’
‘There’s not many of them around that’s for sure. In which case, they must be using people-traffickers to give them five young things and train them up.’
‘Could be.’
Edwards’s face lit up for the first time and she added the point to her notes. ‘The ACC will buy it. He gave a speech a few weeks ago when he said people-trafficking was one of the biggest challenges facing regional police forces.’ She cast her eyes over her short list. ‘I need something else. How are you going to move this forward?’
‘We’ll dig into PFB Parcels, research Jim Bennett and talk some more to Daniel Perry.’
‘Remember my previous comment about Perry.’
‘I will. I’ll tread softly, softly.’
‘Good. Any more?’
‘Harvey’s given us the name of a wine dealer he believes is selling the fakes. I’m not clear on my own mind what I’ll do about Fraser Brook, but it’s certainly another lead.’
‘It’s not much but it should be enough to keep the ACC if not happy, at least off our backs. Finding an empty warehouse was intended to bring us to an abrupt halt and it has. However, I have every confidence you’ll find a way to track them down.’
**
Henderson returned to his office. He would gather the team together soon to try and find a way to gee them up after the disappointment of the raid, but for the moment, he needed some time on his own and give some thought to where they were heading. He had given Edwards some action points of what he intended to do next, but he wasn’t sure they would lead him to the wine fakers. He needed something else.
He picked up the phone.
‘Morning Harvey, Detective Inspector Henderson.’
‘Ah, good morning Inspector. How are you this fine morning?’
‘I would feel a whole lot better if the men behind the wine-faking operation were behind bars.’
‘Ah, it was not be. Close but no cigar, as my old editor used to say.’
‘Have you given up on your investigation?’
‘No. I still have a few leads I need to shake down. In fact, I’m even more determined than ever to see this through after last night.’
He went on to explain his abduction and chase across Wild Park, a 140-acre nature reserve on the outskirts of Brighton.
‘Did you report it?’
‘What for? I assume nobody saw me being bundled into the car and it would be my word against them. A decent lawyer could drive a truck through that sort of evidence.’
‘You’re sure it was Jim Bennett?’
‘Yeah, and his son.’
‘Nevertheless, I’ll send someone over to your hotel to take a statement. At the very least, it will give me a reason to re-interview Jim Bennett and have some fun picking holes in his alibi.’
‘I’d like to be there, I’d be interested to see if I made a mess of his face; I hope I did anyway.’
‘I’m surprised to hear you want to continue; don’t you think you’ve done enough?’
‘We haven’t caught anybody yet.’
‘I’m not saying this because we drew a blank in Uckfield and I’m winding up this investigation, because I’m not, but I think it’s becoming too dangerous for you. I mean, you were beaten up in Bordeaux and last night they tried to kill you. It sounds like you were lucky to escape.’
‘Why have they turned violent? What do you think has changed?’
Henderson sighed. ‘I believe they’ve realised we can now see a connection between the vineyard, the Uckfield warehouse and Chris’s murder, and they’ll stop at nothing to protect their interests. Last night just demonstrated they’ve upped the ante.’
‘You could be right. Bennett didn’t bring his knife out to warn me, like he did in Bordeaux. I think he was intending to kill me.’
‘I also keep playing over in my mind the way they upped-sticks after they discovered something was out of place on Friday morning.’
‘I told you before, I took nothing and moved nothing that I was aware of.’
‘What about your burglar?’
‘I didn’t watch him every minute for sure, but he didn’t leave there with a bottle under his arm.’
‘What about something smaller, like money, drugs or guns?’
‘As I say, I didn’t see everything he did but I warned him not to touch anything or take anything before we set off.’
‘Perhaps the temptation was too great.’
‘Maybe.’
‘The point I’m trying to make is this. It took a firm, disciplined approach to realise something was missing and to clear out of Uckfield and start again somewhere else. They’re making so much money I can understand why they would want to carry on, but that level of self-control suggests military training.’
‘I see what you’re getting at. Military to me means guns, violence, a single-minded determination to carry on.’
‘Therefore, it makes it more dangerous for you to be poking your nose in their business.’
‘Thanks for your concern, I mean it, but as you’ve said to me before, I’m a private citizen. You can’t stop me.’
‘You’ve proved yourself to be a dogged investigator and uncovered something we couldn’t, but Harvey, the rules have changed. I think you could be putting your life in danger. Leave it to the police.’
He put the phone down a few minutes later and headed into the Detectives’ Room, pulling the murder team together. ‘Right people,’ Henderson said, addressing them. He started out by explaining Harvey Miller’s abduction and why the American was refusing to return home. He instructed Phil Bentley to take a statement from Miller and with the DI, they would re-intervie
w Jim Bennett.
‘The folks who weren’t on the raid at Uckfield,’ Henderson continued, ‘will now have digested the news, but we have sufficient evidence to believe it was exactly as Harvey Miller’s photographs showed. The rapid evacuation of the laboratory to a place unknown makes me think these people are more professional than we first thought. Sally, you’ve been researching Jim Bennett, what did you find out?’
‘He’s fifty-two comes from East Ham in London and joined the Army at eighteen. He saw service in Northern Ireland and completed one tour in Iraq. Left seven years ago and now works for Daniel Perry’s company, DP Enterprises.’
‘What as?’
‘Managing Director – Logistics. I think it means he’s the boss of PFB Parcels.’
‘Anything else?’
‘His son Kenny,’ Graham said, ‘is twenty-eight and also works for the parcel company.’
‘What do we know about him?’
‘He has a few minors for dope possession and shop-lifting, but nothing more. He works in the warehouse.’
‘Good work, Sally. According to Harvey, the two people who abducted him last night were the same two that beat him up in Bordeaux. I’m more or less convinced, it was Bennett and his son. They might also be the two men who followed Chris Fletcher out on deck and killed him, but as we all know, it’s just supposition. We don’t have any evidence. Not yet.’
He looked around again for Phil Bentley, not hard to spot in such a small group. ‘Phil, give us the low-down on Perry.’
Bentley sat up from his slouched position. ‘He’s not a difficult man to research. He’s been in the papers a lot over the years and he’s got previous, not to mention a few three-inch thick files at the Met.’
‘Skim over the newspaper stuff as I think we’ve all heard it.’
‘He’s had a few minor scuffles with the law for violence and drugs, and did time when he was eighteen for carving a bloke up, but his big day in court was for the murder of Don McCardle, for which we know he didn’t stand trial. Not so much as a speeding ticket since.’
‘What about the Met?’
‘They’ve been watching him for years hoping he’ll make a mistake. They suspect him of trading in drugs and guns, and beating up anyone who gets in his way.’
‘Do they have an active investigation?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Bentley said. ‘Perry’s lawyers pursued an unsuccessful harassment case against the Met after the McCardle case, and threaten to do so at the slightest provocation. I’m told they keep their distance.’
‘So, people, how do we get a lead on where the wine fakers have moved to?’
‘Follow the vans leaving PFB Parcels?’ Bentley suggested.
‘Not a good idea,’ Walters said. ‘They’re bog-standard delivery vans travelling between the vineyard in France and the Uckfield warehouse, and from there to the restaurants of Café de Paris.’
‘What about the wine dealer, Fraser Brook?’ Sally Graham said. ‘If he’s doing what we think he’s doing, adding fake bottles to valid wine collections, he must be picking the fake bottles up somehow.’
‘Good point,’ Walters said. ‘Mind you, he could be getting a delivery from PFB Parcels or some other distribution service.’
‘So, my suggestion to follow the vans isn’t such a stupid idea after all,’ Bentley said.
‘I didn’t say it was stupid; it might turn out to be useful if we watch his shop and one of the vans turns up, but I think it would be too public for him. His staff would soon twig what’s going on. In which case, my money’s on him going there himself.’
‘Whichever way we look at this issue, it points to Brook,’ Henderson said, his initial reticence about investigating Brook gone. ‘I want that man under surveillance,’ he said.
‘The next big sale he’s doing is Barcelona in two weeks’ time,’ Walters said, ‘but as the catalogues are published weeks ahead of time, he already knows what he’s got in the auction.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t matter,’ Henderson said. ‘Harvey saw him loading bottles into the back of his van. I think he goes there when fakes are ready. If he received too many, it would mean one auction would be carrying too many fakes.’
‘Phil, I want you and Sally to take on the surveillance job. Brook’s shop is on the King’s Road in Chelsea, so I suggest trying to get some space above one of the shops opposite. It might be a thankless task if all you see is customers going in and out, but if Harvey’s right and he goes to the wine-faking laboratory every week to pick up fakes, you could strike lucky.’
NINETEEN
Harvey Miller walked down King’s Road in Chelsea feeling a touch self-conscious amongst the slim, stylish women carrying the results of their morning shopping binge. If this wasn’t enough emasculation for one morning, there were guys cruising along the road in open-top sports cars that cost more than his apartment back home, looking like male models from a clothing catalogue with their designer shades, three days growth and bouffant hair cuts.
This overabundance of chic didn’t make Miller want to slim down, or give him a sudden desire for a complete makeover, and in fact his dress sense hadn’t changed much since his days at college. However, when he went into a coffee shop, he didn’t order his usual Caffé Mocha and instead opted for an Americano.
The morning rush of yummy mummies with their loud voices and precocious kids had subsided, and he was able to take a seat beside the front window which afforded a good view of Fraser Brook’s Fine Wines across the street. His plan was to stay there in Starbucks for an hour or two, sipping coffee and reading The Times and when he had outstayed his welcome he would move to the posh burger place next door.
Back home, he would avoid ‘designer’ burger places like the plague, but this one had the same view as Starbucks and he could suffer a pretentious burger for one day in his life. After lunch, he would stroll along the road looking in clothes and kitchen shops, gaping at things he didn’t want to buy, before returning to Starbucks for an afternoon caffeine hit until the wine shop closed.
At least, that’s what he had done for the last two days, like some lonely apartment dweller desperate to hear human voices and needing some social interaction, even if it was only with strangers. He sipped his coffee, his face blanching at the bitter taste, already missing the dollop of whipped cream that was the usual accompaniment to his cup of choice.
The last few days could turn out to be a big waste of time if Brook only dealt with the fake wine bottles outside shop hours. He owned a warehouse in Hammersmith where Miller believed he ran his web-based business and stored the valuable collections he bought from the houses of rich individuals. There was nothing to stop Brook turning up there at the dead of night with a delivery of fakes, but countering that argument, Miller had seen the wine dealer pick up bottles at the Uckfield warehouse in the early afternoon, making him think Brook wasn’t all that bothered about being so secretive.
The call he received a few days back from Detective Inspector Henderson about the threat posed by Daniel Perry, and the DI’s belief that the criminals had stepped up a gear, had obviously fallen on deaf ears, as he was here in Chelsea watching Fraser Brook. However, he did give more thought to the way they had abandoned the Uckfield operation at the first sign of trouble. He hadn’t reckoned on dealing with military-trained personnel before, but if this was the case, he would have to be more careful. Not only did many former soldiers know how to access weapons, they knew how to use them.
Back in the day, while still working for the Philly Inquirer, he’d investigated the death in training accidents of two local boys killed at Fort Hood in Texas. He was denied contact with anyone at the base and so he did his usual mooching around bars and steakhouses, looking around for a cooperative face. More than once, he was threatened with a knife and a gun. His car received a couple of bullet holes, and towards the end when he felt nearer the truth, he was kidnapped, beaten and stripped before being left ten miles out of town.
At pres
ent, his view of Fraser Brook’s Fine Wines was obscured by two buses. With a rumble and shake of the glass in the big window, the buses moved away towards their destination. He glanced to the left and right of the shop at the sea of faces walking along King’s Road, and there he saw the dapper figure of Fraser Brook striding purposefully away from his shop.
Miller wasn’t so young he could ‘spring into action,’ as his younger self could do, but he left the coffee house faster than when he went in. Crossing the street and walking quickly, he soon spotted Brook, who then disappeared down a side street. Miller followed but when he turned down the same street, Brook was nowhere to be seen.
He was perplexed. Had Brook turned the corner and started to run, knowing he might have a tail? He didn’t think so as it was a long street, and even if Brook was running, he should still be able to see him. Miller carried on walking and glanced into all the shops and doorways he passed. Up ahead, a man emerged from a doorway, wiping his nose with his hand as if dealing with the aftermath of a sneeze, or having just snorted a line of coke. It was Brook.
Miller increased his pace and closed the gap between them but not so much that a suspicious Brook would spot him. He crossed into Cale Street and outside a row of garages, the wine merchant stopped, causing Miller to duck into a doorway. Rather than stand still and look conspicuous, he whipped out his mobile and leaned against a wall, pretending to answer a call.
Brook didn’t look his way but began rummaging through his pockets for something. A few seconds later he found what he was searching for and with a smile of satisfaction, he unlocked one of the up-and-over doors. Miller waited a few minutes, ambling closer and closer until Brook reversed out his firm’s van, the same one he saw in Uckfield.
When Brook headed back to close the garage door, Miller walked behind the van and in a practised movement, bent down to pick up a deliberately dropped coin and attached a magnetic tracker to the underside of the van. Miller had parked his hire car a few streets from here and with the tracker in place, he was confident of catching the wine dealer up.