‘Ooh, that’s horrible,’ said Fitz, attempting to wrinkle his flattened nose.
Krys grinned. ‘Fuck that, I’m only just warming up.’ He turned to Big Mick and told him to turn the radio up a few notches. ‘I think we’ve got a screamer here.’ A couple of seconds later, the sound of ‘Take on Me’ by veteran eighties rockers a-ha jingled catchily over the airwaves.
Case stopped vomiting and looked towards Krys with wide, pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to make a confession, but Krys would not be denied his prize. The cunt had held out, he’d had his chance and refused to take it, and now he was going to pay the price, there was no getting away from that. No fucking way.
He pounced on the bed, half-screaming, half-laughing, and shoved the drill into his prone victim’s left knee. There was a moment’s stubborn resistance, as he worked to create a decent opening, but then he was into his stride and the bit was coursing through bone like the Nazis through Poland, triumphant in its efficiency. Krys was forced to look away as the debris flew off in every direction, the screams of Case so loud that they all but drowned out the vocals of one-time Norwegian heart-throb Morton Harket, but then old Morton had never had the most forceful of voices.
Finally, the bit was through and cutting into the mattress beneath. Krys pulled it out, a crackle of almost sexual excitement surging from his groin to his neck. He paused for a moment to relish the feeling, then fell upon the other kneecap like a wolf upon freshly killed prey, lost in the noise and the blood.
By the time he’d finished this one, Case had passed out and a-ha had been replaced by trendy American rockers Mercury Rev. Krys thought that he preferred the Norwegians, mainly because the song reminded him of his youth. He was sure he’d once fucked a girl to the sound of ‘Take on Me’. Take her on, he fucking had. And won.
‘Wake him up,’ said Krys, looking down at the blood as it dripped onto the bed. Fitz put some smelling salts under Case’s nose. At first they didn’t seem to do too much, but then Case started coughing and dribbling, and his eyes opened. ‘Oh God,’ he managed to say, then shut them again. Krys wiped the drill bit with a handkerchief and noticed that some blood had got onto his jeans, which annoyed him still more. This cunt, Case, hadn’t yet paid enough. It was hardly Krys’s fault if he was such a fucking nancy boy that he fainted rather than took his punishment.
He walked back round the other side of the bed, switched the drill on again, then shoved it into Case’s other cheek, this time pushing hard and twisting it around a bit before retrieval. Case didn’t scream at all this time, he just turned his head from side to side, alternately coughing and moaning.
‘So, did you nick my money then, Warren?’ Nothing. Case didn’t even open his eyes. Instead, he vomited again. Krys’s face darkened. ‘I said, did you nick my drugs?’ Then, louder: ‘Did you nick my fucking money, you fucking cheap dirty lying cunt? Well, did you? I’m fucking talking to you, you piece of shit, fucking answer me!’
And then the rage came surging up like a wave in a storm and, with his face carved into a terminally unforgiving sneer, Krys Holtz pushed the drill into Case’s left eye, at just the moment when the weather girl came on to say that heavy rain was on the way.
Some time afterwards, while they were standing drinking beers and wondering whether to call a doctor for Case or patch what was left of him up themselves, Slim Robbie made an interesting point. ‘What if he was telling the truth all along, and he hadn’t ripped you off?’
Krys shrugged. ‘Fuck it. I never liked the bald cunt anyway.’
Thursday, ten days ago
Gallan
‘This is beginning to become worryingly regular,’ said Joe Riggs with a slight smile as he led us into Tiger’s cramped offices and took us into a back room where the window above the street was wide open and a desk fan tried in vain to disperse the intense heat. Quarter to eleven and it was already excruciatingly hot, the last hurrah of the heatwave before the expected storms came in.
Riggs went out and brought in another chair for Berrin, then sat behind the small, untidy desk facing us. Unlike the other day, he didn’t ask if we wanted anything to drink. ‘Before last week, I’d never had a visit from the police in my life and, as you’re no doubt aware, I’ve got no criminal record. Now three times in five days.’ He didn’t sound particularly worried, just mildly curious as to why we’d come again.
‘The name of your company and individuals who work for it just keep coming up in our inquiries,’ I told him, a smile of my own playing round my lips. It was all very civilized.
Riggs was a powerfully built individual with very muscular, tattooed arms. He had a thick moustache and a vaguely rural Home Counties accent, and there was no mistaking the fact that he looked like a soldier. Not necessarily an officer, which I knew he’d been, because there were no obvious airs and graces, but definitely a soldier. I suppose women would have found him quite attractive in a rugged sort of way. He looked the outdoor type. He also looked a fairly upfront bloke although, as a copper, I knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
‘So, how can I help you this time?’
‘It’s about your partner, Mr Iversson.’
‘Have you found him yet?’
‘I presume that means you haven’t heard from him?’ put in Berrin.
‘You presume right. And I’ve got no idea where he is either, before you ask. I haven’t seen him since last Thursday. He was meant to come in on Friday and he didn’t. He called in to say he was feeling under the weather and that was the last I heard from him.’
‘You supply security, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Bodyguards for celebrities and business people.’
‘That’s right, as I mentioned to you when we met on Monday.’
‘Do you ever supply doormen?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Why not? I’d have thought it was quite a lucrative trade. There are plenty of bars and nightclubs out there, and plenty of trouble.’
‘There are specialist companies who do that sort of thing.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve heard.’
‘Look, no offence, Mr Gallan, but I’m a busy man. Particularly now that Max has gone AWOL. So, if you could let me know what all this is about, I’d appreciate it.’
‘Do you know a Shaun Matthews?’ asked Berrin.
He shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’
‘How about a Roy Fowler?’ I asked, and I thought I caught a tiny glimmer of recognition in his eyes, though I couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure.
‘No, no-one of that name either.’ He sat back and folded his arms. ‘I think I’m entitled to know what this is all about, don’t you?’
‘We found a bloodstain belonging to Mr Fowler in the back of Mr Iversson’s car. That’s why.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ I gave him a look that said of course I’m sure, I’m not sitting here making it up as I go along. ‘It’s just I’ve never heard of this bloke, and it doesn’t sound at all like Max. I mean, he’s a tough guy, I won’t deny that, but he’s no murderer.’
‘How do you know Mr Fowler’s been murdered?’
He fixed me with a moderately annoyed expression, the first time in both my meetings with him that he hadn’t looked like he was trying to help. ‘I don’t,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m guessing. But a substantial bloodstain in the back of a car … It doesn’t sound promising, does it?’
‘But you still don’t think Mr Iversson’s capable of murder?’ said Berrin, looking up from his notebook.
‘It’s certainly not in character,’ he said wearily. ‘But then again, it’s not in character for him to lash out at police officers either.’
‘Has he been acting at all strangely recently?’ I asked.
‘In what way?’
‘In a way that suggested that something might have been bothering him.’
‘We’re business partners but we don’t tend to socialize much outside work these days, and we certainly don’t talk like we used to.
I’d say that at one time we were good friends, but ironically enough, since we’ve been in business we’ve drifted apart. I haven’t noticed him acting particularly out of the ordinary lately but I’m not sure I’d have noticed if there had been something bothering him. He’s always been quite a cool customer. Someone who’s good at keeping his emotions to himself.’
We talked for another ten minutes, Berrin and I trying to squeeze out of him any possible motives Iversson might have had for killing Fowler, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, provide us with any further information. According to Riggs, Iversson was as normal as normal could be, totally above board, not one to get involved in anything dodgy. Or, even worse, to talk about it.
‘Have you heard anything from Eric Horne?’ I asked eventually.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Not a dickie bird.’
‘You don’t think he’s connected with all this, then?’ asked Berrin.
‘With all what?’ said Riggs. ‘I haven’t seen Eric in two weeks, maybe even longer. Long before Max went missing. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you any more than that.’
I got to my feet and Berrin followed suit. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Riggs. If Max Iversson does make contact with you then I’d strongly suggest you advise him to give himself up. Because we’re after him, and we’re going to get him. And the longer he stays out there on the run, the more we’re going to assume he’s responsible for Roy Fowler’s disappearance, and possibly worse.’
‘I will,’ he said, leading us to the door. ‘I don’t want him getting in any more trouble than he’s already in.’
* * *
When we were back out on the street and walking along the Holloway Road in the direction of Highbury Corner, Berrin said that he wasn’t sure about Riggs. ‘He reminded me of what Fowler was like the first time we interviewed him,’ he said. ‘Very keen to help, but never actually said one thing that we could use.’
‘No, I know.’
‘Plus, I think he was lying. He was good at it, but I reckon he was definitely giving us the runaround. Especially that bit when he let slip about the murder.’
‘Do you think he knows what’s happened to Fowler, then?’
He nodded, thinking about it. ‘I got the impression he does. What about you?’
‘What I’m thinking is that every time we talk to someone about this case we seem to come up against a brick wall, with no-one willing or able to help and not enough evidence to break the thing apart. I think it’s time we tried a new approach.’
‘What kind of new approach?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I told him, but I was beginning to get an idea.
Iversson
I was in bed with Elaine when the phone rang. It was five past two in the afternoon and we were taking a short break from one of those sex marathons you sometimes have when you’ve met a girl you’re really into and you’ve still got the sex drive to do something about it. To be honest with you, it had been like that all week. Great fun, yes, but parts of me were beginning to feel the strain. I was absolutely fucking cream crackered, and still only just past the panting stage from the last bout when Elaine picked up on the fourth ring and handed me the receiver. ‘Joe,’ she said.
‘All right, Joe, where are you calling from?’
‘A phone box in Tufnell Park, no trace possible. I’ve got two interested parties for our arrangement, men I think we can trust.’
‘That was quick.’
‘I had a good idea where I was going to look.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. You see plenty of people owe our man big time, which is what happens when you spend your days throwing your weight about and upsetting people.’
‘So, who are they?’
‘You know I told you about that jeweller, Kalinski, and his business arrangement with our man? The one who ended up at the maggot farm with his girlfriend? His brother Mike’s an ex-armed robber and someone with a grudge.’
‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to use someone we don’t know?’
‘I’ve got it from decent sources that he’s reliable. Plus, he’s greedy. Plus, they chopped up his brother, and they’re a close family. That’s enough pluses, as far as I can see.’
‘Fair enough. Who’s the other one?’
‘Iain Lewis, remember him?’
‘Christ, yeah. I didn’t think he was still alive.’
‘Alive, well, and short of money.’
Iain Lewis, Tugger to his mates for a reason best not gone into, was a Geordie ex-marine and mercenary who’d served with me and Joe on some of our more exotic overseas tours, and who’d been wounded in Bosnia fighting against Serb forces back in the early nineties. He’d be useful on this sort of job because the potential calibre of the opposition wouldn’t faze him.
‘Where’s he living now?’
‘Down in Swansea of all places, but he’ll be up here tomorrow. How are you getting on with your end of things? Have you talked to your mate Johnny yet?’
‘I saw him last night. He’s in already. I’ve dropped him five hundred in expenses and he’s going to sort out the vehicles. He’s meant to be calling me back later.’
‘But he doesn’t know anything about the targets?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘Good. Have you taken a look at any possible locations for storage?’
‘I drove out to Essex yesterday and visited a couple of letting agents.’
‘What cover did you use?’
‘I said I was a writer looking for a short let somewhere nice and isolated so I could complete my first novel in the peace and tranquillity I needed. It’s a thriller apparently.’
I heard Joe sigh down the phone. ‘Look, we’ve got a problem. The police have traced the stain on the seat of your car back to Fowler.’
This was bad news. ‘So?’ I said all casually, keen not to worry Elaine.
‘So now they’re really after you, although they still don’t have a clue about what’s happened. The thing is, if anyone who rents you out a place sees a picture of you anywhere, it could put the whole thing in jeopardy.’
‘Don’t worry, I wore specs, and I’ve got a bit of a beard now, so I don’t know how easy it’d be to make the connection.’
‘It’s still too risky, Max. You’re not exactly a master of disguise.’
‘I thought I looked quite good.’
‘I’m sure you did, but I’d better take over on that side from now on. Did they show you any suitable properties?’
‘There were two I liked the look of. One’ll be empty next week, the other’s empty now. Both farmhouses. I said I’d get back to them but I wanted to run the details past you first. See if there was one you preferred.’
‘All right, I’ll come over and get the stuff off you, and then I’d better do the booking. I’ll need some of that money back.’
‘No problem. Come over now.’ Elaine pulled a face. It looked like she wasn’t finished with me yet. Much more of this and I was going to have to find some bromide to stick in her tea.
‘I’ll be there in an hour,’ he said.
‘One last thing,’ I said, ‘before you go. The tools we’re going to need for the job…’
‘I’ve got enough. Don’t worry about that.’
‘I’ll see you in an hour, then.’
I rang off and forced myself to smile at Elaine. I was trying to take in the news that I was now a suspect for a murder. One more reason, I reckoned, to make sure everything went to plan with the Holtz snatch.
She sat up in the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘So, things moving along then, are they?’ she asked.
‘Everything’s going peachy,’ I said, but there must have been something in my tone.
‘But?’
What is it about women? They can always see through your lies. I gave her a quick rundown of our conversation, mentioning about the police being on to me.
‘What are you going to do about it?’
I shrugged. ‘Not a lot I can
do, really. It’s a pain having them on my back, but if I keep my wits about me, then that’s all it’ll be. Not enough to mess up any of the plans.’
‘It’s suspicion of murder, Max, not unpaid parking tickets, so they’re going to be making an effort to find you.’
I nodded. She was right. ‘I’ll be careful, don’t worry.’
She took a drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. ‘What are you going to do when this is all over?’
‘I’m going to get out of the country for a while. I know a bloke who puts together perfect-quality fake passports, and I’ll have money as well, so I’ll be able to survive. Anyway, everything’ll die down in a few months. I mean, they haven’t got any other evidence against me on the Fowler thing, and they’re never going to find the body, not if the Holtzes have done their bit, so it’ll end up gathering dust in the unsolveds. I’ll just come back in a while and tell them it was nothing to do with me.’
‘What about me, though?’ she asked.
I thought about that one for a moment. ‘Do you want to come with me? We’ll both have cash, and there’s nothing keeping you here any more.’ I might have only known Elaine for a few days but sometimes you can just tell when they’re right for you. My mum and dad had got engaged after only two weeks, so whirl-wind romances obviously ran in the family. They’d lasted close to five years, too. Not that I fancied getting hitched just yet.
‘Do you want me to?’ she asked, her expression serious. I knew then that she felt the same way. Sometimes, with her, it had been difficult to tell. She could be a bit distant on occasion, to be honest with you, and it had made me wonder more than once whether I was maybe outstaying my welcome.
I nodded. ‘Yeah. I do.’
‘Have you got anywhere in mind?’
‘As long as it’s not Sierra Leone, I don’t much care.’
She smiled. ‘How about Bermuda? I’ve always fancied going there.’
I shrugged, thinking that whoever said money didn’t buy happiness was badly fucking mistaken. ‘Sure, Bermuda it is.’
‘Let’s have a little celebration, then. Fancy a beer?’
Life doesn’t get much better than that, does it? A beautiful naked woman with a devil tattooed on her shapely rear offering to go and get you a nice, cool lager while you lounge idly on her bed.
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