by Bill Ward
Scott was convinced, Luigi would leave a trail of blood and violence in his wake and stop at nothing until he discovered the person responsible for stealing his drugs. He would want to send out a loud message to all and sundry. You don’t mess with Luigi Pesce.
Scott had never liked the man but he was able to shift a great deal of drugs and had become Scott’s most important customer. Scott was not responsible for what took place in the park. He had been equally left out of pocket but he knew Luigi would have questions and want answers. On the positive side, Luigi had the resources to find the culprit. In doing so he would hopefully also recover Scott’s money, although he would no doubt expect a fee for his services.
Luigi had chosen the park to meet. He wanted to see first-hand, the scene of the crime. Scott had given thought to whether Luigi was responsible for stealing his money and whether the meeting was a charade. The man described by Carol could have worked for Luigi. The Italian wasn’t a man Scott felt he could trust but for the moment, he had to take things at face value.
Scott, Doug and Tommy walked down the hill to the café. The Italians had arrived early. Luigi and his son, who Scott knew was called Paulo, were sitting at one of the wooden tables outside the café, drinking coffee. Two dark, heavyset types, who wouldn’t look out of place in a gangster film, were sat at the next table.
“Scott. Doug. Glad you came,” Luigi said, opening his arms in a welcome but not moving from his seat. “Can I get you some coffee? They make a half decent espresso.”
“Why wouldn’t we come?” Scott asked, irritated.
“I just meant I was glad to see you. You must remember my English is not perfect. What about that coffee?”
“I’ll have a Latte,” Doug answered.
“Tommy, get us both a Latte,” Scott instructed. “Either of you want another?” he asked, looking at Luigi and Paulo.
“Let me get them,” Luigi replied.
“That’s okay. I can still just about afford to buy some coffees. Do you want another?”
They both declined and Tommy headed inside the café to buy the coffees.
“This is a bad business,” Luigi said, as Scott and Doug sat down at the table. “Any ideas who is responsible?”
Doug answered bluntly, “We think someone inside your team must have been talking out of turn.”
“We have considered that possibility but the leak is not at our end,” Luigi answered firmly. “Only Paulo and myself know the details of where and when the exchange takes place.”
“Paulo,” Scott said. “Could it have been just a local scumbag who witnessed the exchange? Perhaps a user, who worked out what was happening and saw it as an opportunity to grab a fix.”
“This man was not some junky. He was fit and punched with the force of a bull.” He touched the side of his face feelingly. “I believe he was waiting for us at the café. If he also followed your girl up the hill and took the money then this was a well-planned attack, not a random act.”
“I don’t like your inference,” Scott replied with a raised voice. “It is not a case of If our money was taken.”
“Okay, I believe you,” Luigi said calmly. “I don’t think either of you are stupid enough to try such foolishness. This leaves the girl…”
“What do you mean?” Scott asked.
Luigi didn’t answer immediately as Tommy arrived with the coffees. Once he was seated at the table with the other Italians, Luigi continued, “We do not believe the leak is at our end. Therefore it must be at your end and the courier is the obvious choice. Unless it was one of you?”
Scott thought about the suggestion for a moment. “She doesn’t like me anymore. I suppose it’s possible but very unlikely.”
“She doesn’t like you anymore?” Luigi asked. “Do you mean you used to have a relationship with this girl?”
“For a little time.”
“And did you move on to another girl?”
“Yes.”
“A rejected woman can make a powerful enemy.”
“I’m not sure,” Scott said doubtfully. “It was over a year ago when I finished the relationship.”
“Perhaps she has been planning her revenge all this time.”
“She spends every day at Tintagel. She almost never goes out and she has no phone or other contact with the outside world.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Luigi asked.
Scott had to admit he didn’t have any ideas. What Luigi said made some sense but equally he might just be trying to divert the blame away from his own organisation. “I don’t have a clue who is responsible,” Scott replied.
“I don’t think Carol was anything to do with this,” Paulo added. “She was relaxed like normal. She would have been anxious and shown some nerves if she was involved. I don’t believe she will be able to help us.”
“It can’t hurt to speak with her,” Luigi said.
“I will have Tommy speak to her,” Scott confirmed.
“If it is a problem for you to question Carol, I am happy to help,” Luigi offered.
“Tommy is quite capable of asking Carol the right questions,” Scott retorted, becoming irritated again.
“I’m sure Tommy is very capable,” Luigi replied. “But perhaps my men have more experience in this area.”
“I very much doubt that,” Scott stated with conviction. “Tommy used to interrogate terrorist suspects.”
“As you wish, Scott. Please let me know the outcome after Tommy has spoken with Carol.” Luigi requested. “We need to urgently find and make an example of whoever is responsible.”
“We need to get our money and product back,” Scott added.
“Speaking of product,” Luigi said. “I will be needing new supplies as soon as possible. When can you deliver?”
Scott looked at Doug. “When do you think?”
“I can get you about half your normal order tomorrow,” Doug answered. “The rest will take another twenty four hours.”
“Good,” Luigi responded. “Despite this setback it must be business as usual for our customers.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Powell and Jenkins were parked along the street from the semi-detached house in Burgess Hill, where Inspector Douglas Williams lived. It was early evening and Brian had supplied the address. He had also provided the information, the Inspector’s wife of eight years had moved out with their two kids and was living with another police officer a few miles away, on the other side of town. If Doug’s life was currently difficult, Powell was intent it was about to get a whole lot tougher.
“No sign of a car,” Powell commented. “I guess it’s fairly safe to assume the Inspector isn’t at home.”
“He’s probably with Scott,” Jenkins said. “Drowning their sorrows and trying to work out who gate-crashed their exchange this afternoon.”
“It would be good to look around inside,” Powell said. “But it’s risky. If the house has only standard locks, it should take less than thirty seconds to get the door open but we’ll be in full view of the street. Keep your eyes peeled for nosy neighbours.”
“Might as well get on with it,” Jenkins encouraged. “No point just sitting talking about it. He could return at any time.”
Powell stepped out of the car and together they walked towards the house. It was on an estate of similar houses and Powell guessed they were built in the sixties. The estate had a tired look and most of the houses looked like they would benefit from a coat of paint and some modernisation.
If this was all Williams could afford on his Inspector’s salary, then Powell could see why he might be seduced by the idea of making extra money on the side. He was probably fed up of putting his life on the line every day and ending up living no better than someone on benefits.
They walked up the short driveway and Powell already had his set of lock breaking keys in his hand, ready to get to work.
“Wait a second,” Jenkins said. He put his full weight against the door and pushed with his shoulder. The do
or flew open and Jenkins stepped inside. “Sometimes a bit of brute force is better than fancy methods,” he explained.
Powell smiled and followed Jenkins into the house. “I knew you’d come in useful one day.”
“You hired brawn not brain,” Jenkins replied.
Powell pushed the door shut behind them, although the broken lock meant he could only leave it ajar. He was always intending to let the Inspector know he had been visited so didn’t mind about the broken door. In fact, it was a bonus. If they found nothing, at least it would crank up the pressure on the Inspector, knowing he was vulnerable in his own home.
“You take the upstairs,” Powell suggested. “I’ll take a look around down here.”
As Powell walked into a large through room, which doubled as the lounge and dining room, he wasn’t impressed with the Inspector’s choice of furnishings. Everything looked like it had been purchased from charity shops and nothing matched. Perhaps his wife had cleared the place out and these were the hastily bought replacements. A divorce could also explain the Inspector’s need for an additional income.
Powell searched the room thoroughly but there was nothing of interest. A desk drawer contained some bank statements but the balance was just a few hundred pounds. Powell took a copy of the statements on his phone.
In his youth, working for MI5, he’d regularly invaded other people’s homes illegally, searching for clues to crimes. He realised, the invasion of other people’s privacy still came naturally to him, despite the passing of so many years.
As he looked at the statements, he was hit with a sudden thought. He needed someone who could properly investigate the Inspector’s financial affairs. Maybe there were other accounts, possibly offshore, to be discovered. Powell realised he knew just the right person for the job and he would call him later. Hopefully Samurai, as the hacker was known, was still in business and not languishing in some jail.
Powell moved into the kitchen. He searched the cupboards without really knowing what he was looking for. There were all the normal things you found in a kitchen and nothing out of the ordinary. He even stuck his finger in a box of washing powder but though no expert on the subject, was pretty sure it wasn’t cleverly disguised cocaine.
Powell checked out the cloakroom but again found nothing so went upstairs to see how Jenkins was getting on.
“Nothing so far,” Jenkins announced on seeing Powell.
“Downstairs is clean. Actually that’s a misnomer. It’s a complete mess but I couldn’t find anything of interest.”
“He’s not exactly living the high life,” Jenkins commented.
“I think we should assume he’s not stupid. For a divorced copper on an average income, he shouldn’t be living the high life. That’s the way to attract suspicion and unwanted attention.”
“He could at least clean the place up a bit. How can he bring kids back here?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t get to see his kids. Anyway, he may be squirrelling his money abroad somewhere. I’m going to ask Samurai to take a look.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jenkins agreed. “Take a look in the bathroom, while I finish off in here.”
Powell went to the small bathroom and poked around in the cabinet but was already feeling the whole search was a complete waste of time. He opened the toilet cistern but found only what he expected. He kneeled on the floor, which wasn’t easy with his damaged leg, and inspected behind the wash basin pedestal, which was empty.
He was standing back up when the panel on the front of the bath attracted his attention. There was a small gap along the top, which suggested it had recently been removed and not resealed properly. There were four small screws holding the cover in place.
He took his set of lock picking tools from his pocket and used the small screwdriver to undo the screws. He removed the panel and couldn’t believe the Aladdin’s cave he revealed. There were two plastic bags full of mixed colour pills and a large metal box contained a substantial sum of cash. There was also a gun wrapped in plastic. He wasn’t as clever as Powell had given him credit for. Anyone searching the house would quickly discover the Inspector’s secret.
“Bingo,” Powell shouted out for Jenkins benefit.
Jenkins came hurrying into the bathroom. “What are they?” he asked, looking at the bags of pills on the floor.
“No idea really but I’m guessing they’re illegal and valuable.”
“They could be ecstasy. There must be at least five hundred pills in each bag. Even at a couple of quid each that’s two thousand pounds.”
“And there’s about a grand in cash in the box,” Powell pointed out. “This should make at least a small dent in his finances.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Jenkins encouraged. “Before he returns.”
Powell picked up the two bags of pills. “You take the cash.”
As they left the house, they kept their heads down and moved quickly but not so fast as to attract attention. They put everything in the boot of the car and said nothing until they were back on the A23.
“We’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Jenkins commented. “Both Scott and the Inspector are going to be feeling the pressure.”
“About time they didn’t have everything their own way,” Powell replied. “Soon as we get back to the hotel, I’m going to give Samurai a call and get him looking into the finances of both men. See if we can’t crank up the pressure even further.”
“It would be good if he could empty their bank accounts; hit them where it hurts; right in their pockets. I can give him my account details if he needs somewhere to transfer the money.”
“I don’t think Samurai can actually access bank accounts but he can find out if they exist.”
“The amount of cash and drugs we’ve acquired today, we could go into business,” Jenkins joked.
“When we’ve finished with the drugs we’ll wash them down the toilet.”
“And the money?”
“Covers our expenses.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Powell had decided they should move hotel. Central London was too far from where they needed to spend most of their time so they booked a twin room at the Gatwick Hilton, once again using Jenkins’ credit card. As a large, bustling hotel, frequented mostly by passengers in transit, Powell felt it was a suitable place to stay for a short time.
He was the only person who could prove his innocence and he couldn’t achieve anything, hiding away in a small room, somewhere out of the way. There was risk attached but he had no other choice. The police were not going to get to the truth without his help, especially with the corrupt Inspector Williams involved.
On the way to the hotel, they stopped off at a nearby storage facility, where Powell hired a locker and left a sports bag containing the drugs and cash. He had decided against flushing the drugs down the toilet as they might come in useful as a bargaining chip. The money might be needed as evidence and Powell hoped there would be fingerprints and maybe DNA on the money, which would help substantiate his story, when everything eventually came out in the open.
After checking into the hotel, they headed into Crawley, where Powell had Jenkins buy him yet another cheap, pay-as-you-go phone. Then Powell paid a quick visit to a bookshop and purchased a specific copy of Shogun.
Next, they found an internet café and Powell followed the protocol given to him by Samurai, which involved using page numbers and a word count on the page to construct a message. It was an effective form of code as only someone who knew the book they were using, had any chance of cracking the message. Powell kept the message short, asking Samurai to call back on his new mobile number.
As Powell had no idea in which time zone Samurai was currently living, he also had no idea when he would receive the call back. They ordered coffee and agreed to give Samurai an hour. It was mid-morning and by twelve a large part of the world would have had the chance to view his message.
In the event, Powell and Jenkins had barely sat back down wit
h their coffees when the phone rang.
“This is Powell,” he answered, confident it could only be one person.
The feminine response came as no great surprise. “It’s been a while,” Samurai’s sister said.
“Hello Tina. How are you keeping?” Powell liked Samurai’s sister. She was remarkably normal given her brother’s brilliant but rather eccentric ways. She was also attractive and in different circumstances, Powell would enjoy taking her out to dinner.
“We’re good. Arrived back in England last month. Peter didn’t like the hot climate and the government decided they needed his skills again so all is forgiven.”
“Glad to hear he is back in the fold, so to speak. I can’t say the same for myself.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“You could say that and I need your brother’s help.”
“Do you want to meet?”
“Are you back in Maidenhead?”
“No. We rented the house out not knowing if and when we would return. We’re staying in the Midlands.”
“It would be nice to see you but isn’t really necessary. If you can give me a safe email, I can send you details of what I need to know.”
“Is this phone secure?”
“Brand new an hour ago.”
“I will create a new one off Gmail account when I get off the phone. I’ll text you the name. You do the same and use it to send me what you need.”
“Thanks, Tina. I know your brother is always busy but do you think he will be able to help with this quite quickly?”
“I’ll make sure he does. By the way, you didn’t tell me what you’re supposed to have done.”
“The police think I’m a drug dealer and murderer.” Powell tried to sound light hearted. “With your brother’s help, I’m hoping to convince them otherwise.”
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone before Tina said, “You don’t believe in doing things by half. Once you’ve cleared your name, I expect you to pay us a visit and say thanks in person.”