Beyond Reach

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘This is in Spain?’

  ‘Of course. Associates out there have managed to identify the actual assailant. No doubt he’ll be co-defending the action.’

  Winter nodded. He sensed at once that the woman was bluffing. No way would she or her lawyer want to attract any kind of police attention. Nonetheless, Winter did his best to look contrite.

  ‘I’m not sure I blame him,’ he said carefully. ‘But do we really have to make this official?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s Christopher’s decision, not mine. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Yes. As you probably gathered, we’ve pulled out of the deal.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why we wanted the contracts back. That’s why …’ Winter was struggling ‘ … it all kicked off.’

  ‘But why didn’t you ask nicely? Why didn’t we talk about it?’

  Good question. For once in his life Winter was robbed of an answer.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We should have handled it differently.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Time, I suppose. Like I say, I’m sorry.’

  On a low table beside the long curve of the sofa Winter caught sight of a pile of magazines. Someone was crazy about Morocco.

  ‘We have problems with the money,’ Winter said.

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Your money, not ours.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Winter nodded. ‘My understanding is that your husband, if he is your husband, has been arrested on supply charges. Is that right?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If it is right, then - like I say - we have a problem.’

  ‘And why might that be?’

  ‘Because we’d end up tainted. Where I come from you have to be very careful about getting into bed with the wrong people. Washing money was never our game.’

  ‘But you think it’s ours?’

  ‘That’s our supposition. Mr Garfield told my boss his money came from a casino. Now it turns out that might not be true. To be honest, we can’t afford to fanny around. That’s why we needed to step away from the deal. If Mr Garfield was here I’m sure he’d understand.’

  The woman held his gaze. She had the greenest eyes. At length she nodded at the tall French doors at the other end of the room and turned on her heel. Winter followed her out into the sunshine. Only one of the four sun beds was occupied. She gestured down at a plump, pale figure deep in the pages of the Financial Times. He was wearing designer shorts and a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.

  ‘This is my husband, Mr Winter. Maybe you ought to be talking to him.’

  ‘Al Garfield?’

  The man glanced up, then nodded. No trace of a smile.

  ‘I take it you’ve come for the contract,’ he said. ‘We rather thought you might.’

  An hour later, Winter phoned Mackenzie on his mobile from the garden of a pub beside the river. When he asked whether the kidnap squad was monitoring the conversation, Mackenzie said no. There was a techie camped out in the lounge to record incoming calls on the landline but mobes were unaffected.

  Winter gave the news some thought. Setting up intercepts without the owner’s consent required authorisation by the Home Secretary. He’d done a few himself in the Job and knew they could be a nightmare. Maybe Faraday was still working his way up the food chain with his intercept application. Maybe.

  ‘You’ve still got that pay-as-you-go?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Give me the number.’

  Seconds later, Winter began the conversation again. Pay-as-you-go was as secure as it ever got. Mackenzie wanted to know whether he’d got the contract back from Garfield’s missus.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why the fuck not?’

  ‘Garfield’s there. There’s no way we’re going to get anywhere near that contract. Not unless you bung him.’

  ‘He’s supposed to be inside. They’re supposed to have arrested him.’

  ‘He says not. He says he’s a businessman just like he’s said all along.’

  ‘You think he’s lying?’

  ‘Definitely. My guess is he’s out on police bail. Unless your mate Riquelme makes these things up.’

  ‘So how much does he want?’

  ‘A million sterling.’

  ‘That’s not far beyond what he kicked into the hotel deal.’

  ‘You’re right. Now he’s calling it compensation. With a bit on top for expenses.’

  There was a pause. Winter realised Mackenzie was giving the demand serious thought.

  ‘So what would he settle for, mush? Five hundred thousand? Half that?’

  ‘Forget it, Baz.’

  ‘You’re joking. Half a mill to get a decent night’s sleep? Half a mill to keep it all together? I call that a bargain.’

  ‘So what happens when it turns out he’s made a trillion copies of that fucking contract? This isn’t rocket science, Baz. It’s called a photocopier.’

  ‘You think he’d do that? From where I’m sitting, mush, the guy has a huge problem. If he’s under the cosh like Rikki says then he knows they’re probably going to nail him in the end. You’ll tell me how these things work but if they’ve frozen all his assets, or whatever else they do, then he needs to start thinking hard about bailing out. Am I getting warm here?’

  ‘Yeah, spot on, Baz.’ Winter was thinking about the van. In Garfield’s place you’d start moving stuff out regardless. And Morocco might not be a bad place to take it.

  ‘OK.’ Mackenzie hadn’t finished. ‘So he’s got a plan, somewhere hot and sunny where they can’t touch him, but to make all that work he needs moolah. Mine, as it turns out.’

  ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘I pony up, give him the dosh, get the contract back, buy the guy’s silence. Then we’re home free.’

  Winter shook his head. A lone sculler slipped past on the ebbing tide, drawing low whistles from a pair of women at a nearby table.

  ‘You’d be mad, Baz. You and Ez are already in the shit over the Baiona deal. Spending a fortune on a faxed contract doesn’t solve any of that. In fact it makes it worse.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You know the guy’s bent. I know the guy’s bent. By giving him money, by buying his silence, we’ve committed yet another fucking offence. Same piece of law, Baz. And it lays you wide open to confiscation, imprisonment, the whole nine yards. You’re right about Garfield. If there’s an investigation under way, the first thing they’ll do is issue a restraint order to freeze all his assets. That’s why he was desperate to buy into the Baiona deal and that’s why he’s playing hardball with us. He’s trying it on, Baz. And he’s relying on the fact that we’re stupid.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yeah, Baz, you and me. If we give the guy a penny, they can have us. Just believe me for once.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We do what I’ve said we should be doing all along.’

  ‘Tell them everything? Lay it all out? Sweet as you like?’

  ‘Yeah. And then you tell them you’re sorry.’

  ‘The Filth? Tell the Filth I’m sorry? What the fuck else do they want?’

  Another silence, longer this time. Winter was beginning to lose patience. In these situations, as far as Bazza was concerned, logic was useless. Winter was no closer to making the man see sense.

  ‘Did you mention Guy at all? Any of that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You still think it might be down to Garfield?’

  Winter hesitated. He’d asked himself exactly the same question.

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘They’re too classy for that.’

  ‘Classy? How does that work?’

  ‘It turns out the story about the casino was true. He inherited it from his dad. Garfield’s mum was Spanish. That’s what took him out to that coast in the first place. He’s got relatives there and my guess is he saw the potential with all the to
ot coming in. He’s like any businessman, Baz. He wants to make his own fortune his own way. That’s obviously what he’s done and now he’s discovered he’s not quite as clever as he thought.’

  ‘But credible, yeah?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Which is how he fooled me.’

  ‘Absolutely, Baz. But let’s call it a day, eh? This guy’s fucked us over once already. There’s no way we should be giving him a second chance. Do I hear a yes?’

  Faraday settled himself in Parsons’ office, summoned by a breathless phone call. Moments of high excitement put colour in her face.

  ‘I just had the Surveillance D/I on.’ She nodded at the phone.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Winter went to an address in Richmond. It belongs to a man called Alan Garfield … and guess what? According to the Met he was released on police bail yesterday. They’ve got him down as a major importer, cocaine mostly. The investigation’s ongoing. They say it’s just a question of time.’

  ‘Did they mention Spain at all?’

  ‘Yes, they did.’ She failed to mask her surprise. ‘They wouldn’t give me any details but he seems to have business interests out there. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because, according to Mackenzie, his daughter flew back this morning.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Spain.’

  Chapter twenty-one

  TUESDAY, 27 MAY 2008. 20.12

  Stepping into the kitchen, Winter knew at once that something had happened. Mackenzie and Stu were sitting at one end of the big table, Esme at the other. Marie was busy at the stove while Helen Christian was sorting out cutlery for a meal. Looking at the faces, Winter thought at first that someone must have died. He wasn’t far wrong.

  ‘He’s been in touch.’ It was Mackenzie.

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘The bloke who lifted Guy. He says we’ve got twenty-four hours.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Teatime. Six o’clock. He wants ten million quid.’

  ‘What?’

  Mackenzie shrugged, turned away. There it was. Ten million quid or the nipper gets it.

  ‘Who took the call?’

  ‘I did.’ Stu was drinking lager straight from the can. Stella could bind a multitude of wounds but not this one. He looked pale and drained, and Winter noticed a tiny shake when he lifted the tinny again.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I was upstairs with the kids. The phone went and there was this voice I’d never heard before in my life. I knew it was him, I just knew it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said I had twenty-four hours to find ten million quid. I told him that was a joke, had to be, but he just kept saying it, ten million quid, ten million quid.’

  ‘Did you ask him about Guy?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He just said he was OK.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No, just that. I asked what OK meant and he just laughed. Can you imagine that? A situation like this? And the guy just laughs?’ He nodded to himself, pushed the chair back from the table and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Bastard,’ he said softly.

  Esme watched, totally dispassionate. She was drinking coffee.

  ‘And what are you supposed to do with this money?’ Winter was still looking at Stu. ‘Assuming you can lay hands on it?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me. All he said was he’d be in touch again. Once the money was confirmed he’d explain exactly how to play it.’

  ‘And that was it?’

  ‘Yeah. I asked whether there was any way I could speak to Guy, just hear his voice, anything, but the bloke hung up on me. Jeez …’ He shook his head and reached for the can.

  Winter was looking at Mackenzie.

  ‘It’s a joke, mush. Who’s got ten million quid?’

  ‘You have, dad.’ It was Esme.

  ‘Readies? Ten million notes I can peel off and stuff in an envelope? You have to be kidding. Even if I’ve got it, you’re looking at months and months before I could get that kind of money together.’

  ‘Borrow it then.’

  ‘Just like that? Four per cent over bank rate? That’s nearly a million in interest before you even blink.’

  ‘You’re telling me Guy’s not worth it?’ she said hotly. ‘Your own grandson?’

  ‘I’m telling you none of this would have bloody happened if you’d stayed at home.’

  ‘I had to go to Spain on business. You know that.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, love. You should listen a bit harder.’ Esme abandoned her coffee and left the room. Winter listened to her footsteps thumping up the stairs. Then came the slam of a door and the sigh of bedsprings.

  ‘Helen seems to think we can negotiate.’ Marie was stirring something in a saucepan.

  ‘That’s right.’ Christian nodded. ‘Ten million’s obviously an opening bid.’

  There was a silence. Everyone was still conscious of Esme upstairs. Families were like this, Winter thought. At exactly the moment you’d think they’d hang together, they often fell apart. Not that Esme hadn’t done her best to wreck it already.

  ‘Did the techie trace the number?’ Winter was still looking at Christian.

  ‘Yes. He was using a call box in Woking.’

  ‘Do we know where in Woking?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But someone’s up there having a poke around? Scenes of Crime? Guys in the grey suits?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Sorry. Just asking.’

  The silence returned, broken by Christian. She wanted to confirm that negotiations were still possible. It was in everyone’s interests to string this thing out as long as possible. The longer it went on the greater the chance the kidnapper would make a mistake.

  Stu shook his head. ‘You’re playing with my son’s life. I hope you understand that.’

  ‘That’s a factor, Stu, of course it is, but the moment we think there’s any direct threat to his well-being then we’ll take appropriate action.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like advising you to pay up.’

  Mackenzie loved the word ‘well-being’. ‘I’d say there was a big fucking threat to his well-being, Helen. I bet he’s chuffed to death being banged up with some psycho maniac. I bet he can’t get enough of that. Well-being, bollocks. Call it the way you mean it, love. It’s his fucking life we’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

  Mackenzie dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand and looking at him Winter realised how strange this conversation around the table must feel. He’d spent his entire life keeping the Filth at arm’s length. Now it was the Filth - here in his own house - who were doing their best to minimise the damage to his fortune. Odd.

  Stu got up and went to the fridge for another tinny. ‘If we get the bid down to a reasonable sum I’ll pay up,’ he said.

  Mackenzie wanted to know what he had in mind.

  ‘Say a million.’

  ‘You’ve got that kind of money?’

  ‘I can find it.’

  ‘Quickly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fingers crossed then. Eh?’

  There was a ring at the front door. Marie was still busy at the stove so Winter, who was nearest, stepped out into the hall. A tall figure was visible through the pebbled-glass panels at the end of the hall. Winter opened the door. It was Mo Sturrock.

  ‘I’m just passing,’ he said at once. ‘There was just a couple of things I wanted to check out with Mrs Mackenzie. Is now a bad time?’

  ‘Not at all.’ It was Marie. She was drying her hands on a cloth. She invited Sturrock in.

  Winter lingered a moment, watching the pair of them disappearing into the lounge at the front of the house. Now was very definitely a bad time but he sensed a neediness in Marie that Sturrock, with his easy smile, might be able
to address. The guy had built an entire career out of coping with impossible situations. Welcome to Craneswater.

  Back in the kitchen, Mackenzie wanted to know who’d been at the door. Winter told him.

  ‘The Tide Trust bloke?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘This time of night?’

  ‘Yeah. He needs a couple of things off Marie.’ Winter looked Mackenzie in the eye. ‘You think we ought to have a little chat as well?’

  Mackenzie gazed up at him and for the first time Winter realised he was drunk.

  ‘No, mush.’ His eyes strayed to the cupboard where Marie kept an emergency bottle of malt. ‘I’m nicely settled in.’

  Willard drove down from Winchester for the council of war in the Major Crime suite of offices. Faraday couldn’t remember when he’d last seen him this lively. There was a lightness in his step, and as he strode down the central corridor past Faraday’s open door he was even humming. There was a tune in there somewhere but Faraday was struggling to name it. Maybe Tchaikovsky, he thought. Maybe the climax of the 1812 Overture. Napoleon about to be sent packing. Very apt.

  The call to Parsons’ office came minutes later. Operation Causeway was up to speed now and there was a scatter of detectives in the Major Incident Room at the end of the corridor, trying to tease some kind of lead from the latest development. Faraday had listened to the kidnapper’s opening salvo in the war for Mackenzie’s grandson and recognised the start of what might prove to be a lengthy negotiation. The voice - flat, Home Counties - gave little away. A bloke in a call box in Woking. Big deal.

  To Faraday’s surprise, Jimmy Suttle was already at the conference table in Parsons’ office. The last time Faraday had seen him was a couple of hours ago. Then he’d been on the point of calling it a day. She must have kept him on specially, Faraday thought.

  Willard took the chair at the head of the table and kicked off. Expecting a review of Operation Causeway, Faraday found himself listening to Willard’s take on something very different.

  ‘This is about Mackenzie,’ he said at once. ‘We need to be sure about exactly where we are. D/S Suttle?’