by Conrad Jones
“I know you did,” Alec said. “No one is questioning that.”
“Then if we did our jobs correctly, someone set the explosion deliberately?”
“My instinct tells me it’s no coincidence and I can promise you that we’ll find whoever did it.”
“You can't promise that, but I know you’ll do your best.” Kathy looked away and tried to clear her head. Vengeance was an emotion that she couldn’t afford right now. The best thing that her and her team could do now was to process everything as quickly as possible. She sighed and gathered her track. “Okay, that’s the easy bits to tell you,” Kathy began again. “I took blood and semen off a mattress from one of the bedrooms on the top floor. None of the bedrooms had locks on the doors, apart from that one.”
“So whoever managed the business lived there?”
“Maybe,” Kathy agreed. “Makes sense. Well, the blood from the mattress matches one of our prawns.”
“What?”
“Yes,” Kathy said gravely. “We haven’t identified her yet but it matches her DNA. The semen is also in the system and that’s where things get complicated.”
“I don’t follow,” Alec said. “If they’re in the system, we can identify them.”
“Oh their DNA is in the system alright but their name isn’t. It’s been erased.”
“Who can be erased from the database?”
“Someone in witness protection,” Alec answered.
“Richard Tibbs,” Annie said beneath her breath.
“We know that Tibbs was once known as Weston. His name is attached to this place and now so is his DNA. But we can’t prove in court that it's his.”
“We’ve got enough to nail him in an interview, Guv,” Annie said. “I want to nail the bastard to the wall. He was here, and so were some of the missing girls. I think this house is the missing link that we’ve been looking for. If those women all worked here, then we’re even closer to nailing Tibbs than we thought.”
“Don’t get carried away,” Alec warned. “It’s early days yet and most of it’s circumstantial.”
“We’ve got him, Guv,” Annie said excitedly. “I’ve had a feeling about him from the first time that I met him. All we have to do now is keep him locked up.”
“Okay, let’s plan this out,” Alec held up fingers and counted as he spoke. “Firstly we need to get Kolorov and Ryder onside so we can pick their brains about what went on here.”
“I think that’s the key,” Annie agreed. “I mean, why close the place down if they were making money?”
“We need them onside to ask them,” Alec carried on. “Secondly we need to link the victims to this house and thirdly we need to link Tibbs to the victims.”
“We’ll struggle with step one, Guv.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
“No, but when step one is unachievable, step three becomes impossible.”
“Go home and sleep for a few hours.” Alec pointed his finger at her. “We’ll meet later and get cracking on Tibbs. Thanks for all the hard work, Kathy. Keep it up.”
“Guv.” Kathy walked away checking results on digital screens as she went.
“Annie,” Alec had an afterthought.
“Yes, Guv?”
“We came in my car.”
“I know, Guv.”
“I’d better drop you off at home on my way then,” he laughed. “You’ve done well, Annie. We’ve got a killer in custody.”
“Listen, Guv,” Annie said as they reached the car. “I’ve got a million things running through my mind. I’m never going to sleep. Why don’t we call Stirling and go for a bite to eat and a beer. We should talk this over, there’s so much to take in.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Alec agreed. He opened the door and took one last look at the site. “They’re not going to pull her out of there alive.” He shook his head and climbed into the car. The urge to light a cigarette swamped him but he had given up again, for the third time since Gail had died. She would be spinning in her grave if she knew. This time he would stick to it, although sometimes there didn’t seem much point in packing in. He lived alone and he enjoyed it. His main motivation was the fact that his office was on the top floor and it took nine minutes to take the lift and walk across the car park to the smoking shelter. That was a pain in the neck and worth packing in for.
Annie was on the mobile to Stirling as he started the engine and flicked through the stations looking for a decent tune. Teenage Kicks by the Undertones was playing on Rock FM. He turned up the volume a touch and let his head fall back onto the rest. His eyes were tired and felt gritty but he knew that if he rubbed them, they would feel worse. Tired eyes were up there with aching joints and the urge to pee in the middle of the night. Middle age was getting a grip.
“Stirling is busy, Guv,” Annie huffed as she climbed into the passenger seat. “He reckons he needs to pick up a recent picture of one of our victims from a witness. It’s just us I’m afraid.”
“Which witness?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.”
“You should ask, Annie,” Alec scolded her unconsciously. “You need to know every detail about everything in your investigation.”
“Yes, Guv,” she sighed. “I know, Guv.”
“No problem. You have to be a sponge, Annie, absorb everything and give nothing away unless you’re squeezed.”
“I am a sponge, Guv.”
“And don’t take the piss out of your governor.”
“Perish the thought.”
Alec waited for his track to finish and then turned the music down. “I’ll head to Coopers on the docks. Best burgers in town.” He looked at Annie for a response but she was already asleep.
Chapter 31
John Ryder patted his breast pocket and wished that he had brought his Glock. Most meetings didn’t warrant bringing a gun, but he felt that this one might. In his younger days, he wouldn’t be without one but now his reputation alone was enough to terrify the majority of people, but not all. It was difficult to intimidate those who thought that they were tougher than you, and stupid people. Stupid people were different. They weren’t scared easily because they didn’t understand the danger that they were in, but that was when the muscle earned their money. His enforcers were built like bulls and had similar temperaments. When John waved the red flag, they attacked without question. Bones were often broken, faces sliced. Teeth pulled with pliers, finger nails ripped out. Whatever it took could be arranged and executed without incriminating the source of the violence. Victims knew exactly where the orders emanated from but daren’t disclose it.
Unfortunately, bringing backup of any description was against their code. They had been partners for many years and they were wealthy and healthy because neither one had broken the code. Violence was part of the business that he was in but he rarely witnessed it anymore. It was carried out by others and he reaped the benefits from a distance. Stability was the key to their success. They didn’t cross into anyone’s territory. They didn’t disrespect anyone. When others broke the code and crossed them, they were dispatched with swift brutality and stability was restored quickly. Now things were out of kilter and a member of his family was the cause. His stepson, Brendon, had caused no end of problems growing up but this time he had surpassed himself. The results of his antics had caused sleeping dogs to awake; nasty aggressive dogs with big teeth and now John had to try to calm them, or muzzle them. Stability had to be restored immediately.
He stepped out of the station and the wind sliced through his clothes and chilled him immediately. The lights from the harbour and the city beyond cast a yellow glow above the watery metropolis. John watched the other passengers leaving the station, scanning their faces for any kind of familiarity. Everyone was potentially a lookout, an assassin, his killer. He waited until most of them had drifted off and only a few stragglers remained. They were all strangers heading into the night. The woman closest to him looked Spanish; a hundred yards to his r
ight a Japanese businessman drank coffee from a Starbucks cup and eyed him. John turned to get a good look at him but the man threw his cup into a bin and ran into the arms of a pretty red head. He picked her up and whirled her around. They laughed and kissed like a couple in love, parted for too long. He couldn’t see or sense any imminent threats and decided to move on with his journey. A bank of cabs waited patiently for fares, but the tram stop was only a hundred yards to his right. It had always been part of their code, no cars, no taxis, they were too easy to follow and drivers could be bribed. Public transport was the only mode of travel allowed. He preferred the tram when he came here. Six sets of tramlines curved from across the canal to the station forecourt, where they loaded up passengers before distributing them all over Amsterdam. Snowflakes the size of postage stamps drifted down from graphite coloured clouds and his boots crunched in an inch of freshly fallen crystals. He could feel the excitement and taste the tension in the air. At night, the city had an aura. It was a living, breathing entity.
He saw his tram pulling into its stop and he walked quickly through the snow to meet it. The power lines above him buzzed and sparked as the trams trundled by in all directions. Waiting passengers boarded quickly and John slid his Euro note into the machine and took his ticket in return. He opted to stand and grabbed the rail as the tram jerked forward on its journey. A scruffy kid with dreadlocks and facial piercings stood next to him. The combination of body odour and the stench of stale cannabis made him feel queasy. John tapped him on the shoulder and pulled out one of his earphones to get his attention.
“What are you doing, man?” the kid whined. His accent was thick. John pitched him as a local.
“Move.” John motioned with his head. “You stink.”
The kid opened his mouth to speak but despite his age, John had a look in his eyes which made most want to back down. He decided against making anything of it. He had made the trip to sample the music and the dope, fighting an English dude in a thousand Euro suit on the tram wasn’t on the itinerary. A couple nearby watched, an expression of distaste on their faces. John glared at the man for a second and he looked away quickly, fighting was not on the man’s agenda any day of the week. If some angry guy on the tram wanted to bully a kid, so be it. John looked hard; not someone to mess with. He wasn’t usually so openly aggressive but his nerves were making him tetchy. A glance sideways could have provoked an angry response. The tram swayed gently as it trundled though the city, rattling occasionally as it crossed switches. The next five minutes dragged by and took him down the Helgernstraat to the De Wallen district of the city, the network of canals, alleyways and narrow lanes which formed the famous red light district. He stood near the door and waited for the tram to stop.
As the doors opened, an icy blast of wind hit him. He stepped onto crunchy snow, instantly regretting not bringing an overcoat, but there was a good reason why taking a coat to a meeting like this one was a bad idea. He buried his hands deep into his pockets and tucked his chin to his chest to keep the chill out. The bar where he had arranged to meet his business partner was fifty yards away. Stepping off the pavement, he crossed over the tramlines and then paused as a herd of cyclists whizzed by. Not even the snow could stop the Dutch riding their bikes around the city. The cycle lanes were gritted religiously creating a black slushy strip next to the snow covered pavements. At the corner of the alleyway, an attractive blond gyrated in a window, a red light above her flashed ‘sex show’. She was at street level, but stairs led up to a bar above. Murphy’s Irish Bar, one of millions of similar bars worldwide which bore little to no resemblance to any bar in Ireland, save that they sold the black stuff.
John took the time to appreciate her curves with his eyes as he entered the alleyway walking towards the main island in the De Wallen. It was one of ninety such islands linked by fifteen hundred bridges, which crossed the three main canals, the Herengracht, Prinsengracht, and the Keizersgrach. He loved the city, he loved its culture and most of all he loved its anonymity. It was his idea to meet here for the first time, which was eight years prior. Whenever there was a major issue, John and Boris met alone to discuss it. It had worked for years. The same city, the same bar and always alone; no weapons and no muscle.
He could see his own breath as he ducked beneath an illuminated Guinness sign and pushed open the door of the bar. Inside was bright and warm, the floorboards were spotted with wet footprints and the odd puddle where a lump of snow had fallen from a shoe tread and melted. A group of men stood huddled around a Juke box, laughing and arguing about their choice of selections. Their language and accents told him that they were Geordies; one of a hundred stag-do trips in the city at any moment in time. He spotted Boris sat in their usual booth, on a raised area next to a window. It offered a view over the canal and the busy lanes where red lights glowed and women danced in the windows, trying to attract the eye of a passing male with a pocket full of Euros to enjoy.
John walked to the bar and checked every face on his way. He studied every booth and every table full of tourists, looking for a familiar face. Suspect everyone, trust no one; it was the secret to a long life. All he needed was a whiff of an ambush and he would turn around and disappear into the night the way he came. The glimpse of a face or the hint of a Russian accent would give away a set-up. There were none, which was good. He couldn’t be too careful. If anyone resembled any of Boris’s men, then there would be trouble. Trouble in his business usually ended up with a winner and a loser; one dead person and one alive. The key to success was never being the dead one.
“Large malt, please,” John smiled at the barmaid. She returned his smile as she reached up to the optic. “No ice,” he added. The barmaid placed the glass onto a green napkin. John folded it around the glass. He made one more scan of the customers as he paid then climbed the steps to where Boris was waiting. The Russian stood up and they shook hands and shared a brief embrace, before sitting either side of the table. “Have you been here long?”
“No,” Boris replied. “I took the tram and then had a walk around the canal. It’s nice out there in the snow. Cold but nice, yes?”
“Yes, it’s nice.” John raised his whisky. “It’s been too long. Cheers.”
“It is always too long, my friend,” Boris sounded genuine. They held each other’s stare for a moment. Both of them knew that there was a serious problem, yet they wanted to enjoy the company of the other for as long as possible before business was broached. Boris smiled but he looked thoughtful. His eyes were full of melancholy. “You know that in a different world, we would be good friends, you and I.”
“I think that we are anyway; given the circumstances of our friendship.”
Boris grinned. “How old are you now, John?”
“Pushing sixty,” he laughed. “I’ll be having a get together at our place in Marbella. You can come to my party.”
“I will.”
“Don’t bring that mad girl you took to London,” John laughed again at the memory. “Where did you get her from?”
“I don’t remember.”
“She was sick on my trousers.”
“I paid for them to be cleaned.”
“I never got the smell out of them, no matter how many times they were cleaned.”
“She was crazy, yes?” Boris agreed. “I promise not to bring her.”
“Then you’re invited.”
“Thank you!” Boris raised his glass again. They clinked them together and then sat back, the smiles gone and the joviality lost for a moment. “Do you know how old I am, John?” his grey eyes narrowed as he spoke. His cheeks were full and reddened by vodka and there was no distinguishing line between them and his neck. “Let me tell you and then there is no pressure trying not to offend me. Shall I?” he smiled but there was no mirth in it. He loosened his tie with two sausage-like fingers and rolled up his cuffs to reveal thick hairy wrists and equally thick gold bracelets. “I will be sixty-five this year.”
John nodded and smiled. Ther
e was an underlying tension between them. Boris was building up to something, that much was obvious. They respected each other, even liked each other, but it had always been obvious that Boris Kolorov didn’t just call the shots in their Liverpool business ventures, he called the shots everywhere. “Sixty-five and still kicking my friend. A lot of people don’t make it that far.”
“They don’t,” Boris nodded. “That is very true. We have both lost people along the way, haven’t we?”
“We have.”
“And we will lose more before we are finished.”
“Not too many, I hope.”
“Hope is a commodity that we can seldom afford, John.”
“Sometimes, hope is all that we have.”
“Only for the weak, John and we are not the weak.” Boris raised his empty glass in the air and the barmaid acknowledged that she wold bring a round over. “We cannot hope that things work out. We cannot hope that people don’t try to steal from us. We cannot hope that a problem will fix itself.” Boris paused as the barmaid put down two glasses. John wiped his empty glass and let her take it. She smiled and left in a blink, leaving the faint smell of Alien behind her. John liked that perfume and he made a mental note to buy some at the airport duty free shop on the way home. “If we allow ourselves to rely on hope, then we’re finished before we begin.”
“What is the problem, Boris,” John asked casually.
“What do you think is the problem, John?”
“Okay, we both know what the problem is and I’m handling it.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see any evidence of you handling it, John.” Boris shrugged. “It’s one thing disposing of a problem at a tourist spot. I mean that’s unforgivable, but after the house? I mean, when is enough too much?”
“Is that what it is? Is it Breck Road that’s the issue here?”
“Of course it is,” Boris snapped. “Breck Road and your troublesome stepson. He has caused so much trouble for you, for us, for everyone!”