by Mari Hannah
It was a shocking revelation, one that angered Ryan, reminding him of his conversation with Garry Snaith. In any line of business, contractors tried cutting corners. Sometimes that put security at risk. Like Freberg, Garry couldn’t live with it. And when he challenged those who should know better, he found himself out on his ear with nowhere to go.
Glancing at his notes, Ryan sought clarification from Matthews. ‘And it was the arbitrary issuing of ready for commissioning certificates that the Russians were trying to cover up in order to avoid any blame being apportioned to them?’ he asked.
‘Precisely,’ Matthews said with conviction.
‘How can you tell the switchgear wasn’t tampered with en route?’
‘Sabotage?’ Matthews took in Ryan’s nod. ‘Switchgear is always transported in secure containers. Even if that were possible – which it’s not – if the correct testing protocols were followed, it would’ve shown up. There is no excuse for what happened to those men. None. That’s why we have such stringent regulations.’
O’Neil and Ryan exchanged a look.
‘You thinking what I’m thinking, guv?’
O’Neil was way ahead of him. ‘Possible link to Claesson Logistics?’
‘It would make sense of their involvement. Security is a big part of their business.’
‘Vladimir Pirotsky is our next port of call, then.’ O’Neil turned to the engineer. ‘You’ve been remarkably helpful, Mr Matthews. It all makes perfect sense. You may be called as an expert witness in due course. For now, thanks for talking us through it.’
67
Ryan held up his phone. ‘Email from Nystrom,’ he said. ‘She tried contacting the Russian engineer and guess what? Pirotsky is no longer with AMKL. They say he was an alcoholic and didn’t show for work so they terminated his contract. Local police say he’s not at his address. Hasn’t been seen for months. If you want my opinion, we’ll never find him. If we do, he’ll be zipped inside a body bag and no doubt it’ll look like an accident.’
They had arrived at Torp airport with minutes to spare, Nystrom paving the way for them to walk straight on to the aircraft. Would that the Brits could be so efficient where the law was concerned. The Ryanair flight took off on time and they were due to touch down in a little over ten minutes. In the seat beside him, O’Neil yawned. Like him, she was exhausted, the dryness in the pressurized cabin getting to her.
‘You think Vladimir Pirotsky has gone the same way as Jack and Anders Freberg?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you?’ The thought depressed them both, Ryan in particular. ‘How many more have to die before this case is finally resolved?’ he said. ‘I bloody hope Maguire has had more luck tracing Foxton than Nystrom did Pirotsky – I’m looking forward to having a conversation with him.’
They disembarked at ten to five. By the time they had cleared Immigration and found O’Neil’s car, rush hour was in full swing. Slow-moving traffic was yet another drag on their time as they left Liverpool; more energy-sapping, mind-numbing sitting doing nothing. They found that hard to stomach after the shifts they had put in recently in order to crack the case. Then suddenly things got even worse. They were stationary, with no police escort to smooth their way. Ryan found himself wishing they were still in Norway.
‘Mind if I call Caroline, guv? She worries if I’m flying.’
‘Go ahead. Just don’t get caught.’
There was no answer, so he left a message and rang off.
‘I think it’s lovely how you consider her all the time,’ O’Neil said.
‘She’s my twin, my only family. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Just an observation. Not everyone would.’
‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘No ties,’ is all she said.
Ryan felt like he’d stepped in something sensitive. He didn’t push it. O’Neil was staring straight ahead. It was her composure he found irresistible. He was tired, undoubtedly, and so was she. But sitting in the car with her, even after a long shift and an even longer journey, he still felt relaxed and hassle-free, totally calm, like he used to with Jack. No easy achievement in the short space of time they had worked together.
Two and a half hours later, Ryan depressed the accelerator, moved forward a few metres and stopped, a line of taillights stretching as far as the eye could see in front of them. O’Neil’s phone beeped. Taking it out of her pocket, she checked the display. Feeling her spirits lift, he glanced in her direction. She had a wry smile on her face.
‘Good news, guv?’
‘Some.’ She didn’t lift her head. ‘Organized Crime have coughed the names of the arms dealers they were after. They’re nowt to do with our case. They were wrong about Jack and have said as much. I reckon they were inept rather than dodgy. Although if I never see DC King again, it’ll suit me down to the ground.’
‘Anything else?’
She was flicking through emails.
‘Maguire hasn’t found Foxton?’
‘No, but he’s managed to break down our friend, Brian Platt. Sounds like he’s giving him bloody good intelligence too. John reckons he has still more to tell. I told you he’d come up trumps if pushed—’
‘And work miracles if threatened.’ Ryan couldn’t help himself.
‘Yeah, well, I won’t have to put up with him for much longer.’
Ryan looked sideways. ‘Did your transfer come through for the Murder Investigation Team?’
A flash of excitement crossed her face. ‘Something even better.’
He waited. When she didn’t elaborate, he asked her outright what she meant.
‘I can’t talk about it yet.’
‘I’m intrigued.’ The logjam eased and Ryan picked up speed, pulling into the outside lane. He didn’t get far as everyone ahead of his vehicle did the same, frustrating the hell out of him. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘I didn’t figure you as a tease. I had enough of that with Roz. I’m done with begging.’
‘I need to select a colleague I can trust,’ she said playfully. ‘Only she or he and I can know about it. I’d like to tell you, but it’s Eyes Only stuff.’
He didn’t need to see the excitement in her eyes. He could hear it in her voice. Ryan bit his bottom lip. She was tantalizing him. If only she knew what he and Grace and Newman had been up to in the silent room. He checked his left-hand wing mirror in order to pull over, catching her eye. Impenetrable.
Bet she was skilled at poker.
‘So, what’s the criteria?’ he asked.
She shifted in her seat to face him. ‘That’s fishing, DS Ryan.’
‘You can’t blame me for wondering if I’d qualify.’
‘It wouldn’t suit your lifestyle.’ She was still grinning. ‘Anyway, ten minutes ago you were jacking it all in. I need someone whose commitment I can count on.’
‘Now I know you’re taking the piss.’
Whatever it was, it must be good.
‘You have Caroline,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t possibly impose.’
Ryan was laughing out loud and so was she, a real belly laugh she couldn’t control. It felt good to release the tension. ‘Will you stop talking in riddles and tell me. Scout’s honour, I won’t spill, not if my life depends on it.’
What she told him would remain on his mind for the rest of the journey home.
68
It was getting on for eight forty-five by the time they finally reached Newcastle city centre. On the way to Interview Room 1 at Market Street police station, they decided that Ryan would take the lead, for no other reason than that was how things were normally done. ‘No point in keeping a dog and barking yourself,’ he joked.
The leg-pulling continued, this time from O’Neil. ‘You don’t mind me sitting in … in an advisory capacity? I want to see how you handle yourself with the opposition.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Ryan grinned. ‘In case there’s a dearth of worthy candidates to work alongside you in your swish new job?’
She didn’t look at him. ‘I hate sc
raping the barrel, but needs must when the Devil drives.’
Since she’d confided what the position entailed, Ryan had thought of nothing else. Before he could muster a witty retort, she opened the door, leaving him with no option but to park his humour and concentrate on the task in hand.
Brian Platt tapped the table nervously as they entered. The detainee and his brief, Tomas Marek, seemed surprised and somewhat disturbed to see a change in personnel. The detectives sat down, switched on the recording device and dispensed with the introductions quickly, keen to get the interrogation over and call time on a very long day. They were dead on their feet.
Forcing the notion of a permanent partnership with O’Neil away, Ryan fixed his eyes on the prisoner. ‘Mr Platt, you’ve already admitted that you stole a Clio from the Shell garage at the top of Shields Road in Byker on Friday the eighteenth of October. Is that correct?’
The prisoner nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek.
‘For the tape, I need a verbal response.’
‘Yes,’ Platt said. If looks could kill.
‘Good start.’ Ryan gave a half-smile. ‘In fact, we have CCTV of you doing it.’
‘Bully for you.’
‘You further admit that you were asked by Michael James Foxton to follow a security van from Newcastle Crown Court to a prearranged position on that same date,’ Ryan said. ‘And that your role was to pull up behind the van and put your handbrake on hard when Foxton arrived at the scene in an Audi. Is that correct?’
‘If you say so.’
‘It’s what you say that’s important.’ Ryan pointed at the recording device. ‘For the—’
‘Tape … yeah, I get it.’
‘So answer the question.’
‘Yeah, it’s all I done.’
‘That’s not true though, is it?’ Ryan glanced at O’Neil.
Rolling her eyes, she exhaled loudly, a gesture designed to show the prisoner that they didn’t believe a word of it. She crossed her arms, eyes on Platt. He looked away and then at his solicitor with an expression that said: Do what the fuck you’re paid for. In turn, Marek looked at Ryan.
The stalemate lasted for a while.
‘There’s no hurry,’ Ryan said. ‘If you two need a moment in private, my guv’nor and I can step outside.’
Marek was having none of it. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not sit here all night. If you have evidence against my client, please disclose it. It’s late and we’ve already been through all this with your colleague, DS Maguire.’
‘All in good time,’ Ryan said. ‘My guv’nor and I are here to tell Mr Platt that extensive enquiries into very serious matters are ongoing and that he will remain exactly where he is until he answers our questions truthfully.’
‘I have!’ Platt blurted out. ‘Ask the other tosser.’
Ryan eyeballed him. ‘You and I both know that’s not the case though, don’t we? I can see you need time to think on it.’ Pulling up his sleeve, he checked his watch. ‘It’s late. Maybe we should adjourn ‘til morning—’
‘Fuck that! My lass’ll be going crackers. She’s pregnant! Ready to drop, if you must know.’
‘Aren’t we all.’ O’Neil spread her hands, looked at Ryan, a question in her eyes. ‘Up to you, DS Ryan. I’m happy to sleep on it.’
‘No!’ Platt yelled. ‘I want out of here. I nicked a car, so what? I’ve done it before and you haven’t kept us in overnight.’
‘I’m going to ask you one more time,’ Ryan said. ‘And if you don’t come up with the truth, you will be charged with very serious offences. Is that clear? So tell me what you know before I lock up your mate Foxton. There’s another team doing that, by the way, so you’ll soon have company. I’m here to establish the truth and I know you haven’t got there yet, so try harder. What exactly was your part in the hijacking?’
Pushing away from the table, Platt stood up suddenly, knocking his chair flying. ‘I told you! I nicked a car, drove it to where they said and legged it. End of—’
‘Sit down and stop wasting my time.’ Ryan watched him right the chair and retake his seat. ‘You denied theft of a vehicle initially. You denied any knowledge or association with Claesson Logistics until DS Maguire went to your home and found documents that proved you work for them occasionally—’
‘That’s proof of a falsehood,’ Marek interrupted. ‘Nothing more.’
Ryan ignored him. ‘This is the final countdown, Brian. Tell us or we’ll have to assume that you are more involved than you say you are and that you are protecting others. Instead of being charged with TWOC of a vehicle and assisting offenders, you’ll be charged with much more serious offences – conspiracy, for starters. It could make the difference between a four-year term of imprisonment, fourteen years, or life. You have a decision to make. If you want to see your child outside of a prison visits room before it reaches its teens, speak now. By the way, I know exactly what you did, but I want to hear it from you.’
Platt was sweating. ‘I told you everything.’
‘That was said without conviction.’
‘Eh? What does that mean?’
‘It means it’s bollocks! We know about the video.’
It took a while for Platt to speak. His bottle was going, his non-verbal communication giving him away. He blew out a long breath, painfully aware that Ryan was playing it straight and that he was facing a lengthy stretch in jail.
Time to push his buttons.
‘I hope they paid you well if you’re willing to take the rap for them.’
‘They paid me nowt! They said I wasn’t getting any more work unless I went along with it. I’ve got a kid and one on the way. They need to eat. What was I supposed to do? I was told to take a video to show the copper walking away with the others like he was part of the hijack. That’s all, I swear.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing! I legged it to the four-by-four and drove away.’
‘The one you’d left in the woods earlier?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘That proves premeditation and planning.’
‘So what? Can I go now?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. That vehicle was later used to kill a police officer.’
‘Nothing to do with me!’ Platt was exposed and on the back foot. He looked at Marek. ‘I’m not havin’ that. Tell the bastard!’
Marek’s facial expression confirmed only that his client was in deep trouble, more than he could possibly handle, and far more serious than any of his previous convictions. Ryan had him cornered. They both knew it. There was nowhere to go. As the prisoner was informed that numerous enquiries were being carried out – and that he’d be kept in custody until the conclusion of those investigations – a tear ran down his cheek.
Ryan looked at O’Neil. ‘What do you say, guv?’
‘I’d say we’re done here.’ She looked at Platt. ‘Unless you have anything else to tell us?’
‘No,’ he said, defeated. ‘That’s it, I swear.’
With that, the interview concluded. After the prisoner and his brief were led away by a member of uniformed staff, the detectives high-fived. Next stop Claesson Logistics, but first a drink to celebrate and then some well-earned rest.
69
The raid on Claesson Logistics was swift and carried out at seven a.m., the minute they opened up for business. Timing was important. O’Neil wanted a result. Collaring Claesson and Foxton would be ideal. Failing that, one or the other would do. Platt was small fry, already in the bag. The important thing was to seize evidence. Arrests would come later.
Foxton made a run for it the minute the detectives entered the premises. He got as far as the door and was brought down by Maguire in a rugby tackle worthy of Welsh international George North. As he was led away in handcuffs and put into a panda car, O’Neil and Ryan were told by the receptionist that Hans Claesson wasn’t expected in.
‘No matter,’ Ryan said. ‘We have a search warrant.’
Showing
the document they’d managed to secure from a magistrate overnight, O’Neil asked to be taken straight to where the company stored their mainframe computer hardware. Excitement radiated from her. Ryan felt the adrenalin pumping too. They were after a link between Claesson and the Russian oil company AMKL-Exploration Inc., preferably one that involved Vladimir Pirotsky.
His family were anxiously waiting for news in Moscow.
The receptionist handed back the warrant, stood up and asked them to follow her to the second floor. They were about to pass through double doors at the top of the stairs when Ryan’s mobile rang. O’Neil stopped walking, turned to face him, nodding her permission for him to take the call.
He listened for a moment and then hung up. ‘Technical support, guv. They’ll be at reception in five. They’re asking to be met and allowed in. You want to go down and wait or shall I handle it?’
‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Bring them up. I need them to examine the servers.’
Turning on his heels, Ryan retraced his steps and disappeared. O’Neil noticed a maintenance man arriving in the corridor ahead. The receptionist ordered him to take her to the room where the servers were kept and left them to it.
O’Neil was shown into a windowless, air-conditioned room with a bank of electrical equipment along one wall and not a lot else. The server racks were extensive, about the size of a large fridge freezer. Inside were thick metal trays – each with its own hard-drive slot. On some of the equipment, lights flashed as data was transferred. Knowing little about technology beyond what she’d learned at school, she assumed the apparatus worked much like her hub at home, albeit a giant version.
She looked around for a place to sit.
‘I’ll need four chairs and another table I can shove together with that one if you can manage it.’ She flicked her eyes to a table in the centre of the room, before switching her attention to the electronics. ‘Given that we can’t take this lot away, we might be here a while.’