LOOT & I'M WITH THE BAND: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series by B.L.Faulkner. Cases 5 & 6 (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad cases Book 3)

by Barry Faulkner

  ‘Spots.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leopards have spots not stripes, guv.’

  ‘Wouldn’t really matter if one was chasing you, would it?’

  ‘No, guv.’

  ‘And he still is a nasty piece of work, make no mistake about it. So let’s give him something to worry about and keep him occupied in saving his own skin. Come on – showtime!’

  They made their way down to the interview rooms on the lower ground floor.

  In room two Harry Robson was sweating a little; he always used to in the old days when he was pulled in ‘for questioning’. He wasn’t scared or worried, just nervous. But he sweated a little and had to mop his brow with a tissue that Palmer offered him across the interview room table.

  ‘A bit hot in here for you is it, Harry?’ Palmer enquired with a false smile.

  They’d had Robson pulled in early in the morning and kept him in a cell, until Palmer thought he’d be starting to get worried about just how much he knew.

  ‘No, I’m fine Mr Palmer. It’s always a pleasure to be held in a cell for hours and then stuck in a small room with yourself and others.’

  He returned the smile with sarcastic overtones. The others he had referred to were Gheeta, a uniformed officer at the door, and Robson’s solicitor, Grenville Wildenstein. Wildenstein was getting uncomfortable as his large, overfed body was not suited to the wooden Home Office-issue office chair that had been made in the era before obesity due to over indulgence of fast food was the norm.

  Wildenstein had been Robson’s solicitor from way back, and he was also solicitor to most of the middle ranking range of criminals in the London area. Being of good old Jewish stock, he’d soon worked it out as a young solicitor that you avoided the low end of criminal fraternity as they would be on legal aid, and you also avoided the big guns – the ‘diamond geezers’ as they were known –because you’d take a pasting and get told to whistle for your money if you didn’t get them off scot free, no matter what the severity of the crime or the size of the stack of evidence against them. Subsequently, the middle area of villain – like Harry Robson – had been Grenville Wildenstein’s food ticket all his legal life.

  ‘What is my client charged with, Chief Superintendent?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, Mr Wildenstein, depends on how this interview goes. Been to Hove lately, Harry?’

  ‘Can’t say I have, no.’

  ‘Paid a visit to a Mr Stanley Leyton and his wife maybe?’

  ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’

  ‘Well, you rang theirs. You rang their bell at the Manor House, Hove – you and your nephew, young Finlay.’

  Silence.

  ‘They both identified you and Finlay from our mugshots. Funny you can’t recall it, because their CCTV can recall the pair of you in glorious colour.’

  Gheeta remained looking at Robson. What was Palmer on about? There was no CCTV at the Manor House. Wildenstein leaned close to Robson and whispered. Palmer’s little lie had woken him up.

  ‘No comment.’

  Robson took his solicitor’s advice.

  ‘I didn’t think there would be. Okay Harry, let’s put you and your legal friend in the picture, shall we? First of all, we have two murders, Mr Plant and Mr Fenn. With Mr Fenn your company would seem to be involved.’

  ‘How?’

  Robson was aggressive.

  ‘Just ‘cause we delivered concrete to the site where his body was found doesn’t necessary involve us.’

  ‘But that body and the other one were both inside plastic sacks your company uses. Specialist plastic sacks.’

  ‘Every demolition company uses asbestos sacks. It’s the law.’

  Palmer waited for five seconds before landing his first blow.

  ‘Harry, I didn’t say what type of sacks they were. How do you know they were asbestos sacks?’

  Robson was hit. Wildenstein was into his ear again.

  ‘No comment.’

  Palmer took his time.

  ‘Okay, let’s proceed then. Both the victims were involved in a scam to launder money through fake auctions run by Mr Fenn. Have you had anything to do with those auctions, Harry?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Well, once again that’s quite remarkable. The auctioneer’s wife remembers both you and your nephew Finlay visiting her house with Mr Fenn, her deceased husband. Do you recall visiting a Mrs Fenn? Luckily for us she picked both of you out from mug shots.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘The money that was being laundered through the auctions came from the sale of stolen gold ingots.’

  Wildenstein sat up a bit at this. He’d obviously not been briefed about the gold by his client. Palmer carried on.

  ‘Plant was a bullion dealer and was able to cut or melt down the original kilo-size ingots into a more manageable size. These were then sold on for cash at a greatly reduced price to the current legal spot fix – sold for cash only, and on a no questions basis no doubt, and the cash laundered through Fenn’s auction house Country Auctions to your company’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  Palmer nodded to Gheeta, who pulled a foolscap printout from her folder and passed it across the table. Palmer took a deep breath.

  ‘Harry, all this ‘no comment’ and ‘never heard of’ stuff is just making this take a lot longer than is necessary. If I hadn’t got proof of what I am saying I wouldn’t have brought you in.’

  He pointed to the paper.

  ‘That’s a copy of City Concrete’s bank account – your company – showing three very large payments from County Auctions. You’re bang to rights on money laundering Harry, minimum eight years.’

  He sat back in his chair.

  ‘But I’m the Murder Squad, I’m not really interest in money laundering. I want the killer or killers of those two chaps Plant and Fenn; so let’s get to the hub of this little charade, shall we? The merchandise, the gold, Mr and Mrs Leyton’s gold. Gold they shouldn’t have had that Leyton’s father nicked and passed down to them. Gold that their old friend Plant told them he could convert into cash for them, ‘no questions asked’ – how did you come to get involved, eh?’

  ‘Don’t know anything about this.’

  Robson put the account printout down.

  ‘First I’ve seen of it. Finlay does the accounts.’

  ‘Does he now? How very convenient. We will be having a chat with Finlay very soon. But just how do you fit in, Harry?’

  ‘I don’t. Not seen any of this before,’ he said, jabbing a finger at the printout.

  Now Palmer was going to keep his cards close to his chest, and not let Robson know just how much he knew.

  ‘Brinks Mat.’

  Robson visibly stiffened.

  ‘Eh?’

  This was Palmer’s ace. If he could get Robson to think that he thought it was Brinks Mat gold he was laundering, Robson would be a very, very worried man; because if it got out and about in the criminal fraternity that Robson was moving Brinks Mat gold, some very big hitters would want to know where he had got it from; big hitters that had already seen seven of the original BM team and hangers on die in mysterious circumstances when mouths had opened and hidden gold surfaced. Palmer wanted Robson to panic.

  ‘Brinks Mat gold. Remember that little escapade, Harry? You were part of that team.’

  ‘I wasn’t. That was never proved.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t – and no doubt you have a lot to thank Mr Wildenstein here for in that case.’

  Wildenstein spoke up.

  ‘This is an irrelevant surmise and I must protest. My client was acquitted on that case.’

  ‘Yes, he was – and may I remind you and him that the law of double jeopardy doesn’t exist anymore in UK law?’

  Robson looked a little worried now.

  ‘I believe that the gold from the Leyton’s was Brinks Mat gold,’ Palmer continued. ‘We don’t know how they got it, except that it was hidden by Stanley Leyton’s father. We know ther
e’s an awful lot of the BM haul out there unaccounted for, so perhaps the father was something to do with BM – a minder perhaps –looking after the gold for somebody else? He might even have been the elusive Mr Big who masterminded the whole caper; and maybe you knew that Harry, and as soon as Fenn brought you into the deal you probably recalled the name Leyton.’

  Robson was getting very fidgety, as Palmer knew he would; the ruse was working. He continued.

  ‘You knew it was out there, but didn’t know where any of it was – and then ‘hey presto’, it was served up to you on a plate.’

  He passed Robson another tissue as beads of sweat began to run down his brow.

  ‘I’ve not had anything to do with Brinks Mat, Mr Palmer. Nothing, I swear it – nothing!’

  ‘Okay. Well here’s what I’m going to do, Harry. I’m still making a lot of enquiries about the Leytons; I’m still after your two chaps Hilton and Mooney who did a disappearing act immediately after we’d visited your premises, and I’m still not convinced that you aren’t up to your eyes in this. I’m going to bail you on twenty thousand pounds security in the care of Mr Wildenstein – that is, if he’s agreeable. If not, then you stay here and I’ll keep getting an extension on keeping you here; and that will be easy, seeing as it’s you with your criminal record, and it’s a double murder that we are investigating. Oh, and then there’s the little matter of petrol being squirted through my letter box two nights ago, and we all know your threats against me in the past don’t we, Harry? Mr Wildenstein, will you stand bail?’

  Wildenstein didn’t really have much choice, the way Robson looked at him.

  ‘Yes. Yes of course.’

  ‘Good – oh, and I’ll also do my best to keep a lid on the fact that I’m looking into you Harry for laundering Brinks Mat gold. I’ll do my best, but these rumours do have a way of getting out and spreading quickly, don’t they? So, you might expect a few visits from past acquaintances, might you not? I’ll want you back here in four days. Duty officer will do the paperwork. Cheerio, Harry.’

  Palmer rose and went to leave. Stopping at the door, he turned back.

  ‘And do take care.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  Robson made a futile lunge at Palmer, but the officer was too quick and had him bent forward over the desk, his arm up his back in a second.

  ‘You bastard, Palmer! You’re hanging me out to dry, you bastard!’

  ‘I am, aren’t I?’ was Palmer’s parting remark.

  Chapter 21

  ‘I didn’t notice CCTV cameras at the Leyton’s place, guv.’

  Gheeta and Palmer were in the lift going up to his floor.

  ‘They must have been well concealed.’

  He gave her a knowing smile.

  ‘Well Sergeant, it’s called evening the score. You see, he sat there and lied his head off, so I thought that telling one back was quite in order.’

  ‘You didn’t mention the ten bars of gold he and Finlay got from the Leytons.’

  ‘No, don’t want to frighten him or Finlay into getting rid of it quick. Those bars are solid evidence if we can find them in their possession. They can’t do anything with them, can they? No auction to put it through, and they now know we are aware of it and looking. So, the only answer for them is to keep it. Lot of money – over three hundred thousand pounds, and it’s going to be sitting somewhere and preying on their minds.’

  Gheeta could see a bigger problem for Robson.

  ‘I think the only thing preying on Robson’s mind once he’s bailed and on the outside is the thought that every gang in London will think he’s unearthed some of the Brinks Mat gold. There will be a few people looking to have a word with him – people who will take a lot of calming down if I understood your description of them correctly, guv.’

  ‘You did.’

  Chapter 22

  Sylvia Fenn closed the back door against a stormy night of lashing rain and turned to Finlay. He was sat at her kitchen table, his raincoat dripping onto the floor, and looking at her as he wiped the drips from his face.

  ‘They had him in for an interview.’

  ‘Who had who in for an interview?’

  ‘Palmer, you stupid cow! Palmer had Harry in. He rang me, he’s out on bail – they’re trying to pin the murders on him. They traced the money from your old man to us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘City Concrete, it shows in the accounts and on the bank statements.’

  ‘Well that was bloody stupid, wasn’t it? I told you to do it all in cash.’

  She sat down opposite him.

  ‘Well, I suppose on the other hand it’s alright really. If they had him in then they think he’s involved and not you. And don’t call me a stupid cow.’

  ‘He’ll try and swing it on me though, won’t he – I know he will. He’s been inside for a good stretch, and he said he’d never go back. He’ll make up some story and try and pin the whole thing on me. We have to think of our next move.’

  ‘We could run. There’s two hundred thousand in cash upstairs and the gold bars in your office safe. It’s enough to set us up somewhere well away from here.’

  ‘No, if we run it’s pretty obvious we’re involved. Harry’s shitting himself – he reckons Palmer’s spreading a tale that he’s fencing Brinks Gold.’

  ‘So?’

  Finlay smiled.

  ‘If that were true then there’s a few very heavy, well-connected people who’d be pulling his finger nails out to get their hands on it; and they’d want to know where it came from in case there was more. You don’t piss about with Brink’s Mat unless you’ve a death wish.’

  ‘What are you going to do then?’

  ‘Not much choice really. Harry’s going to try and fit me up – so I’ve got to stop him.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he do a runner? Seems the logical thing to do.’

  Finlay sat bolt upright.

  ‘Oh fuck! I didn’t think of that.’

  He got to his feet, fumbled his mobile phone from his inside pocket and tapped the keys. A few seconds later he tapped in a password and then scrolled down the screen.

  ‘The bastard!’

  He made for the door. Sylvia Fenn was startled.

  ‘What’s the matter? Where are you going now?’

  ‘The office – the bastard’s emptied the company bank account. He is doing a runner, I should have thought of that; and he won’t run without the gold, will he?’

  He slammed the door behind him. Sylvia Fenn stood deep in thought for a while, and then tapped in a number on her own mobile.

  Chapter 23

  Harry Robson turned the office safe combination lock clockwise and anti-clockwise as he said the code numbers under his breath; six turns, and then he heard the distinctive click inside. Swinging open the heavy door, his eyes fell on the stacked gold bars shining in the office fluorescent light, and his mouth stretched into a wide smile. The smile quickly disintegrated into panic as the office door opened behind him. He quickly pushed the safe door to hide the contents, turned, and recognising the figure he relaxed.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was passing and saw the light on.’

  Robson nodded.

  ‘I remembered I had a bit of important paperwork to catch up on.’

  He turned back to the safe to fully close it. The monkey wrench that hit the back of his head was delivered with such force that had Harry Robson really had a death wish, it was now granted. He slumped forward, banging his empty face onto the safe as he slid to the floor. Another mighty blow was administered by the assailant, just to make sure. A third was about to be aimed when the sound of a car pulling up on the wet gravel and mud outside halted the raised arm. The figure quickly moved away and stooped behind the reception counter out of sight as footsteps approached the cabin. The office door was flung open.

  Finlay took a step inside.

  ‘I thought I might find you here – going to leave me and…’

  His w
ords tailed off as he saw the body sprawled in front of the safe, the safe door slightly ajar.

  ‘Jesus, they didn’t hang about did they?’

  His thoughts were for the gold, not his uncle as he moved to the safe and bent to pull the lifeless body away from the front of it. He opened the safe door and saw the gold intact. His quick mind was telling him, screaming at him, that if Harry was dead and the gold still there… then whoever killed Harry was probably still there too…

  The thought registered at the same time as the monkey wrench did its fatal work again, and he fell across his uncle’s body.

  Chapter 24

  ‘I can’t believe this.’

  Palmer stood under his umbrella and shook his head in disbelief as he stood outside the City Concrete office and watched the fire brigade dousing down the smouldering remains of Harry Robson, sat behind the wheel of his burnt-out car, and the similarly smouldering remains of Finlay Robson, in the same position in his burnt-out car. It was two in the morning. He’d been called out as soon as the local force had checked the car numbers to their owners and found both owners were on a ‘persons of interest’ file which Palmer – or rather Gheeta –had posted on the Met Intranet.

  ‘Did you actually put out that rumour about them and Brinks Mat, guv? If you did, it didn’t half get a quick response.’

  Gheeta had been trying to keep the Fire Brigade lads from trampling all over the crime scene, and with the help of two uniform officers from the local station had managed to put a crime scene ‘no entry’ tape around the area and the reception portacabin, in the hope that Forensics would have something left to work on. She’d only just gone to bed when Palmer had phoned to tell her what had happened. He’d told her not to bother attending as there was little they could do at the scene, but there was no way she wasn’t going to go and get a first-hand look at it.

  The duty pathologist had made a quick visit. Judging by his evening dress, frilly shirt and bow tie he’d been at some formal dinner when his mobile had ruined his evening. Nothing he could do at the scene except pronounce the pair dead and arrange for the bodies to be taken to the mortuary freezer for a post mortem later in the day.