I gave her a brief rundown of my interview with Clay, and she raised her eyebrows when I told her about Stegs’s previous run-in with Flanagan.
‘That’s an interesting one,’ she said, lighting another cigarette and taking a decent-sized gulp of the wine. ‘I thought there was some tension between them on Wednesday. I found out something as well.’
‘What?’
‘Stegs used to partner up with a guy called Jeff Benson at SO10, before he worked with Vokes. I spoke to Benson today. He left the Force three years ago, very suddenly. Just before he slung his hook, he got inside the Holtzes, posing as a doorman who was also a drug dealer and enforcer. He was well inside too, not just on the periphery. It took him months, but he got to the point where they trusted him, and he even got introduced to the big boss, Stefan Holtz.’
I chucked some Chinese vegetables in with the chicken and gave the whole lot a good stir. ‘Go on.’
‘It was a top-secret op. Only his controller was meant to know about it, but Benson made a mistake. He let slip what he was doing to Stegs one night when they were out drinking, against all the rules. He told me it was because the pressure was getting to him and he wanted to talk to someone about it. Since he couldn’t say a word to his family, he chose someone he felt he could confide in. Three weeks later his wife and child got a visit from a group of Holtz thugs. No-one was hurt, but she was given a letter containing photos of her going in and out of the shop where she worked, plus the nursery where she dropped her baby off every day. And then, the very same night, Benson, who knew nothing about the visit, was getting into his car outside a pub when a man with a scarf round his face leant in the window and stuck a gun against his head. The shooter said, “This is a message from the Holtzes to their favourite copper,” and pulled the trigger. Thankfully the gun was empty, but Benson knew they were serious. When he saw the photos, that was it. He resigned on the spot.’
‘I remember Malik telling me something about that when I first met up with him,’ I said, emptying the rice into a colander before adding it to the mix in the wok, and giving it another stir. I was getting hungry now. ‘I didn’t know the guy had had anything to do with Stegs, though. Not that it necessarily means anything.’
‘Except that Benson’s certain Stegs was the leak. He said that within days of him telling Stegs, his contacts within the Holtzes began to shut him out of things. Meetings were postponed, the information he was gathering seemed to dry up. Then obviously all this other stuff happened, and that was it. Another career beckoned. He left within days and refused point-blank to tell his controller what he’d found out. The Holtzes knew what they were doing. He’s still scared now, even though they’re no longer a threat. I visited him at home today. He’s moved south of the river and become head of security for an investment company in Kent. A lot less money, but at least he sleeps at night. The thing is, he blames Stegs for what happened, without a doubt. They’ve never spoken since, and they were good friends.’
I thought about that for a moment. ‘There’s never been any evidence that Stegs had anything to do with the Holtzes, though, has there?’
‘I asked Benson about that and he said no, not that he was aware of. That’s why the controller didn’t buy it. But he’s sure, John. Benson’s sure Stegs set him up, and let’s face it, Stegs is not exactly whiter than white, is he?’ She took another long drag on the cigarette.
‘But if he did work for the Holtzes, then how come when we first used Stegs to set up Slim Robbie, Robbie didn’t recognize him?’
Tina shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps Stegs was only known to a handful of people in the organization, and Slim Robbie wasn’t one of them. It still doesn’t seem right, whatever you might think.’
I could hardly disagree with that. ‘We’ll need to keep our ears to the ground, but we’ll also have to be careful. He’s going to know we’re asking questions, but it’s important we make him believe that it’s only routine, and we don’t rattle him.’
I dished up and we ate at the kitchen table while steadily draining the bottle of wine. The conversation remained on the case for a few minutes but, with some prompting on my part, finally moved on to other things, and after we’d finished eating I brought up the idea of a holiday together.
‘It sounds nice,’ she said carefully, ‘but it means everything’s going to end up out in the open, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s going to have to come out eventually. And anyway, I think most people in CID have got a pretty good idea of what’s going on. They are detectives, after all. I’d be a bit concerned if they hadn’t.’
‘But at least they’re keeping quiet about it at the moment. If we come right out with it, then people are going to be asking all sorts of questions. Let’s leave it a few weeks, eh? See how it goes.’ She put her hand on mine. ‘I don’t want it to sound like I don’t want to – I do – but I want to play things slowly where work colleagues are concerned. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’
I wasn’t going to push things, thinking that gentle persuasion would be far more effective, so I told her that, yes, I did understand. ‘But if you ever did decide to go, where would you fancy?’
She thought about it for a few moments. ‘I think I’d like a week on safari, and then maybe a week somewhere in the Indian Ocean. The Seychelles, or Mauritius. That way you get a good combination.’
‘A good combination and a bad bank balance.’
She lit another cigarette and poured the last few drops of the wine fairly evenly into our two glasses. ‘Don’t be boring, Mr Gallan. You can’t take it with you when you go, and you can’t put a price on memories. You know, the days when I travelled after uni are still the best of my life, even though all I have to show for them are boxloads of photos and a massive overdraft that I’m still paying off now, seven years on. But so what? I wouldn’t have changed those days for anything. That’s the attitude you’ve got to take, John. We’ve only got the one life.’
I didn’t like it when Tina mentioned her travelling days because, if I’m honest, it made me jealous. I often look back – too often – and wish that I’d gone off and seen something of the world and experienced what it had to offer while I was still young and free enough to be able to do it. Instead, I’d left school and joined the Force straight away; got engaged at twenty; was married at twenty-two; and became a dad at twenty-four, rendering such thoughts utterly redundant. But now and again I still imagined myself stretched out on a far-off palm-fringed beach, drinking a rum punch while some gorgeous local girl rubbed suncream on my back. I’d just got used to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen.
Maybe now was the time to live a little and stop feeling sorry for myself, something I’d been doing far too much these past couple of years. ‘You’re dead right,’ I told her. ‘You can’t take it with you. Safari and the Seychelles it is. If, of course, you change your mind.’
She smiled at me through the smoke, and I got the impression that she was tempted. ‘Let’s see how we go, eh?’
I took a gulp of the wine. ‘Sure.’
At that moment, her mobile rang. I’d switched mine off, having done more than enough work on the taxpayers’ behalf that day. She stood up, saying she’d better take the call, and picked the phone up off the kitchen sideboard. The conversation was short, with her doing most of the listening, but I could tell that whatever she was hearing was significant. I could read it in her animated expression. Something, it seemed, had happened on the case.
When she put the phone down she turned to me, smiling. ‘That was Flanagan. It seems our killer wasn’t so clever after all.’
I felt an immediate surge of excitement. ‘Go on.’
‘A witness approached the officers manning the Portakabin down at the scene a couple of hours ago, while the meeting was still in progress. Apparently, she saw someone come through her garden and then climb over her wall and into someone else’s at about half-five on Wednesday afternoon. Her garden backs on to the one next
door to Slim Robbie’s building. She thought it was odd because the guy was dressed in a suit and didn’t look much like your typical burglar. He’d disappeared before she could challenge him, but she did manage to give a description. White, twenty-five to thirty, with dark, curly hair. Looking agitated. It’s got to be our man. No-one else is going to be clambering over back gardens at that time in the afternoon. It’s too much of a coincidence.’
I grinned. What we had didn’t sound like much, but it was a start. Now we could concentrate on asking potential witnesses who lived in the surrounding streets if they’d seen the same guy. From there, we might get a better physical description, or even a description of a car he got into. I remember a case I worked on once south of the river where a rapist had gained entry into a house through an open back window in broad daylight and violently sexually assaulted a nineteen-year-old student who’d been in there on her own. The student, who’d been made to wear a blindfold for most of the ordeal, had only managed to give the most basic of descriptions: skin colour and a rough age (twenty-five to forty if memory serves me correctly), but a retired lady who lived three streets away always made it a habit to write down the registrations of cars she didn’t recognize, and to note down the descriptions of any suspicious-looking strangers. Obviously the rapist fitted that last criterion, and he’d also made the unfortunate mistake of parking his car in her street. She saw him get into it, tagged the number, and when we publicized what had happened shortly afterwards she supplied us with the details we’d needed. The rapist had been driving his brother-in-law’s motor but he had a couple of prior convictions and was quickly apprehended as a result of her information.
There might not be many people around like our amateur detective, but there were enough to make me hopeful that from this first step on the trail of our killer we could take some larger ones.
And I couldn’t help wondering whether the trail would eventually lead all the way back to Stegs Jenner.
17
The first time Stegs Jenner ever clapped eyes on Tino ‘Ten Inch’ Movali was on the porn film Ass Lovers in London. Stegs hadn’t wanted to admit it to Murk when they’d spoken, but nowadays he was something of a porn aficionado, particularly since the missus had concluded, some five years into their relationship, that sex (at least with Stegs) was only really satisfactory if the end result was pregnancy, thereby relegating it to a couple of times a month, with him on top doing all the work, whenever the moon or whatever was in the right position, and rendering it completely redundant when she’d finally got up the duff. As a result, porn films had become an integral part of Stegs’s solo sex life, to be watched whenever those rare moments occurred when the missus and Luke decamped from the house.
One such occasion had been a couple of months earlier when she’d gone off to see her parents in Colchester for the weekend, taking Luke with her. On the Saturday night Stegs had settled down to watch Ass Lovers, a purchase from a porn shop on the Charing Cross Road, with a takeaway ruby and a hefty supply of canned Stella. What passed for the plot was as follows. An individual, known only as ‘Ass Lover’, appeared to be walking round London with a video camera, filming passers-by, especially attractive women, and their arses in particular, with Tino in tow. Tino, Stegs had to grudgingly admit, was a good-looking, if slightly vacant, young bloke but his dress sense wasn’t up to much. He was wearing a checked sports jacket with brown leather patches on the elbows which would have fitted in perfectly in an early 1980s Essex golf club, but which wasn’t exactly going to pull the punters in turn-of-the-century supposedly swinging London. He also had a rather unpleasant blue jeans and sandy-coloured cowboy boots combo à la Bon Jovi, which at least provided Stegs with a few laughs, as did Tino’s English – fluent enough, but delivered in a comedy Continental accent that veered between French, German, Italian and back again, complete with hackneyed medallion-man chat-up lines such as ‘You’re looking good, baby’ and ‘Man, nice tits.’ Still, this didn’t appear to put off the two local girls Tino and ‘Ass Lover’ got talking to in Hyde Park by the Serpentine. Both were young and pretty, and none too bright either, and when Ass Lover asked them to come back to his hotel room with him and Tino to do some modelling, both accepted eagerly, giving Tino admiring glances that looked worryingly genuine.
All laughs stopped, however, when, back in the hotel room, Tino produced his startlingly impressive ten-inch appendage and began to service the girls in a variety of positions and in places where, to put it bluntly, the sun don’t shine. In fact, Stegs was masturbating furiously and having a particularly enjoyable time of it, all thoughts of Tino’s clothes sense forgotten as the Dutch dickmaster got to work doing what he obviously did best, when on the screen there was a loud knock on the hotel-room door. It then opened to reveal the hotel’s manager – a smartly clad Trevor Murk, dressed in a suit for possibly the first time in his life outside of a crematorium, who strolled in to complain about the noise. Stegs had had to do an alarmed double-take, penis already wilting in hand, but it was Murk all right. One of the girls immediately knelt down in front of him, unzipped his fly and popped his dick out. Though less impressive than Tino’s, it still wasn’t a bad size and was standing to attention in double-quick time as the girl proceeded to administer a very professional-looking blowjob while Murk stood there looking very unmanagerial, smirking at the camera and making the odd grunt of encouragement.
Stegs had lost all interest at this point, unable to watch a spawny git like the Murky one have it away with an attractive young filly and get paid for it while he, Stegs, was reduced to wanking at home on a Saturday night. The contrast was simply too great and too tragic, and he’d switched off.
The second time he clapped eyes on Tino Movali was in the Cherry Tree Inn on the Saturday evening following his suspension. He was sitting at a corner table alongside Trevor Murk. The two of them were talking and laughing like old friends, oblivious to the fact that more than one woman in the place was looking their way. Stegs bought a pint and made his way over. The room was busy, with most of the tables taken, but thankfully it didn’t feel oppressively crowded.
As Stegs approached, Murk saw him and stood up with a welcoming smile. ‘Hello, Mark,’ he said, using the name they’d agreed. He put out his hand and Stegs shook it reluctantly, affecting a deliberate air of indifference. Tonight, Matthew, I’m a shifty dope dealer with little in the way of patience or morality.
‘All right, Trevor,’ he grunted.
‘This is Tino,’ said Murk, and the youthful Tino stood up with a big grin.
They shook hands and Tino said that he was very pleased to meet him. ‘I have heard from my friend Trevor here that you are the sort of man that is, how you say, good to know.’
‘That depends,’ said Stegs enigmatically, giving Tino a careful once-over. Tonight, the Dutchman was dressed in a paisley shirt and black jeans. There was a suspect-looking bulge in the groin area that Stegs would have thought was a deli-style salami sausage if he hadn’t known better. ‘You look familiar,’ he added, sitting down with his pint. The others followed suit. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’
‘Do you enjoy erotica?’
‘None of your fucking business,’ replied Stegs, lighting a fag.
‘I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that. What I’m saying is, I’ve made appearances in porno films. If you watch them regularly, you may have seen me.’
‘I normally only look at the girls.’
‘Well, in the films that I am in, they are usually on the end of my cock.’ He gave a nervous laugh.
‘Anyway,’ said Murk, butting in, ‘Tino’s here with a business proposition. We thought you might be interested in what he had to sell. We’ve already talked about quantities, now we need to sort out a price. That’s if you still want to go ahead.’
‘I may want to,’ said Stegs, thinking that Murk really was a treacherous back-stabbing dog, so impatient to betray his friend that he didn’t even allow for a bit of small-talk. ‘But first
I’ve got to satisfy myself about a number of things.’
‘And what are they, my friend?’ asked Tino, leaning forward.
Strangely enough, he had a very innocent-looking, cherubic face that didn’t really fit with the jaded expressions so many in the porn industry wore, that hound Murk included. Stegs put him at early twenties tops, and reckoned he’d probably make quite a good salesman. He had the sort of face you can’t imagine ever having the gumption to deceive you. It seemed a pity that he’d been wasting his life in skinflicks, and was now about to waste it still more in the short-term, fast-burn-out world of small-time dope dealing.
‘First of all, I want to make sure of the quality. I need to acquire a sample of what you’ve got in order to check how pure it is. If it’s satisfactory, then we’ll take things further. Also, I want to make sure that you’re kosher. That is, who you say you are. I don’t like dealing with people I don’t know, even if Trevor here does speak highly of you.’
‘He’s hardly likely to be dodgy, is he?’ said Murk, keen to get things moving. ‘He’s a porn star, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t exactly make good undercover.’
‘Not so loud, Trevor. I don’t much want the whole pub to know of our business dealings.’
‘He’s right, though, my friend. I’ve never spoken to a policeman in my life. I’m not, how you say, dodgy. And me and Trevor have known each other a long time. Is that not right, Trevor?’
‘Too right, Tino.’ Murk gave him a comradely pat on the back, then turned to Stegs, flashing him a quick wink. Bastard. ‘I can vouch for this man, Mark. He’s straight. I’ve told you that already. Now, if you’re not interested, we can always go somewhere else.’
Stegs ignored him. ‘Have you got a sample of the goods?’ he asked Tino.
The Crime Trade Page 17