Chapter 15
The pact that had served all the four Old Etonians for so long was unravelling, and they were meeting for the second time in as many weeks. The fourth man, the acknowledged leader of the group was neither a politician or a businessman or an aristocrat. His friends knew that well enough when they had joined with him in his latest criminal venture.
He had brought them in when he needed them, ensured they were well compensated. He had respected their wishes not to be involved, other than to supply the necessary cash in the early days and to reap the financial rewards later on, and now, when it was becoming precarious, they were ready to isolate him.
‘What you wanted was all the profit, none of the risks,’ the fourth man said.
‘That was what we agreed to,’ Griffiths said.
‘The agreement’s changed. If I go down, so do you three.’
‘That was never the agreement,’ Allerton reminded him.
‘Where does it say that in writing?’ demanded the fourth man, angry that his fair-weather friends were willing to sacrifice him.
‘You know there’s nothing in writing,’ Fortescue said.
‘That’s because we trusted each other. You’re only interested in protecting yourselves.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Allerton asked.
The fourth man stood to one side of the other three. He was a good-looking man who had taken care of himself, not like Miles Fortescue with his safe electorate, Jacob Griffiths with his supermarkets, and certainly not like that upper-class snob Lord Allerton, with his stately home and his seat in the House of Lords. The fourth man knew why he had been at Eton: his parents had worked incredibly hard, and he had received a partial scholarship due to his academic brilliance. Also, as the son of a cousin of Allerton’s father, he was blue-blooded enough for the prestigious Eton College.
‘Is that a threat?’ Fortescue asked.
‘Take it whichever way you like. I’ll take you three sanctimonious bastards with me.’
Allerton sat up, Fortescue adopted an expression of disbelief. Griffiths, a tough man who had dealt with equally tough men in trade, felt the need to respond. ‘Are you certain you want to take us on?’ he asked.
‘If I must. I’ve put at least thirty million pounds into each of your pockets, and now it’s getting dangerous, you’re willing to pull out.’
‘I don’t think anyone mentioned our pulling out. We’re still a team,’ Griffiths said, although he had enough money now and the risk was too high, he knew that. He did not fancy the idea of a prison cell any more than the others.
Fortescue nodded his head in agreement, although the politician recognised a serious threat. Allerton sat mute, hoping only that the nightmare would go away.
‘That’s good,’ the fourth man said. ‘However, there’s a problem.’
‘More deaths?’ Griffiths asked.
‘The money you made came at a cost.’
‘But murder?’ Allerton asked, resigning himself to the situation.
‘There is one person who can threaten us.’
‘Don’t you mean you?’ Fortescue said.
‘I thought we were clear on this matter. If I go down, so do you three.’
‘Not if we deal with you first.’
‘Fortescue, if your threats are as impotent as you and your parliamentary career are, then I’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘We could expose you, strike a deal with the police,’ Fortescue said, aiming to secure a way out, knowing full well that any deal would result in their facing charges. The ‘impotent’ jibe had struck home. He had been married for nearly thirty years, and no children had resulted from the marriage, although they had ceased to sleep together after the first two years. One or two of his subsequent mistresses had wanted children, but he had failed to fulfil their requests, not that it had stopped them taking his money. There was one who had become pregnant, said it was his, but he knew the truth. A doctor in Harley Street had checked him out, declared him fit and able to make love, but incapable of giving a woman a child.
After the woman had bled him for a few more weeks, he had wished her well and left her to her own devices. His parliamentary career had been the same. Initially, he had tried, and had stood up in Parliament on a few occasions to take part in a debate, but each time his arguments had fallen short, and the last time he had made a fool of himself by stuttering. The Speaker had had to tell him to spit it out and then sit down. After that, he attended when his vote was needed, but apart from that he did not impact on the regular business of Parliament.
‘Strike a deal with the police! With what? The three of you aren’t smart enough, and besides you’re all guilty. It won’t take much for me to send them a complete dossier of your activities either. Mind you, I’ll make sure I’m out of the country before then,’ Allerton’s cousin said.
Jacob Griffiths, the most successful financially of the three, knew the man was correct. The man was a bona fide genius, as well as the organising force behind the most audacious drug trafficking syndicate in England. Jacob Griffiths had to admire the man even if he was a criminal who was willing to murder. Griffiths knew that he had been tough in business, bankrupted a few, one had committed suicide, but to give the order for someone to be killed – he knew he could not do that.
Allerton, unsure how to proceed, spoke. ‘We’re doomed whatever happens.’
‘Rubbish. That’s defeatist nonsense. I’ll get us out of this. Once the loose ends are wrapped up, we’ll close the business. I’ve got a few other ideas,’ the fourth man said.
‘How long?’ Fortescue asked.
‘Three weeks and then we’re out of the drug business.’
Allerton sat back in his chair, hopeful that the nightmare was concluding. He had enough money now to live the life he wanted, as did the others.
Griffiths was not so sure; he needed proof. ‘Why three weeks?’
‘There’s a shipment coming over, the biggest so far.’
‘You can stop it.’
‘With the people I’m dealing with, not a chance. Either we accept the shipment and pay them in full, or they’ll come looking for us.’
‘You,’ Allerton said.
‘Us. Do you think I’ve not put a contingency plan in place in case you lily-livered cowards chicken out?’
‘What right have you to talk to us like that?’ Fortescue bellowed.
‘Sit down and shut up. The same as you always do in Westminster.’
Fortescue, red in the face, did as he was ordered.
Griffiths, the savviest of the three, still needed details. ‘Lay out your plan.’
‘Very well. There is one man who’s met me. He has to be dealt with. But first, we need to take this last shipment and ensure its distribution.’
‘You need this man?’
‘If he stays out of police custody, then he can continue to work for us.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘He’ll have to be dealt with.’
‘Killed?’ Allerton asked.
‘Do you imagine he’ll keep his mouth shut if he’s in for a ten-year stretch in prison? And now he’s with the police,’ the fourth man said.
‘Are there any charges against him?’
‘He’s been associating with a known murderer, but he’ll probably walk clear of the police station. At least today he will.’
‘But the police will be looking out for him,’ Griffiths said.
‘You’re right. Are you suggesting that we deal with him now?’
‘Are you asking if we should kill him?’ Fortescue asked.
‘It’s time you three took part in the decision-making process if I’m to save your skins.’
‘He needs to be dealt with,’ Griffiths said with a glum expression.
‘That’s the way. It’s easy once you get used to it. Just think of him as a number, not a person.’
‘Anyone you have in mind?’ Fortescue asked.
‘To kill him, or
to replace the man?’
‘Both.’
‘I’ve got someone who can deal with a murder. Replacing him is not so easy. ’
‘But you’ll find someone,’ Fortescue said.
‘How about you, Jacob?’ The fourth man looked over at Griffiths. ‘You know all about distribution and marketing.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘I’m just testing, and you’re correct, I do have someone; someone who’ll do very nicely to move the merchandise.’
‘And when it’s finished?’
‘He’ll need to be dealt with.’
‘Then it’s two more murders,’ Allerton said.
‘Don’t be stupid, Allerton. We’re not schoolboys now. It’s called risk management.’
***
Alex Hughenden sat in the interview room at Challis Street Police Station. He had been supplied with a meal and a hot drink.
‘He’s too calm,’ Isaac said as he observed the man, courtesy of a video camera mounted in one corner of the interview room.
‘Slimy, that’s what I say,’ Len Donaldson said, reminding DCI Cook of an earlier conversation when he had mentioned his disdain for the man waiting to be interviewed.
Hughenden’s interview had been delayed for two hours while a lawyer was brought in. The first time, Hughenden had declined legal representation; this time he had not.
Relax, Alex, relax, Hughenden thought. They’ve nothing on you that will stick.
‘O’Shaughnessy?’ Donaldson asked Isaac.
‘He’s down in the cells.’
‘Has he been charged?’
‘He has for the murder of Dougal Stewart.’
‘His reaction?’
‘Surprisingly calm.’
‘He knows he’d be wasting his time proclaiming his innocence.’
‘Will he talk?’ Isaac asked.
‘It’s hard to say. He’s guilty of murder, and the evidence is tight, but talk about what?’
‘Hughenden, the drug syndicate, Rodrigo Fuentes, and there’s still Vicenzo Pinto.’
‘Maybe, but I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. The man knows the drug syndicate’s reaction if he grasses.’
‘The Stewart solution.’
‘Exactly.’
The initial plan had been to interview Hughenden and O’Shaughnessy concurrently, looking for discrepancies in what they said, but that had been dispensed with. Isaac had felt that a few extra hours behind bars would remind O’Shaughnessy of what he had experienced in the past, what was to be his foreseeable future.
Len Donaldson and Isaac entered the interview room where Hughenden sat. He had been joined by Adam Galbraith, his lawyer. Isaac knew the man, having grown up in the same part of London.
‘DCI Cook, pleased to meet you.’
‘And you, Mr Galbraith.’
Neither man acknowledged their childhood friendship. Isaac rectified the situation. He went through the formalities and to his first question. ‘Mr Hughenden, I have known Mr Galbraith for many years as a friend. Do you have any objection to his representing you?’
‘No.’
Isaac knew that it had been necessary to state a possible conflict which may have been used in Hughenden’s defence at a later time.
‘Very well. We have formally charged Devlin O’Shaughnessy with the murder of Dougal Stewart.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘There are no charges against you yet, but you are a known friend of O’Shaughnessy, and he was apprehended in your house.’
‘He was a friend, no more. What he does or did is none of my business.’
‘Until proven otherwise.’
‘My client is here voluntarily to assist the police,’ Galbraith, a short man with horn-rimmed glasses, said. ‘It is not for you to imply that he is by default, due to a friendship, guilty of any crime.’
‘That’s understood. However, it is this friendship that continues to give us concern. Why was O’Shaughnessy at Mr Hughenden’s house today?’
‘He stopped me in the street,’ Hughenden said.
‘You could have phoned us.’
‘How? Devlin was standing in front of me and insisting we go to my house. You’ve seen him. He’s not the kind of person to argue with.’
‘What did he want?’ Donaldson asked.
‘Money.’
‘Did you agree?’
‘What else could I do? He had a gun.’
‘Your friend?’
‘He was desperate, not thinking straight. And besides, the police came barging in. You could have knocked on the door instead of breaking it down.’
‘We’ll deal with that later,’ Isaac said. Hughenden sat back on his chair, aiming to maintain the look of self-assuredness.
‘Mr Hughenden, I put it to you that Devlin O’Shaughnessy made contact with you not out of friendship but due to your both being involved in a major drug trafficking syndicate in this country.’
‘You are not in a position to make such remarks without proof,’ Galbraith said. Isaac remembered him as a little underweight child, not as the sharp lawyer that he had matured into.
‘O’Shaughnessy was one of the foot soldiers, not an officer,’ Isaac said. ‘He will be interviewed soon. The man is about to go to prison for first-degree murder. He has every reason to tell us all that he knows.’
‘You’d strike a deal with him?’ Galbraith asked.
‘If he cooperates it will go in his favour at his trial.’
‘My client is innocent of all charges. Your aspersions are ridiculous.’
‘Mr Hughenden, do you wish to make a statement?’
‘Yes. I have a jewellery shop in Notting Hill. Due to its success, I have managed to purchase several investment properties, one of which is the house in Bayswater that I rented to Devlin O’Shaughnessy. He was a tenant who became my friend. I admit that it is an unusual friendship in that he is obviously a hardened criminal, whereas I am not.
‘I was unaware of his return to crime after leaving prison the last time, and his apparent involvement in the death of a man came as a complete surprise. I have not seen him since then, and his meeting me today was unexpected. I can tell you no more.’
‘I believe we’ve exhausted this interview. Is my client free to go?’ Galbraith asked.
‘Not yet,’ Isaac said. ‘We will need to conduct a full search of Mr Hughenden’s shop.’
‘What for?’
‘Stolen merchandise,’ Donaldson said. ‘There will be a warrant issued.’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ Hughenden confidently said. Isaac could see beads of sweat on the man’s forehead.
‘Is my client free to go after that?’ Galbraith asked.
‘He will be required to stay here until we have concluded our interview with Devlin O’Shaughnessy,’ Isaac said.
‘This is preposterous. My client is an innocent man who was forced by another to go to his house. The subsequent police siege resulted in significant damage to my client’s home, and now you say that you are going to search his shop. This amounts to police intimidation.’
‘Unfortunately, this amounts to good policing. We will hear from Mr O’Shaughnessy first before we decide on your client.’ Isaac said.
Len Donaldson knew he had something to report back to his senior at Serious and Organised Crime Command. He had seen the perspiration on Hughenden’s forehead as well, a sure sign of nervousness.
Chapter 16
Devlin O’Shaughnessy was calm when he entered the interview room, not fifteen minutes after Alex Hughenden had left it. Isaac went through the formalities, Larry sitting to his left.
O’Shaughnessy had been charged with murder. The interview was related to that, not drug trafficking, and Len Donaldson was not required. Not that Donaldson wanted to be as he had plenty to be getting on with. First, he had to see his detective superintendent and to brief him on the situation, which for once looked promising.
Donaldson knew that once they had a crime they could pin o
n Hughenden, then the drug syndicate would be his next target. If Hughenden was charged and in custody for possession of stolen goods, then he could be further pressured. ‘You help us, we’ll help you,’ the usual format to loosen the tongue of the most resolute.
The extent of the involvement of the punctilious jewellery shop’s owner in the drug trafficking was unclear. There was a Mr Big, and that was who Serious and Organised Crime Command were after. DCI Cook and his team could have the accolades for solving the murder of Dougal Stewart, a minor drug smuggler, but Donaldson knew the big fish was still out there, waiting for him to bring him in.
He had been dealing with organised crime for eight years, and each year its inroads into the crime of London increased. What had been the trafficking of a few women from Eastern Europe for prostitution had transformed into drug smuggling amounting to hundreds of millions of pounds a year, and now criminal gangs were smuggling illegal refugees into the country as well. Donaldson did not dwell too deeply on such matters. He had one job to do, and that was to bring down whoever was controlling Hughenden.
The visit to the jewellery shop was to be a joint effort between Isaac’s team and Donaldson’s. A warrant had been arranged, and it was only waiting for the teams to meet up.
Not that this concerned Isaac Cook and his DI. They were both in with O’Shaughnessy and his lawyer.
‘My client strenuously denies all charges,’ Adam Galbraith said. O’Shaughnessy was using the same lawyer as Hughenden. Isaac could see that the man was not going to be successful this time.
‘Mr O’Shaughnessy, you have been charged with the murder of Dougal Stewart, commonly known as Dave.’
‘You can’t prove it,’ O’Shaughnessy said, his tattooed arms folded in an act of defiance.
‘Unfortunately for you, we can.’
‘How? I barely knew the man.’
‘We have a signed confession from Vicenzo Pinto identifying you and Steve Walters as the two people who murdered Stewart.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘We also have your fingerprints on record. They match those found at the murder scene. The evidence is overwhelming. Either you or Walters killed Dougal Stewart in a warehouse not far from here.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 97