‘Yes, she did. I know this because she told me she had it in mind to ask him to invest her money when she had enough piled up.’
‘Was she still seeing him when she died?’
‘Yes, I believe so. Not so frequently, for her schedule was changed in the summer, but occasionally she still came through Edinburgh and they would meet up. Why do you ask about Coats? Is he a suspect?’
‘You didn’t happen to read a newspaper on the second of January, did you?’
‘No,’ Karman replied. ‘The financial markets were closed and that’s all I ever look at. Why? What would I have seen?’
‘You’d have seen reports of Terry Coats being found shot dead on Wednesday morning, in Edinburgh, together with another man. Coats wasn’t a stockbroker, Mr Karman, he was employed by Edinburgh Airport security, and before that he’d been a police officer in the west of Scotland. He was stalking your niece because he thought she was money-laundering.’
‘But she wasn’t, I tell you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I promise you, she wasn’t . . . or if she was she didn’t know it.’
Singh nodded. ‘I believe you, Mr Karman,’ he said. ‘I accept that your niece was an innocent victim in this business; probably the only one. One last thing: the other man found dead with Coats, was named Griffin Montell, a serving police inspector. Did Aisha ever mention him?’
‘No, she didn’t, of that I’m also certain. I’ve never heard of him. If he was a police officer, damn it, he should have prevented her being killed!’
Fifty-Four
‘There is nothing irregular about Wister Air,’ the woman insisted. ‘The European media like to portray the Turkish Republic of North Cyprus as a haven for criminals and gangsters, but I can assure you, sir, it is not. To be registered as an offshore company here, very strict conditions must be met. These are observed because the Register of Companies is directly overseen by government. Wister Air complies with the law.’
‘That law, Ms Ecevit,’ Marlon Honeyman said, ‘doesn’t seem to object to one of the owners hiding behind nominee directors.’
‘If that owner is a registered company. But ultimately the owners of that company must be revealed; if it was set up in the TRNC they would be required to submit good character certificates from the police in their home country.’
‘Okay, I get that, but where was Lente registered: the co-owner of Wister Air?’
‘In the TRNC, of course,’ Ms Ecevit replied. ‘And now it is the sole owner of Wister Air.’
‘It is?’ Honeyman exclaimed. ‘When did that come about?’
‘On Monday of last week, when we received by email a document transferring the holdings of Rogozin Enterprises to Lente. The document was signed by Anatoly Rogozin, as the law requires, and it was registered that same day. That’s how it is now. Lente is now the sole owner of Wister Air.’
‘What would the law say if it knew his signature had been obtained by torture?’
‘That would need to be proved.’
‘The first step to doing that is by finding who owns Lente. Can you tell me that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ms Ecevit admitted. ‘You are a policeman from a foreign jurisdiction. I will need to consult the Ministry.’
‘Then please do so. I’ll call you back tomorrow.’
Fifty-Five
‘You are sure about this, Inspector?’ Pollock asked.
‘It’s what our man was told by someone on the ground,’ Haddock said. ‘If it’s true, what are the chances of anyone else being involved?’
‘I was planning to let him go this evening,’ the major admitted, ‘but if he was involved as you suggest, it moves him into another league. Listen, I know this happened in my jurisdiction, but would you like to take the lead in the interview? He doesn’t know you, and he may not even know that you have no legal standing as far as he’s concerned.’
The Scot smiled. ‘If it helps you get a conviction and close a twelve-year-old case, then it’ll be my pleasure.’
‘Let’s go for it. Constable,’ he called to someone off camera, ‘go get the man.’
While he waited for the prisoner to be brought to the interview room, Haddock moved around his office, closing the venetian blinds. He had barely resumed his seat when Tom DuPlessis appeared, handcuffed and looking more haggard than ever.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he protested. ‘You guys, you are unbelievable. My lawyer said you can’t hold me any longer. Release me or I’ll sue you; I will, I warn you.’
‘I’ve already advised your lawyer that we have a new matter to discuss with you,’ Pollock retorted. ‘It relates to a murder investigation that my Scottish colleague is leading, and it’s him you’ll be talking to. Before we begin, I should tell you that extradition arrangements exist between the United Kingdom and South Africa and that, should he make such a request, I will be raising no objections. Be very careful what you say, sir, for if you are less than frank and honest with him, the consequences could be serious. Detective Inspector Haddock, it’s all yours.’
‘Thanks, Major.’ He paused, looking, unsmiling and unblinking, directly into the pinpoint of the camera, rather than at the face displayed on his screen. He thought of it as his best Bob Skinner stare, holding the pose as he counted silently to ten. ‘Mr DuPlessis,’ he began, his voice as cold as his eyes, ‘a week ago, your cousin Griffin Montell was murdered, here in my city. I knew Griff as a colleague and, I thought, as a friend. We always insist that we treat every homicide victim with the same respect and that we investigate every crime with the same intensity, but the truth is . . . internationally, I’m sure . . . that when the victim’s a police officer we pull out stops that sometimes we didn’t even know existed. That’s how it’s been with Griff. Unfortunately, it’s led us to discover things about him that we couldn’t have suspected in our wildest fantasies, or even our drunkest, us being Scots. Your murdered cousin, my murdered friend, was a killer himself . . . a high-functioning psychopath, in the opinion of an eminent forensic psychologist. Before he ever came to Scotland, he killed a fellow SAPS officer in the course of a bullion robbery twelve years ago, one that’s been unsolved until now. You’ve already admitted to us that you helped him smuggle to the UK both the weapon he used and an unknown number of gold coins, the proceeds of that robbery . . .’
‘I told you already,’ DuPlessis shouted, ‘I didn’t know what was in that box.’
‘And we told you already, ignorance isn’t absolution. The point is you did it, knowing that it was illegal, and you didn’t bother to ask. You were right in what you said before; you were going to walk out of there tonight, because Major Pollock will need your testimony in closing the open file on the bullion robbery and in tying Griff to that crime. But what we’ve discovered since then in the course of our investigations here, puts you right back in the deepest of deep shit. The day after your cousin was murdered, the body of a man named Anatoly Rogozin was found in Scotland. He was an associate of Griff . . . indeed, Griff met him at the airport . . . and he’d been shot with the gun you smuggled into Scotland. So, you see, you’re an accessory to murder both here and in your own country.’
‘No!’ DuPlessis shouted, panicking.
‘Let me finish,’ Haddock exclaimed. ‘I’m not done yet. Rogozin’s main business interest in South Africa was an airline called Wister Air. He purchased that ten years ago, through a company that he had established in North Cyprus, with another corporate entity called Lente. We didn’t know for sure who owned that until earlier on today, when we discovered that on Monday of last week, the North Cyprus company registrar received a document, signed by Rogozin, transferring his stake in the company to Lente. That signature was obtained by torture. Rogozin must have been a tough guy, Griff had to break three of the fingers on his left hand before he signed.’
‘I know nothing of this,’ the prisoner screamed. ‘You can’t tie me to it.’
‘Of course I can, if I want to,’ Haddock laughed, ‘but I still haven’t got to the big
finish. For that we have to go back ten years, to the day when Rogozin and Lente purchased the airline they rebranded as Wister Air, again in North Cyprus. It’s still remembered there, even in that very unusual business environment, because the Russian owner . . . who was, incidentally, found dead himself in a snowdrift in Moscow six years ago . . . agreed to be paid in gold coinage, valued at fifty million euros.’ He stopped and drew a deep breath and looked straight into the camera once again. ‘So this is where you have a choice, Mr DuPlessis. This is where you can tell Major Pollock and me how that gold got to the port of Famagusta, via Istanbul, as undoubtedly it did, or he can go all the way through the movements of your ex-employer’s liners to find out which one of them was there at the time in question. If he has to do that you’ll have no deal with him, and you’ll find yourself on a flight to Scotland with no prospect of going home inside ten years, minimum. Your choice, but you don’t have a lot of time to make it. My partner’s booked us seats for Star Wars and Major Pollock’s due on the first tee for an evening round.’
DuPlessis threw up his cuffed hands. ‘Okay, okay, okay! I’ll tell you. I met Rogozin, with Griff, ten years ago. Griff introduced him as a friend and he did all the talking, or most of it. He told me that he needed to move a significant cargo to North Cyprus and that Griff had suggested I could help him. He paid me a hundred thousand US dollars, and fifty thousand for my contact on board ship. But again, I didn’t ask what I was moving, because I didn’t want to fucking know!’
‘Well, now you do, buddy,’ Major Pollock said, off camera. ‘What Mr Haddock said is right. You have five minutes to put your signature on that, in return for which I will treat you as a witness rather than an accused.’
‘What about him?’ the prisoner asked. ‘What about Scotland?’
‘Pal,’ Haddock sighed, ‘you’re not worth the air fare.’
‘Done,’ DuPlessis sighed. ‘Where do I sign?’
‘I’ll get a clerk and we can do that now,’ the major replied. ‘Hey, Sauce,’ he added, ‘you know what “Lente” means in Afrikaans?’
Fifty-Six
‘Detective Constable Honeyman,’ Ms Ecevit said, in clipped tones. ‘The Minister himself has advised that I may give you the information you seek without any further formality.’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ the DC replied.
‘Yes, the register is public. If you walked in from the street you could inspect it. However,’ she continued, ‘the Minister did make one stipulation, that I should do so in a video call, so that you may display your credentials as a police officer.’
If it’s a public document, what’s the point? he thought, but instead, recognising the universal practice of a tail being covered, he turned the WhatsApp call from audio to video. When Ms Ecevit appeared on screen, he was glad that he had. He has been expecting a sharp-nosed middle-aged spinster; instead he saw a high-cheekboned woman, possibly in her late twenties, with almond eyes and full lips, who reminded him of the photos of Sophia Loren that his grandfather had shown him when he was a boy. Obediently, he displayed his warrant card, holding it close enough to the camera for her to read the text, and the name.
‘Thank you, Marlon,’ she said. He could have sworn that she fluttered her eyelashes. ‘You’re not what I was expecting. I thought you Scots all had big beards.’
‘Only some of us. You’re a surprise to me too.’
‘Why?’ she smiled. ‘Did you think the same of Turkish women?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he insisted.
‘Pinocchio, your nose is growing,’ she laughed.
He knew that he had to move matters on, or he might fall in love. ‘What’s your first name?’ he asked.
‘Zehra.’
He sighed. ‘Well, Zehra, I suppose we’d better get on with it.’
‘I suppose,’ she agreed, with as little enthusiasm as him. ‘Did you use a personal mobile to make this call?’
‘Yes,’ he said, smiling as he understood the question, ‘as a matter of fact I did.’
‘In that case, I can tell you that the company known as Lente has two shareholders, both South African and both sharing the same birthday. Mr Griffin Montell, and Ms Spring Montell. I have no record of Mr Montell ever having been on North Cyprus, but ten years ago, when the company Wister Air acquired the airline business, Ms Montell was here. Her signature is on the document, alongside that of Mr Rogozin. I have a cousin who is Dutch,’ she added. ‘She told me that in Afrikaans, Lente means Spring.’
Fifty-Seven
‘You realise this has nothing to do with us, Sauce?’ ACC Lowell Payne said. ‘Isn’t it a waste of your time to be sitting in on this interview?’
‘Sorry, sir, I don’t think so,’ Haddock countered. ‘Griff Montell’s lying in a drawer in the Cowgate, and I’m tasked with finding out who put him there and why. If there’s any possibility that his death is related to something that happened in South Africa twelve years ago, I have a duty to explore it.’
Payne turned towards the man who sat at the far end of the conference table. ‘Bob?’
Skinner shrugged. ‘Why are you asking me, Lowell? I just called in for a nostalgic coffee in my old office, like Mario said I should do from time to time.’
‘Piss off. I know why you’re here; he told me. I know Sauce is right. I’d value your thoughts as his mentor, that’s all.’
‘Then I agree, he should accept Major Pollock’s offer to let him sit in on the interview. Jesus, it’s the least the guy could do; it’s thanks to Sauce and his team that he’s able to take the robbery off his open investigations list, so it’s only right that he lets him bask in the glory. I want to hang around for it too,’ he added, ‘although Pollock needn’t know I’m here. Mary Chambers is a good friend as well as a valued colleague. She’s gutted by what’s happened. She had no more idea about Spring than we had about her brother.’
Haddock stared at him. ‘You’ve spoken to her?’
‘Of course, I’ve fucking spoken to her, Sauce,’ Skinner retorted. ‘She isn’t under arrest and I just . . .’
‘. . . wanted to satisfy yourself that she couldn’t have known anything about it.’
‘Yes, okay,’ he conceded. ‘And I did. The place they have in Pretoria was bought by Mary out of her retirement lump sum. If Spring had bought it, that might have worried me.’
‘Did she splash the cash at all?’ Payne asked.
‘Let Sauce ask her about that. You ready to go?’
Haddock nodded. ‘I’ve just received the Zoom invite.’ He went to his mouse and clicked to join the meeting, as the ACC moved in behind him. A few seconds later, his screen changed, showing Pollock, full face. ‘Good morning, Major,’ the DI said. ‘My Assistant Chief Constable, Mr Payne, is joining us; he’s my reporting officer.’
‘He’s welcome,’ the South African said. ‘Sauce, Ms Montell and I have had a full and frank discussion, and she accepts that it is in her best interests to admit her role in the robbery, given that we can now link her directly to seven hundred million rand that was paid by her company and that of Mr Anatoly Rogozin, in gold, for the business now known as Wister Air. We believe that to have been most of the proceeds of the robbery in which her brother Griffin participated, and she has confirmed this. Ms Montell has given a statement which she wishes to read after which she will be prepared to answer questions, on the understanding that they will not lead to her extradition to the United Kingdom. Mr Payne, as senior officer present do you agree to that?’
‘Provided that she doesn’t incriminate herself in any crime in my jurisdiction, yes.’
‘I won’t,’ a female voice called out. ‘Let’s get on with it.’ The camera swung round, and its position was adjusted until she was in mid-screen. The woman was dressed in a yellow jump-suit. Her face was a mask, her expression impassive. It occurred to Skinner, who was watching from the side, well out of the field of view of the camera, that she was in a mixture of shock and denial.
‘My name is Spring Mo
ntell,’ she began. ‘My twin brother was Griffin Montell, who was murdered in Scotland last week. Although I have been in a relationship with a woman for some time, I am in fact bisexual. Twelve years ago, I had a relationship with a man named Anatoly Rogozin, a Russian national, whom I met through my cousin Tom DuPlessis. Tom was involved in smuggling narcotics into South Africa for Anatoly.’ As she paused, Haddock and Skinner had identical thoughts: She just threw him right under the bus.
‘Through me,’ she continued, ‘Anatoly met my brother; Griff knew what he did, but had no interest in chasing drug-dealers, not then. He was a street cop and wide with it. One night, the three of us were together, a little drunk, when Anatoly asked Griff if it was true that he sometimes escorted shipments from the Mint to the gold depository. Griff said yes, and not only that, he was the guy who decided the route that the van would take. But he never knew, he said, whether it was actually carrying coinage; that was how the system worked. Then Anatoly said, “What if I could tell you?” He said he had a contact inside the Mint who knew when the real shipments were going out. Griff said that would be interesting. That was how the robbery was planned, and it was how it was executed. The contact gave Anatoly the word that coins would be carried that day, Griff chose the quietest route and the getaway van was waiting for him. Obviously, Fannie DeWalt had to be a casualty; there was no other way. Anatoly sourced a pistol, identical to Griff’s service weapon, and that was swapped at the scene for the gun that killed Fannie. Griff kept the original afterwards. It was the only way he could be certain that no trace of it would ever be found. The crew of the van tried to surrender but they were killed. Once the gold had been offloaded into the other van, Griff was shot, in the upper arm, a flesh wound, and then, very carefully along the side of the head. It was only when the gold reached Anatoly’s safe house that they realised how much they had, three times what we expected. It was agreed that they would sit on it until they had worked out how they could dispose of it. They waited for two years; by then the police investigation had cooled, and also the financial crash had made the haul all the more valuable by making gold more of a haven. Then the Wister Air deal became possible. Anatoly’s Russian friend, who was as crooked as he was, offered to sell him the business in Northern Cyprus, and he was happy to be paid in gold rather than currency. Griff set up Lente as discreetly as he could, with me as a co-owner, and together with Anatoly we went through with the sale. The rest of the coins were split three ways, and when we agreed that it was safe, with Tom’s help, Griff and I moved our shares to Scotland. With him a cop and me living with one, we agreed it could never be safer. What I did not know was that Griff had brought the gun, or that it would be used in two more killings. That’s all.’
The Roots of Evil (Bob Skinner) Page 23