NATIONAL TREASURE

by Barry Faulkner

  My mind was racing; if Clancy and his Romanian partners were going to bring the Bogdans down, then that left an awful lot of money in an Isle of Man account that they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it whilst sitting in their cells. Be a nice bonus to the job if I could whip in and get my hands on it.

  ‘Ever heard of the West London Cleaning Company?’ I thought I’d ask; Clancy might know where that fitted in. I didn’t expect the result I got; he nearly choked on his dishwater and I had to thump his back to clear his windpipe.

  ‘Don’t even go there, Nevis – strictly off the grid, out of bounds.’

  ‘I’ve already been there.’

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ His face sank with despair, ‘What, when?’

  ‘Last night, two goons were sitting in a West London Cleaning Company van outside Janie’s flat waiting for her to return – probably going to grab her again. There was a business flyer from that company on her table the first time I went there after she’d been taken.’

  ‘And you did what last night?’

  ‘They’re gone.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘Just gone, disappeared.’

  Clancy knew what I was saying. ‘Where’s the van?’

  ‘Gone, disappeared.’

  He sat back in his chair and pondered things for quite a while before speaking again. ‘West London Cleaners is a Bogdan cover company. Being a cleaner and dry cleaner they can order quantities of chemicals without any problem – chemicals they use in the production of crystal meth, the most addictive drug on the market, and a killer. They get the basic cocaine and upgrade it in their factory, which masquerades as a fabric cleaning plant. We have it under surveillance, and as I said, in a couple of weeks, when the Romanians are ready, we will raid it and close the Bogdans down once and for all.’

  ‘And the van?’

  ‘They use – or should I say used – it to deliver the finished product in single tabs to their street wholesalers, who sell on to the postcode gangs. All very professional.’

  ‘So they’ll miss the van straight away, won’t they?’ That worried me.

  ‘Of course they will, and the two men that were with it. This throws up a bigger problem – if they suspect OC have taken it and have their men in custody, they’ll get jittery and might close down and run.’ He stood up. ‘Go home, Nevis, and stay there – no more heroics. I need to talk to some people and then I’ll get back to you.’ He turned to go. ‘And I hope you’ve a black tie for tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Harry Cohen’s funeral, eleven a.m. Golder’s Green Cemetery. Be interesting to see who turns up.’

  And he left in a hurry, looking worried.

  CHAPTER 14

  The cemetery was big enough for Gold and I to stay a good hundred metres away from the Cohen funeral party gathered around the grave for the ceremony. Gold had brought a camera with a telescopic lens with her and took lots of pictures of the mourners. It was a good crowd. We had positioned ourselves beside a large old oak tree, giving us a good amount of cover. I noticed Clancy representing the police, a few of Harry’s business friends and some people obviously from his talent roster. They were easy to pick out as they kept turning towards the few media photographers twenty metres away, hoping for a picture of themselves in the tabloids or entertainment media the next day. No publicity is bad publicity, even if it is at your agent’s graveside. Assholes.

  Marcia and Janie were there in sombre garb, and I noticed four pretty obvious plainclothes officers hanging nearby. Harry’s widow was easy to pick out by her position nearest to the priest, or rabbi – not sure what to call him at a Jewish funeral. The widow had a young man in his thirties beside her, whom I took to be Harry’s son, and a lady of about the same age who must be his daughter. He’d mentioned them once but hadn’t gone into any detail. I wondered if his wife had known about his ‘illegal’ career? How had Clancy explained Harry being shot to the family?

  Gold jarred my elbow. ‘Bandits three o’clock.’

  I looked and saw two goons – pretty obvious by their appearance: flowing overcoats, hands in pockets – a good distance away. I stepped back behind the oak just in case they were looking for me. A picture of me may well have made its way to the Bogdans, or what was left of them, via friends in the Romanian police. Gold snapped them before stepping back with me.

  ‘You think they are checking on Janie?’ she asked.

  I nodded. ‘Could well be – mind you, to try and take her again would be daft.’

  ‘Still a million quid in play in an account they think Marcia has access to.’

  ‘True.’

  Harry’s coffin was lowered into the grave, the wife’s wreath was lowered onto it and the party left, shaking hands with the priest or rabbi as they made their way to the car park. The goons left too, hurrying away before the funeral party.

  ****************************************

  Back at my office Gold loaded the camera SIM card into her laptop as I made a coffee to have with beef and horseradish rolls I’d bought from the deli opposite. I sat back and watched as she pulled up the pictures one by one. Was Randall’s mysterious driver/accomplice amongst the mourners? Perhaps the last two Bogdan brothers were at the graveside? I wouldn’t know what they looked like, but they might well have been there, and the two goons might just have been their protection. I recognised a couple of the Z-list celebrities; couldn’t name them, but their duck lips and Botox faces seemed familiar. I chastised myself for watching too much crap telly.

  ‘Whoa…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go back to the last one.’ I leant nearer to the screen.

  Gold clicked back to the last picture, the young man beside Harry’s wife.

  ‘Harry’s son, Avram,’ Gold told me.

  I’d had a flashback when the face hit the screen: a flashback to Izvor underground station and the goons running in from the road as I knelt by the wall pretending to tie a shoelace. This face was one of them, I was sure.

  ‘He was one of Bogdan’s men that ran into Izvor station. I’m positive.’

  ‘Positive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you saying Harry Cohen’s son works for Bogdan?’

  ‘That man was at Izvor, one hundred percent.’

  My mobile buzzed. It was Clancy; he wasn’t happy. There’s a surprise.

  ‘You’ve upset the apple cart taking that van – there’s increased activity around West London Cleaners’ premises. Looks like they’re moving stuff out, so we are going in with AROs at four o’clock.’

  ‘Am I invited?’

  ‘Why not? Your actions are probably responsible for it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Clapham Industrial Estate, know it?’

  ‘I’m a private detective, not an estate agent.’

  ‘Yes, well, you rank equal in my estimation.’ Clancy can be hurtful.

  I humoured him. ‘Ha ha. Where is it?’

  ‘Union Road, Clapham – meet me by the gate at 3.45 and stay out of sight. If they know your face and see you, they’ll realise something’s definitely up and run a mile.’

  I told Gold what was happening. We continued through the pictures but none of the rest struck a chord. Something was bothering me.

  ‘So if Harry Cohen’s son is working for the Bogdans, they wouldn’t kill Harry, would they?’

  ‘If they did, the question is why?’

  ‘But they’ve no reason to – if Harry knew where the missing money was he’d tell them, he’d want to keep on their good side for future business. He’d have no reason not to tell them, and they’d have no reason to kill him – no reason at all.’

  Gold shut the laptop. ‘Which leaves the question, who killed Harry?’

  ‘And why?’

  ‘Well, two reasons to kill him. One, the killer wanted information out of Harry that he wouldn’t or couldn’t give them – or two, he knew who the Randall accomplice was who has the money and w
as threatening to tell the Bogdans, so the accomplice killed him.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a jigsaw, isn’t it.’

  ‘Yes, and the final piece is still missing.’

  CHAPTER 15

  Outside the Clapham Industrial Estate I pulled up behind two ARVs full of AROs in full attack gear, from their helmets to their boots. Behind them, two minibuses of uniformed officers and a couple of plain cars with OCOs waited silently. Clancy wandered over.

  ‘The Bogdans’ unit is a single ground floor warehouse, fifty metres by thirty. The windows have strong grilles welded over them and are blacked out. The door is steel with no outside handle – it’s a typical drug factory. I’ve got twenty AROs going in after they blow the door in. There’s a back door, all steel again, so I’ve armed plainclothes round there in case some make a run for it that way.’

  ‘What if there’s a tunnel?’ I remembered the one at the club in Bucharest.

  ‘A tunnel? This is Clapham, Nevis, not Colditz. Here, take this so you can follow what’s happening.’ He passed me a radio. ‘And stay here until we’ve got the place locked down and safe. Then you can come and take a look, see if you recognise anybody.’ He walked off.

  Gold and I watched as the AROs left their vehicles and moved quickly in single file, their MP5SFA3 semi-automatic carbines clutched to their chests, fingers on trigger. The uniforms followed with the plain clothes OCOs. The line disappeared quickly into the industrial estate. We could hear the instructions through the radio.

  ‘Line against the sidewalls. When the door goes in, we go in. Be alert, these bastards are probably armed.’ There was a short pause, then, ‘All ready to go, sir.’

  Clancy gave the order. ‘In your own time, sergeant.’

  There was a silence and then the crack of an explosive charge going off and lots of shouting. ‘Armed police,’ ‘Lay down, armed police’, ‘Stay where you are, armed police’, ‘Armed police’... Then silence.

  Clancy’s voice. ‘What’s happening, sergeant?’

  ‘Place is empty, sir.’

  ‘Can’t be, surveillance saw eighteen people go in this morning and nobody’s left.’

  ‘It’s empty, sir.’

  Gold and I exchanged knowing glances as I started the car and swung it round in the road, the tyres screeching a protest. I was going to follow the streets that ran along outside the boundary of the estate until we found what we knew would be there. One of the roads was a one way coming towards me; Clancy could pay my fine if a camera caught me. I hurtled down it with the oncoming traffic braking to a halt either side; I could do with a magnetic blue light to whack on the roof, must get one. All the time Gold and I had our eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead; we both knew what we were looking for, and on the fourth turn at a junction we saw it. A hundred metres ahead the road surface was disgorging people from an open manhole; a few pedestrians not quite believing what they were seeing stood looking in amazement. I noticed Gold had her gun out. Two men were stood beside the manhole helping others out. They turned and saw us; when they realised we were not going to stop, they took out guns and started firing at us. They had let go of the person they were hauling out of the manhole who dropped back into the hole, banging his head like a bagatelle ball in play on the rim as he fell. Ouch! I felt that! But I had to smile.

  I swerved the car as they loosed off more shots at us and the tyres screamed their pain as I stood on the brakes to bring it to a halt sideways on towards the shooters. Gold was out of the passenger door, and shielded by the car pumped bullets towards our targets; from twenty metres she doesn’t miss. One fell to the ground, blood soaking through his T-shirt from four holes around his heart and one in his neck; his gun fell from his hand and skated away on the tarmac. The other turned to run, but out in the open he had no chance. My first shot took his left leg from under him, and my second entered the back of his head as he fell. We left the car and approached the open manhole slowly from either side, expecting a head and a gun to appear, but it didn’t. The nearest shooter that Gold had taken out was lying on his front. I turned him over with my boot. Avram Cohen’s dead eyes were open but seeing nothing. The second man I didn’t know, but he wasn’t an Asian worker, so I hoped he was a Bogdan.

  I heard the sound of metal sliding on the tarmac and saw Gold kicking the manhole cover back in position, blocking the escape route. I hadn’t taken much notice of the radio and had left it in the car, but now I could hear Clancy screaming down it from twenty metres away. I walked to the car and picked it up from the floor.

  ‘Nevis here.’

  ‘Where are you, what’s happening? We heard shots, what’s going on?’

  ‘Somewhere in the warehouse you’ll find a trapdoor leading to an escape tunnel.’

  ‘Yes, we found that.’

  ‘I’m at the other end, it comes out on one of the boundary roads – just follow the perimeter of the industrial estate and you’ll find us. There’s a load of workers in the tunnel, they may retrace their steps back to the warehouse so keep officers there. We’ve blocked off this end – bring a wagon and some officers here and we’ll open it up. Oh, and get a doctor.’

  ‘Is somebody injured?’

  ‘No, dead. You know the rules, a doctor must certify the person dead before you can remove the body – or in this case, bodies.’

  ‘Oh Christ, Nevis, how many?’

  ‘Two, one? I don’t know. The other is Harry Cohen’s son.’

  There was a pause. ‘Harry Cohen’s son?’

  ‘Yes, Harry Cohen’s son. I’ll explain when you get here.’

  ***********************************

  Clancy took a deep breath, ‘What a bloody game, eh?’

  An hour later he was standing beside my car with me and Gold. The street had been cordoned off at either end to keep the media away, although with telescopic lenses it wouldn’t do. The last of the Korean drug workers were being helped out of the manhole and shepherded into a Social Services coach to be taken to an immigrant detention centre.

  Gold felt sorry for them. ‘Poor bastards, I bet they came here thinking the sun was about to shine on their lives.’

  The OIC joined us with a sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘The translator says they say they came in the back of lorries from Romania.’

  Clancy nodded. ‘Makes sense, another of the Bogdan’s income streams.’

  The IOC continued. ‘We have two Romanians in custody who seem to be part of the gang management of the place. They’ve identified one of the dead as Stefan Bogdan and can’t name the other, but say he’s English.’

  Clancy nodded. ‘Yes, we know who he is.’ He turned to me. ‘And then there was one, eh? If Stefan is dead, that leaves Danut.’

  I smiled. ‘He’s going to be a bit pissed off by now, isn’t he? All his brothers dead – the family back home aren’t going to like that.’

  Clancy checked his watch. ‘The rest of the family should all be in custody by now – Romanian police were doing a simultaneous raid on The Amsterdam Club at the same time as we went in here. From what I can gather there’s only the father that holds any sway other than the brothers, so I should think the dealers they supply will be off as soon as news of the raids breaks. They certainly won’t be buying from the Bogdans in future.’

  Two police motorcyclists pulled up and two dog handlers jumped off the pillions; the IOC gave them a nod and spoke into his radio. All three waited by the manhole with two AROs who had their rifles aimed at it. The IOC turned and explained. ‘They’re letting the dogs into the tunnel at the other end – anybody hiding down there now will get a shock.’

  The tunnel was clear, and the dogs emerged and collected their reward treats from the handlers.

  ‘Shame that.’ I looked at Clancy. ‘I was quite looking forward to seeing Danut Bogdan coming out with a dog hanging on each leg.’

  Clancy looked at me and shook his head unbelievably. ‘Nevis, I think you should go get counselling.’

  Funny that, ‘cause, as
you know I sometimes think that too. I turned to Gold for support, but she was nodding in agreement with Clancy.

  CHAPTER 16

  Danut Bogdan was first out of the tunnel. The CCTV camera had picked up the AROs coming towards the warehouse; the camera had been fitted on a vacant building opposite and covered the warehouse approach. It was wireless, so nobody knew the monitor screen was in the warehouse. Stephan had thought of that; Stephan’s good like that, Stephan sorted things out. Stephan had had the escape tunnel built; it was easy, it dropped from the warehouse floor into a major electricity mains cable access tunnel built to service the industrial estate many years ago and forgotten as the place expanded. It was six-foot high and narrow, with various cables hooked along the walls. It was wide enough to get along sideways to the steel stairs at the end that led up to the manhole. Stephan had given Danut a torch, and he and Avram had followed him into the tunnel with the rest of the workers scrambling in behind them. At the end it took a few hits with a sledgehammer kept there for just that reason to shift the cover and push it aside. The street was empty as Danut hauled himself out and gave Stephan a helping hand.

  ‘Go and fetch the minibus,’ Stephan told Danut as he leant to help Avram out. ‘Bring it here and we’ll get the workers into it.’

  Danut ran towards the end of the road; he’d parked the minibus two streets away after dropping the workers off at the warehouse that morning. As he reached the end of the road he heard gunshots behind him, and turning round looked back to where a car had slewed sideways and stopped fifty metres away from the other side of the manhole; two people were firing at Stephan and Avram who were firing back. Avram fell down; Danut reached into his jacket for his gun and started back. Stephan fell; he was still, and neither Stephan nor Avram were moving. Danut thought quickly. The two people with the guns were good; no warning had been shouted, no ‘armed police, drop your weapons’, nothing; so the two in the car were not AROs, not police; whoever they were they would be more than a match for him. He turned and walked quickly away from the scene, his brain scrambled. He needed to get to safety and work things out.