NATIONAL TREASURE: Ben Nevis and the Gold Digger book 2

by Barry Faulkner

  ‘Gotta go.’ She stood, put the folder back into her shoulder bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  ‘Business?’ I knew it would be.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s the lucky gent about to part with a small fortune?’

  ‘Confidential information.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘But if he doesn’t come up with my very reasonable demands, his colleagues in the House of Lords will be amazed by the pictures in the Sunday tabloids and on social media.’ She smiled. ‘And so will his wife. What time tonight?’

  ‘Late, I think. If there’s a welcome home party waiting at Janie’s flat they’ll be tired and fed up after sitting there all day. Meet you in the car park at eleven.’

  ‘Which car park?’

  I rented two car parking spaces at both my office and my apartment block; one for me and one for Gold.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Okay.’

  And she was gone. I must be the only private detective with a gold-digging blackmailer for a partner. Each to their own.

  CHAPTER 11

  We got to Janie’s about eleven fifteen. The night had thrown its dark canopy over London and thankfully Janie’s street wasn’t well lit. None are these days; council funding cuts.

  We were both in our black gear. I had my trusted Beretta 9mm in my pocket with a silencer fitted; made it a bit cumbersome, but a 9mm shot without a silencer would wake the whole of Fulham.

  Gold drove her dark Lexus slowly along the street as we checked the inside of the parked cars; they all looked empty. She turned round at the end of the road and we came back and took another pass through, just in case we’d missed something. We had; a white van, no driver or passenger but a sign written on the sides and back: ‘West London Cleaning Co.’

  ‘Interesting,’ I said, and pointed it out to Gold.

  ‘Yes, very.’ She took a left turn at the end of the road, made a three point turn and came back into Janie’s street, pulling in and parking about sixty metres behind the rear of the van. She reached behind to the back seat and passed me the Nocoex night vision binoculars from her shoulder bag laying there. I flicked on the night vision mode and focused on the back of the van. These binoculars are like a small box with a LED screen at the rear; no holding them to the eyes, the screen shows what you are looking at. The van showed up with a green hue around it; no bright spots showing a heat source. That van must have been there for some time, or the tyres and exhaust would show up brighter than the rest. It was cold.

  I passed the box to Gold. ‘That’s been there a long time.’

  She agreed. ‘Trouble is, we don’t know if anybody’s in the back.’

  She was right. Body heat would only show up when looking directly at the body, not through the metal van. I switched to normal mode and took another look. The rear windows were blacked out. Nothing happening, or was there? I focused on the side of the van; light puffs of smoke were coming out of the passenger side window. I smiled, gotcha. Somebody inside was a smoker. The passenger window had been left open at the top for the smoke to escape! I passed the box to Gold. ‘Passenger side window.’

  She looked and a smile crossed her face as another puff of smoke left the gap. ‘Filthy habit.’

  ‘Smoking can kill you,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

  We left the Lexus; Gold crossed to the other side of the street while I stayed on the van’s side and we walked in parallel towards it. No balaclavas this time; didn’t want to scare the life out of any Fulham resident walking their dog. I sauntered past the rear of the van, looking as normal as I could in case somebody inside was watching through the back windows. They probably weren’t, as Janie’s house was to the front of where it was parked, so they’d be looking that way. I stopped alongside and peered across to Gold, who was stopped opposite. I pulled out the Beretta, slipped the safety off and gave Gold a nod; she moved across the road to the offside of the van.

  We moved to the back, out of sight of the blacked-out windows. I gave another nod and Gold took my cue, and reaching across pulled the rear door open in a flash and held it wide. I stepped out to the opening and shot both the men sitting inside before they could realise what was happening and pull a gun. My first two shots were to their bodies, the next two to their heads as they slumped forward. The silencer reduced the noise of the shots to phut, phut, phut, phut, and no residents nearby would even know they’d been fired. Gold reached in and stubbed out the tell-tale cigarette that had dropped from one of the dead men’s hands and closed the rear door.

  ‘Next?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll check the flat and then I’ll get rid of them.’ I checked the front of the van; the keys were in the ignition.

  I used my duplicate set of keys to get into the house and then into Janie’s flat; 310666 still worked and the alarm events list showed nobody had come in since my last visit, so no need to check the rooms. I reset it and left. Gold was standing in the small front garden, shielded from view by a large hedge.

  ‘Nobody’s been in,’ I told her.

  ‘That’s a good sign. What now?’

  ‘I’ll take the van and tidy things up. Been a long day – see what you can find out about the West London Cleaning Company in the morning, give me ring at home if anything shows up. I ought to go and see Marcia and Janie tomorrow, catch up on things and pick Marcia’s brain on Randall’s close friends – might get a name or two for the Essex driver. I’ll give you a call.’

  ‘Okay.’ And she was gone, hardly noticeable in the dark as she made her way back to the Lexus. I got into the van and adjusted the seat – one of those stiffs in the back must have short legs – and then made a call on my mobile. It took a few rings before it was answered.

  ‘Yeah?’ said a tired voice.

  ‘Ben Nevis, I have a job for you.’

  ‘Mr Nevis, what are you doing getting us out of bed at this time of the night? Long time no see.’

  ‘Yes, things have been a bit quiet on the personal removal part of the business lately, but I have urgent need of your services.’

  ‘At this time of night? It’s a bit late, even for you, Mr Nevis. Just one?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No, I need to clear a motor before I get rid of it.’

  ‘Hang on.’ The voice said something away from the phone to another person. They had a muffled conversation, and he came back to me. ‘How far away are you?’

  ‘Thirty minutes.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll see you there.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘And Mr Nevis...’

  ‘Yes, I know – cash.’

  ‘Yes, five hundred each – and we haven’t gone cashless payments just yet.’

  Click.

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

  The ‘twins’ had been good to me over the years. Both were now in their eighties and I still don’t know their names – don’t need to; all I know is they were introduced to me many years ago by a nasty piece of work as ‘the best magicians in England’. And they were, a ‘magician’ in gangland parlance being somebody who makes things disappear; in the twins’ case it was bodies. One thing a hitman needs is a magician; no dead body means no evidence, and no evidence means no arrest. Simple. I’d used their services eight times in the past without any problems; their heyday was when they were young, in the bad old days just after the Krays and Richardsons were sent down and a new breed of wannabes had fought for pieces of the London drugs turf. They’d laughed as they told me how ‘business was brisk in those days’. I guessed jobs were few and far between these days, because there’s always a building site somewhere laying a thick concrete foundation that could take a body or two; and seeing that most of the big development sites in London are backed by mob money, it isn’t a problem.

  It took me a little over the thirty minutes to get to the twins’ place of business, South London Crematorium. I flashed my head
lights at the double iron gates and they swung slowly open, letting me through, and closed behind me. I drove along the drive, past the front entrance and round to the back delivery doors. The twins were waiting with two body bags and a trolley. Conversation wasn’t needed, a couple of grunts that translated into, ‘Hello, how jolly nice to see you Ben, are you keeping well?’ – or maybe not. The money from my ankle wallet changed hands first; nice to see they still trusted me and didn’t bother to count it.

  I opened the van doors and working together we pulled out the two goons and laid them on the body bags. The twins stripped off any jewellery, rings, gold bracelets and neck chains; any finger that wouldn’t release a ring was snipped beside the ring with a pair of industrial secateurs and the ring prised off. The twins probably made as much again as their fee with the little pile of goodies from these two stiffs. Pockets were checked for cash, and anything that could identify who the bodies were was left with them, which were then zipped into their body bags before being lifted onto the trolley and wheeled inside through the double doors. They stopped there and I took my cue to leave.

  The doors closed as I got back into the van and made my way back round to the gates, which swung open as I approached and closed behind me when I’d left. I stopped a couple of hundred metres up the road, got out and looked back. The whisp of smoke from the crematorium chimney turned slowly into a small plume; the twins were working their magic. There wouldn’t be much smoke, as the filters used by crematoriums these days to stay within the clean air laws strip out all the harmful bits. Job done.

  I made my way back home and left the van in Gold’s parking spot, before going up to my apartment, taking a shower and saying goodnight to the world.

  CHAPTER 12

  In the morning my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten for some time. I looked in the kitchen cupboard at my usual bran flakes, raisins and walnuts and wasn’t impressed, so I took a stroll out to the local greasy spoon and had a full English with a giant mug of tea. Mistake. Why do you always regret the loss of willpower? I regretted the full English as I trudged back to the apartment feeling bloated. I took a half hour session on my multi-gym and felt a bit better physically, but still my lack of willpower was annoying me. I needed to get stronger in that department. Gold’s the same with chocolate; tells me she’s never going to eat another bar and the next week her dashboard is a veritable hoard of Mars bars, Snickers and Milky Way wrappers.

  I had work to do, so a quick shower and some fresh clothes and I felt better. I took the stairs down to the apartment foyer and gave the security guard the ‘25% off your next full English’ voucher the greasy spoon had given me when I’d paid; looking at the guard’s girth, I reckoned he was a regular. We exchanged a few pleasantries and I crossed to the door leading to the stairs down to the garage, with the guard’s ‘Have a nice day, Mr Hadlow’ getting a smile, and a ‘You too’ from me.

  The West London Cleaning Company van was still there, and I wondered if the Bogdans had missed it yet; they must have. I drove it to Deptford, nice and easy; stopping for people waiting at crossings, not pushing through amber lights. The last thing I wanted was a police stop and trying to explain the bloodstains in the back. I pulled into the yard of ‘Deptford Scrap, Ferrous and Non Ferrous Metal Bought’. It was busy; two metallic cranes were lifting from piles of scrap and dumping it into a crusher, a line of written-off car crash vehicles stripped of anything saleable waiting for the same treatment. The crusher’s jaws would render them into a five-foot square metal cube. I pulled up in front of a portacabin, gave a tap on the door and went inside.

  ‘Ben Nevis, haven’t seen you for ages.’

  Annie Greggs was a chain-smoking Cockney, the epitome of mutton dressed as lamb. Pushing seventy-five, she had a blonde wig, make-up she must put on with a trowel, duck lips, Botox cheeks, breast implants to shame Dolly Parton, and wore miniskirts, fishnet stockings and high heel boots. She’d inherited the yard from her father who somehow ended up in his own crusher. She’d always maintained he’d slipped on the edge when a gear got stuck and was releasing it; others say he welshed on a debt to somebody he shouldn’t have and paid the price. I don’t know the truth. But I do know that Annie is good at what she does; she doesn’t suffer fools and has been known to lay out a heavy docker who ridiculed her appearance with one right-hander.

  She was stood behind the counter looking out of the window to the yard. ‘You got yourself a proper job at last have you, Ben – cleaning?’

  I ignored that remark. ‘How are you, Annie? You look busy.’

  ‘Always busy, Ben. Great demand for steel these days, can’t complain. What brings you here?’

  ‘Well, my new job as a cleaner didn’t work out – can’t sell the van because of the sign writing, so I want it crushed.’

  She smiled at me, not believing a word I’d said. ‘Of course you do – and you’ve misplaced the registration documents too, haven’t you Ben?’

  ‘You know me so well, Annie.’

  ‘Too well, Ben, too well. Urgent, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Five hundred notes urgent?’

  Seems five hundred pounds is the going rate for everything. I’d stopped at an ATM on the way and refilled my ankle wallet. I knelt and pulled out eleven fifties and passed them over.

  ‘You’re a star, Annie. Take your latest toyboy for a decent meal.’

  She laughed. ‘You know me so well, Ben.’

  ‘Too well, Annie, too well.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s get it done. Cash is king.’

  She led the way outside and crossed to one of the magnetic cranes and shouted up to the driver and pointed to the van. He nodded, dropped his load of scrap back on the heap and swung the jib round over the van, switched on the magnet and dropped it onto the roof with bang. The van was lifted up, over the other cars and held waiting, swinging slowly above the crusher as the last heap of metal slid out in box form onto the conveyor belt from the jaws as they opened like a hungry shark, and the hydraulic shaft pushed it out. The magnet was turned off and West London Cleaning Company’s van fell into the jaws. The power of them closing on and squashing the van was quite frightening; if Annie’s dad had been alive inside the pit as they closed, he probably died of fright before they ate him. The van came out as a box in a matter of minutes; it was dripping oil and petrol as the magnetic crane lifted it into its place onto a pile of similar squashed metal boxes.

  Annie turned to me. ‘Well, at least there wasn’t anybody in the back of it.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Blood is a different colour to oil.’ She laughed and added quickly. ‘So I’m told.’

  I pecked her cheek. ‘Thanks for that.’

  ‘Anytime, Ben. Don’t be a stranger – pop in and say hello from time to time.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘That’s what all the nice boys say, but they never do.’

  We laughed together and I gave a wave and a thumbs-up to the crane driver and walked from the yard. Job done.

  CHAPTER 13

  Clancy rung; he wanted a meet, but wouldn’t say why. I arranged to see him at Charing Cross in an hour, giving me time to check in with Gold. I gave her a call. She hadn’t dug anything up on the West London Cleaning Company; in fact she said she sensed a wall of silence coming up every time she mentioned it to her street contacts.

  Clancy wasn’t a happy bunny. I got two cups of British Rail dishwater when he arrived and sat back, prepared for a bollocking.

  ‘My friends in Romania are not very happy with you.’

  ‘I rescued a kidnap victim, a British National, held by a Romanian drugs family.’

  ‘There are diplomatic channels open to use for that.’

  ‘Really, like the Diplomatic channels that are open for Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe?’

  ‘That’s above my pay grade, Nevis – you wreaking havoc and killing Romanian nationals in Romania isn’t.’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean.
’

  Clancy let out a long sigh; he was fed up with me. I’d better tread a bit more lightly.

  ‘I have CCTV footage sent from Romania of you with Janie Johnson on an underground station – a station where two stabbings took place. I have various still photos they have cut from various retail CCTV cameras of you in amongst a crowd running from that station. I have CCTV footage of four men being shot at the Debrecen border post by somebody looking suspiciously like you and a female accomplice, together with Janie Johnson in a hired car. The car was rented at Debrecen airport and returned a short time later, just before a private charter flight left there for Stansted. I seem to recall meeting you, your partner and Janie off a private charter flight at Stansted. I’ve checked, and it came in from Debrecen. So cut the bullshit and let’s figure out what we are going to do to avoid an international incident and the Home Secretary going up the wall.’

  I didn’t say a word, sometimes silence is the best policy. Clancy took a gulp of BR dishwater, grimaced and carried on. ‘Lucky for you, Nevis, I have regular dealings with my opposite number in Romania. We have been working on eliminating the Bogdan family both there and here – and by eliminating I mean by legal methods through the courts. So far you have eliminated three of the five brothers by illegal methods, Alexandru here and two over there. That leaves, according to my sources, two brothers, Danut and Stefan, who they believe are in the UK. I told you before that we are monitoring the family, the reason being that a joint strike would be made in Romania and here when we are ready, with enough evidence to put the family away for many years. They were going about their illegal business quite unaware of our surveillance, until you started a war with them.’

  ‘Hang on, they started it – they kidnapped Janie. I was just getting her back for my client, Marcia Johnson.’ I was sounding like a schoolboy in the head’s study, ‘He started it, sir, not me.’