‘Not sure I appreciate his take on the Maynards and the locals,’ Wendy said as she and Isaac waited for the door to the flat to open.
‘Don’t judge him too harshly. They’ve got a difficult job with the disparate society down here,’ Isaac said.
The door opened, a heavily-tattooed and burly man stood on the other side.
‘DCI Cook, DS Gladstone, Challis Street Homicide,’ Isaac said.
‘Come in,’ the man said, exhaling cigarette smoke over the two officers.
Isaac and Wendy walked down the narrow hallway, brushing against the coats hanging on hooks to their right. A dog barked from behind a closed door. There was a distinct smell in the air of perspiration, stale smoke and alcohol. Isaac felt like taking his handkerchief and holding it over his nose.
‘A saint, I’m telling you she was,’ a female voice shouted from the room at the end of the hallway.
Isaac and Wendy passed through the doorway to find a group of people sitting around. On the table in the centre of the room, a half-empty bottle of whisky.
‘DCI Cook…’
‘Don’t bother with your names. You’re not welcome here, nor is he outside,’ the woman who had shouted, said.
‘You are?’
‘Beverley Maynard, her mother. Have you found the bastard who killed my daughter?’
‘We’re still conducting enquiries.’
‘Then why are you here? We didn’t kill her.’
‘We’re assuming that your daughter wasn’t the primary target,’ Wendy said. ‘We need to ascertain her movements, to check if she or you may have seen anything. What can you tell us about your daughter?’
‘She was a good girl, not like the others.’
‘The others?’
‘My two eldest. Alex, you’ve met. He’s always in trouble for this and that. The other layabout sitting sheepishly, that’s Harry, a nasty piece of work, and to think I carried him for nine months.’
‘Mum, you shouldn’t say that, not to them. They’re the police, even if they’re not wearing a uniform,’ Alex said. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a glass of whisky in his hand.
‘I’ll say what I like. I’m the mother, and I’m sad, even if you’re not. You two made Sal’s life hell, even when she was younger, and now look at what’s happened. Snatched away from me, the only one who cared, and who’s going to look after me now?’
‘Mrs Maynard, if we could come back to your daughter,’ Isaac said. He could empathise with the uniform outside. This was clearly a fractious family who not only gave the police trouble but would not have been liked in the area. He was sure that if they enquired they would find few that would speak kindly of the family in flat 923.
‘What do you want?’
‘Your daughter’s movements. She was in Kensington. Did she go there often?’
‘Sal liked to look in the shop windows. She was obsessed with those who had money and fame. I don’t know why as she wasn’t much to look at. When I was her age, I was a looker, mark my words.’
‘You’re a liar,’ Harry Maynard said. ‘Our old man, before you nagged him to death, said you were selling yourself not far from here. That’s where he met you, said you were cheap, and not too fancy even back then. At least Sal didn’t do that, not that she did much else.’
‘Sal helped out at the supermarket for two or three days a week. Casual, so they didn’t have to pay her much,’ Alex said. He was on his third whisky since Isaac and Wendy had arrived in the flat.
‘We’re certain that she was at the murder scene because Guy Hendry was there.’
‘He’d not fancy her. Apart from working sometimes, she’d sit in front of that television and read those magazines. She was keen on Hendry, not that I could see much in him. And as for that Gillian Dickenson, skinny as a rake.’
‘She died, as well,’ Wendy said.
‘It’s been on the news. No mention of Sal, only that an unidentified female had also died. They mentioned Hendry and the tart he was with, but nothing about my Sal.’
‘The names are not revealed until the next of kin are informed. You must know that,’ Isaac said.
‘Of course I do. But it’s not right. My Sal was a good girl, and they report it as if she was a nobody, whereas the suntan and the teeth, and his fancy woman, get their pictures splashed across the television. And what about Sal, nothing, not even a mention of what she meant to me.’
‘Mum, stop talking nonsense. You didn’t care for her, any more than you do for us,’ Alex said, his words slurring.
Isaac and Wendy were glad when they left the flat. On the face of it, there was no more to be gained at the Maynards’, but Isaac knew that with the most inconsequential, the most unlikely piece of information, they could be back there. Sal Maynard may have been of little consequence, at least at the murder scene, but she could have seen something, heard something at another time, which could have required her death. Nothing and nobody could be regarded as trivial.
***
Larry Hill left the crime scene at Briganti’s salon and headed into the area’s criminal underbelly. He knew that Alphonso Abano’s death would ensure that the criminal community was on edge and they would be closing ranks.
The first stop, the Wellington Arms in Bayswater. Inside, one of his informers, a man of moderate height and intellect, yet taciturn, and very careful in what he said.
‘Seamus, a pint?’ Larry said to the man, who was sitting to one side of the main bar.
‘I thought you’d be in,’ Seamus said.
‘What’s the mood on the street?’
‘Just talk, nothing more. Abano’s not a great loss, and no one believes they were after him.’
‘Any names?’
‘Not for the killing. Abano was not a major player, even if he fancied that he was,’ Seamus said, his Irish accent still noticeable even though he had lived in London, on and off, for over twenty-five years. He was dressed casually: a pair of faded jeans, a white tee-shirt, his receding hair parted to one side, the grey starting to show in the shoulder-length hair.
Seamus Gaffney was not a criminal, although he skirted on the edge of legality. Apart from running errands for an illegal gambling syndicate, and the occasional favour for some of the criminals in the area, he was clean. He’d spent three months in prison as a youth in Ireland for passing false cheques; he had even managed to purchase a car with one of them, only to have it break down after fifty miles, and when he had returned to take umbrage with the man who had sold him the dud, he was up and gone.
Gaffney had put it down to one dud in exchange for another.
‘I’d agree,’ Larry said. ‘Who could have been the target at Briganti’s?’
‘Nobody knows, and that’s the truth. Maybe they're careful not to speak in case they end up dead, but on this one, Inspector Hill, you’ll need to look further afield. It could be someone brought in from overseas for the one job, and then shipped out.’
‘We’ve considered that possibility. Whoever it was, they dumped the rifle and pistol in a bin as they left.’
‘No fingerprints?’
‘Nothing. We’ve got Interpol onto it, but no details.’
‘The villains don’t like someone coming in here and causing trouble. It makes it more difficult for everyone.’
‘A downturn in crime for a few days, some small benefit,’ Larry said.
‘Briganti was a decent man, kept to himself, and Hendry doesn’t seem likely.’
‘Did you know either?’
‘Briganti in passing. He’d sometimes have a glass of wine of a Saturday in here. Hendry I know from a long time back, before he became the big star.’
‘How?’
‘Not much in itself, but he used to do some modelling. Back then, he was a good-looking man, no money, but he always seemed to be able to find himself a woman. Some reckoned that some of them were paying him for his time.’
‘Prostitution?’
‘Es
corting, more like. If he was, good on him.’
‘Not something either of us would have been paid for,’ Larry joked.
‘Not a chance,’ Seamus agreed, his empty glass pushed across the table.
‘Make that three,’ a voice from behind.
Larry looked up to see the menacing figure of Nicolae Cojocaru, a man that the detective inspector kept his distance from. Cojocaru, wanted in his home country of Romania for extortion and murder, but claiming immunity from deportation due to his notoriety back there not affording him a fair trial, walked tall in London. Even the police gave the man a wide berth, knowing full well that he kept a team of henchmen on hand.
It was only the third time that Larry had spoken to the man. The first was when Cojocaru had told him to back off on prosecuting another man, not that it had done any good, and Larry had not complied. But the man, according to the word on the street, had some dirt on the Romanian crime boss, and if he was incarcerated, then he might talk. Not that it was relevant now, but his first day in prison the man had had an unfortunate accident and was now dead and buried. The second time had been in the pub they were in now. Cojocaru had seen Larry sitting in his regular seat, and had made a disparaging comment about the police in general, and Larry in particular. On that occasion, Larry had stayed seated, and the man had moved on, evicted someone else from their spot close to the bar.
Cojocaru was a charmless man who ruled by intimidation and overt violence. Larry did not feel comfortable with him sitting alongside him, two of the gangster’s henchmen standing to their rear.
‘It wasn’t my people,’ Cojocaru said, leaning in Larry’s direction.
‘Not your style?’ Larry said sneeringly.
‘Now look here, Mr Policeman, I’ve sat here in an act of conciliation. Whoever was responsible, they frighten us.’
‘You’re a known criminal and not someone with a good reputation. Too many people have died around you. Why should we be discussing this matter?’
‘I keep my ears to the ground. I know that you’re someone who can be trusted. You want to solve this crime. I want those responsible out of here.’
‘There are some who would want you out as well.’
‘No doubt they would. I’m an honest businessman, although I’m a tough bastard. Those who get on my wrong side end up regretting it. You don’t want to be one, do you?’
‘Are you threatening a police officer?’
‘I don’t threaten. I say it as it is.’
‘Very well, Mr Cojocaru, what do you know about the shooting?’
‘My contacts tell me it was someone who was brought in from overseas and then flown out.’
‘But why? It makes no sense to be so visible.’
‘It sends a warning that whoever it is can act with impunity.’
‘Are you frightened?’ Larry asked.
‘Only a foolish man has no fear. Whoever it was could come back and finish the job.’
‘Why? And who was the target? Alphonso Abano doesn’t seem worth it.’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘The others are clean.’
‘Nobody’s clean, you know that. Everyone’s got skeletons, some criminal, some not, that they’d rather not be known.’
‘What do you want from me? I’m not going to look away while you maim and kill and ship your drugs into this country,’ Larry said.
‘Let’s just say that I’m an honest businessman who sees the neighbourhood going downhill.’
‘You can say it, I can’t. But I don’t want any escalation in crime. Tell me what you know, and we’ll agree to act civil to one another.’
Larry wasn’t sure, and ideally, he would have called his DCI for advice, but time was of the essence. He knew that men such as Cojocaru did not offer help often, and if the killer was an import, the Romanian, a swarthy man in his fifties, could assist.
‘Another time, you and I will not be having this conversation. Get in my way and you know what happens.’
‘A display of the rough justice from where you come from.’
‘Not much of a legal system either. It’s men such as me who maintain control, and fear’s a great motivator, a deterrent as well. Anyway, what we have is a Mafia-style killing. I’ve put the feelers out, and it’s not someone from Romania.’
‘You would have known in advance if it was?’
‘I would have stopped it if I had.’
‘Late at night, local tip?’
‘Inspector, don’t keep baiting me, or I’ll let you deal with this.’
‘Very well. Who was the target?’
‘I’ve heard about Hendry and his woman, Briganti as well. He came over from Italy, check him out, although I suppose you are.’
‘Complete dossiers are being prepared on all those who died. The question is, as you say, why kill them all? There’s nothing to be gained.’
‘There is. An overseas syndicate wanting to establish their mark in this country. The easiest way to frighten any who would get in their way is to show their dominance, their willingness to use violence.’
‘A threat to you?’
‘An honest businessman, as we’ve agreed.’
‘I forgot.’
‘Hypothetically, assuming I was what you think I am, that sort of person would be seriously worried.’
‘A bastard thing to do, killing innocent people.’
‘Nobody’s innocent. You’d learn that in my country. You’re either the one in control or you’re the flotsam, and of no consequence.’
Larry realised that the gangster had no concept of right or wrong, only in ensuring that he remained the most vicious crook in the area, the man that everyone else was afraid of, a man who could have used the hairdressing salon as an example.
‘Keep in touch, Hill. We need each other,’ the parting words from Cojocaru as the men separated, a brief handshake. ‘Remember, take care with me. I’m a good friend to those who understand me.’
And a savage and malignant bastard to those that don’t, Larry thought.
Chapter 5
Guy Hendry had an ex-wife and two children, that much was known. Failing any others, they were the next of kin, although according to the tabloids, the relationship between Guy and the former Mrs Hendry was acrimonious.
‘I’ve no issues with Guy,’ Liz Hendry said after she had opened the door to her house in a leafy suburb near Richmond Park. ‘The man can’t help himself, but he’s looked after us well.’
The two police officers found themselves sitting in two chairs in the main room of the house. It was well decorated, the sort of place that featured in magazines.
‘Guy paid for all this, not that he couldn’t afford it.’
‘You seem very composed given the circumstances,’ Wendy said.
‘I reported from a few war zones earlier on in my career, saw things no person should ever see. Guy’s death, as well as Gillian’s, has come as a shock to my children and me.’
‘Your children, where are they?’
‘They’ve left home now. Two daughters, the oldest is twenty-two and married, the youngest is nineteen, and living with her boyfriend. They’ve been over to see me, and my sister’s in the other room, so is Guy’s.’
‘You knew Gillian Dickenson?’ Wendy asked, her initial concerns about the woman in part allayed by her pleasant manner.
‘I knew of his conquests. I was one when I was younger. I liked Gillian, and some may have said she was with Guy for his money, but he was still great fun. I would have had him back in a flash, but that’s not how he was wired. One of the reasons that he’s been so successful. He knew of his appeal to women, and he knew how to turn on the charm.’
‘Sergeant Gladstone’s right,’ Isaac said. ‘You don’t come across as the grieving widow.’
‘I am. Ask me what you want, and then if you could, please leave me in peace. At least for a few days. I will take responsibility for the funeral arrangements, along with his sister.’
‘We shoul
d interview her while we’re here.’
‘She’s not bearing up as well as me.’
‘The truth is that we don’t know who the intended target was,’ Isaac said. ‘The shooting was well-executed. Apart from a local criminal, no one of interest was in the salon.’
‘Loved by all, was Guy. Loved by too many, the occasional discarded boyfriend might have said. Sometimes, the women would come on to him, and one or two might have been married or in a relationship. The one fault, minor I suppose, is that sometimes he couldn’t say no.
‘Any incidents that you know of?’
‘One or two. Guy would phone me up occasionally to let me know, and when the children were younger, we’d all go away on our annual holidays together. Some may have seen it as strange, but we didn’t, the reason our daughters are so well-balanced.’
‘He should have stayed with you,’ Isaac said. He had to admit that he liked Liz Hendry, a person with a refreshing honesty about her.
‘He tried, but then the fame and fortune came along. When we first met, he was struggling. The occasional photo shoot for a men’s clothing line, an in-store magazine, and we had no money to spare. But then he got the first game show to host, and for a while he was impossible to live with. We used to live in a one-bedroom bedsit, and then we had a four-bedroom house.’
‘We’ve only heard good reports about his affability, although there was an autograph hunter in the salon. The photos of her with Guy don’t show him as being overly friendly with the woman.’
‘You’ll not hear a bad word from me about him, nor will our daughters say anything against him. Our youngest has taken it badly, and she’ll come back later to be with me. The eldest is more stoic, more like me in many ways.’
‘Jealous husbands and discarded boyfriends don’t hire professional killers,’ Isaac said.
‘Guy wasn’t the target, nor was Gillian. I liked her and she thought it was love, no doubt Guy did, but after about six to nine months, there’s another temptation. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good man, as good as you could hope for. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve spent enough time putting on a brave face.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2 Page 47
