When the interview room door opened, Savage looked up. The three detectives entered silently and arrayed themselves around him, all looking down. By the weariness in his eyes, it was clear that Savage was ready to talk. He looked as though a huge weight had been lifted from him as he watched them take their seats opposite.
He held up both hands. “You’re quite right,” he breathed. “I was holding something back. But as I sat here, I realised I needed this to be over. I almost don’t care what happens to me, I just want this to finish and have my life back.”
“Go on,” instructed Hooley.
“The first thing you need to know is that yes, I did put on an act of being best friends with the big guy, but that was it… an act. He ordered me to do it. Told me I was “his bitch” now and he could make me do whatever he wanted. I wasn’t his friend… I was terrified of him.
“The second thing you need to know is these people have interests everywhere. What I told you about the money laundering was true, but I soon discovered there was rather more to it. Among their legitimate interests is property development. I was told to visit the big guy at a site they’re developing near Euston railway station. I had no idea what to expect, I just knew I had to be there.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head as he thought about what he was going to say next. “It was like something out of a horror movie. The site was closed off by boards – but, just a few feet away, you could hear the sounds of people going about their lives.
“Inside, it was very different indeed. That’s where the big guy and his goons were. They didn’t say anything – they just waited. A few minutes later, some poor bloke was dragged in. The monster picked him up, wrapped his enormous hands round his neck and strangled him, right in front of me. Then he tossed the body in a hole and they poured concrete over him. The only consolation was that the man was so far gone I don’t think he realised what was happening.
“How I didn’t throw up was amazing, but I managed to just about hold it together. The big guy nodded at his goons who started working me over. Not as bad as last time, and after a few hard slaps they left me alone. Then the big guy looked at me like I was dirt on his shoe. He told me he would kill me the same way if I ever went against his orders. I didn’t need telling twice. I got the message. I was shaking like a leaf. That seemed to keep him happy and they let me go.”
There was something about the way Savage’s voice trembled that told Hooley he was telling the truth. “You keep referring to him as the big guy. Do you have any idea what his name is? Even his first name will do if that’s all you have…”
Savage shook his head. “They never used names. I realised how careful they were about that and I wasn’t about to ask. Sorry, it’s just the ‘big guy’ for me.”
“I thought you might say that,” said Hooley. “Please, carry on.”
“Well, a week later, I got a summons to the building site. I dropped everything and made my way there. For once I didn’t get beaten up – which made a nice change – and the big guy was there with one of our special mobile phones.” He looked at them expectantly and could tell only Roper knew what he was talking about. “We make a lot of money out of selling people stuff they want, rather than stuff they need. One of our biggest money makers are mobile phones. Basically, all high-end models are pretty similar. For most people it’s about which manufacturer they prefer. If people are looking for something different, they come to us for our custom designs. You can have a phone made out of gold, encrusted with jewels and special carry cases. The sky’s the limit. They’re expensive to make – but we can charge even more...” He looked at Hooley. “I can tell from your expression that you don’t approve. Well, if I’m honest, neither do I. These custom phones can easily cost seven figures; I just don’t see the point myself, but plenty do.”
Roper wanted to ask a question and was almost putting his hand in the air, as if he was back in the classroom.
“Why would an international drugs cartel be worried about you ordering custom mobiles? From what you say, they make good profits – so to go to all that trouble, including murdering someone? It seems out of proportion.”
“That’s the million-dollar question; it took me a while to figure out what it was about. Our custom phones are made by an outfit in Cambodia. Turns out, they’re an off-shoot of the company that currently makes all of the phones for the Ryder Corporation.”
He could see that Roper was beginning to piece it together.
“They were using you to get access to a main Ryder production facility. Of course,” Roper breathed, “now it makes sense.”
Hooley piped up. “It would be nice if you helped it make sense for the older members of the team.”
“I think I can see where you’re going Jonathan,” said Brooker. “Is this where your theory about industrial espionage comes into play?”
He nodded and she turned to the DCI. “If a rival company could get hold of the production schedule for the Ryder phones, that would be massive. At the moment, the best way one company can gain an advantage over another is through some sort of innovation in production that will win them new sales. Then the other side catches up again, and so on.” She paused, allowing Hooley to catch up. “But if you could find out early what was going on, it might save you tens of millions in sales. If, say, a rival found out Ryder was working on bendy phones, then they could know how far he’d got by finding out how the production line was being tooled up.”
Roper interjected, “With so much money at stake, it would save having to go through a laborious process to launder cash. Just present an invoice for ten, twenty or thirty million pounds –and you’re on to a winner…”
The information gave Hooley a bit of a lift. “This is good – if it’s true… We’ll be checking the location you’ve given us for the body. We can’t leave the poor man there.”
He looked at Savage, who was vigorously nodding his head. “It’s all true, DCI Hooley. Every word of it. I just wish I had more information on who the man is. All I can say is that’s he’s white and speaks English like a native.”
Hooley’s eyes caught the clock hanging on the wall above Savage’s head. It was already coming up to midnight. Telling Savage they would wrap it up for now, he led Roper and Brooker out of the interview room.
“You two really need to think about getting some rest.” He paused. “I’m going to be out all morning. It’s Barry Asmus’s funeral service. His wife has asked me to read a poem at the service, which I’m not looking forward to, given that it will be at St Paul’s. I’ll have TV cameras on me, so I need my beauty sleep tonight.”
Roper was worried. “That will put you under a lot of extra strain. Are you sure you should be doing this, especially in your condition?”
Hooley gave Roper his best enigmatic look, then wondered why he was bothering. He wouldn’t notice.
“If I keel over at St Paul’s, they’ll probably give me a medal. If you’re really worried, it all starts at 11am – so you can watch on TV while you and Susan search for the rest of the clues that break this case.” Before he left, he turned back. “I’m wondering about this “big guy”. He’s new to us but he hasn’t just appeared out of nowhere.
“A man that size may have been in sport, like boxing, or rugby. Or maybe he’s one of those guys who came up through the illegal fight world. That can be a savage place and you hear that people get badly hurt, or even killed. Sounds like our man would fit in well there.”
Roper and Brooker perked up. She said, “I think we might just do a bit of digging before we go anywhere…”
Chapter 45
Brian Hooley woke up and rolled over onto his back. He’d forgotten to draw the curtains when he’d fallen, exhausted, into his bed last night – so his room was full of light. Turning his head to check the clock, he saw that it was just after 6am. He’d been asleep for five hours.
Staring at the ceiling, he began to remember Barry Asmus and the times they’d spent together. He remembered their triumph
s, and there were many; he remembered their failures, and there were quite a few of those too.
Most of all he remembered the laughter. The shared humour that had got them through the times when they’d endured too much of the darker side of human nature.
But there was plenty of laughter that came from enjoying the simple things as well, the little practical jokes that life would play on the unwary. Like the time Barry Asmus had taken a bite out of one end of a bread roll and the contents had shot out of the other. As a potent mix of egg, tomato and mayonnaise had landed messily on his desk, the look of total dismay on Barry’s face had made Hooley laugh until he thought he would be sick. Even now his shoulders started shaking as the memory washed over him.
When the terrible news broke that he had been killed by the explosion at the O2, Hooley had not been surprised when details emerged about Asmus clearing the building and saving countless lives. It was a type of bravery that came naturally to Asmus. When people talked about the police service having a duty to serve and protect, that was one of the most important things which appealed to him. Asmus had always said it was a privilege to wear the uniform, to carry the badge and be in a position to protect people who might not be able to protect themselves. Given the chance to do it again, Asmus would have unflinchingly walked back into that building.
Hooley felt himself getting emotional and that wouldn’t do. His friend would have hated that. Indeed, he’d have pointed out that the DCI had his own duty today, helping the family in whatever way he could. Failure would see him haunted for the rest of his life.
Hooley sat up, then finally lurched to his feet and went through to the kitchen area of his flat. Here he put the kettle on for that vital first cup of tea, without which he would continue to feel out of sorts.
The moment the water boiled, he tipped it over the tea bag already placed in the mug. Then, leaving it to brew, he went to collect the post he’d ignored when he walked into the flat just a few hours ago.
Out of six letters, he picked up the only one which was directly addressed to him. It looked like a bank statement. The others were all direct mail advertising, ranging from charity requests to offers on bulk buying vitamins.
He tossed all but the bank statement straight into the bin. He almost held back the vitamin offer, but it was a bit late for supplements now. He’d see what the surgeon thought after the operation.
By now, the tea had been brewing for nearly five minutes. It was nice and strong, just the way he liked it. He took out the tea bag, added milk and turned on the TV.
He was watching the news without really taking it in, when suddenly a picture of Asmus appeared, jolting him back to reality. They were previewing the service due to take place in a few hours’ time, and Hooley watched with a new intensity. According to the reporter, the Queen had personally offered to have the coffin rest overnight in the Chapel of St Mary Undercroft in the Palace of Westminster. It was a great honour and Hooley knew that Barry’s wife, Linda, was deeply moved.
The reporter also said that it was anticipated that the two-mile route along the Victoria Embankment, from the Chapel to St Paul’s Cathedral, would be lined by up to five thousand police officers and other members of the emergency services.
It was anticipated that police helicopters would perform a fly by, and the coffin would be accompanied by the family, the Met Colour Party and the Black Escort from the Mounted Division. The Last Post would be sounded by a bugler from the Royal Honourable Artillery Corps.
The top brass was sparing nothing, and Hooley couldn’t help smiling. Barry would have pretended it was too much fuss – but, secretly, he would have loved it. When they were having a drink and complaining about the state of the police force, Barry would often say, “If the worst happens, the Old Bill do like to give you a good send off.” Well, he was certainly getting that send off today.
After finishing his tea, Hooley found himself in a curious state where adrenaline was fighting a reluctance to see this day end. The Clash lyrics, “Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?” were on a repeat loop in his brain.
He made himself move. Sitting here wasn’t going to change anything. It was still early, so he decided to take a leaf out of Roper’s book and treat himself to an extra-long shower and shave. He wasn’t one for pampering, but today was special.
An hour later, he was all fingers and thumbs as he tried, for the third time, to fasten his black tie. He was making a total hash of it. Suddenly, he was struck by an image of his wife: she’d have had him sorted out by now.
Thinking of her, he recalled their conversation after Barry had died. It had been one of the rare occasions where their animosities had been suspended. She would be there today, along with their children – and they had agreed to sit as a family. At least for the service.
Finally, he got his tie sorted out, put on his dress uniform jacket, his officer’s hat and shoes. They’d already been polished to the point of shiny perfection. It was Roper who’d done it. A stickler for polished shoes, he’d made the offer and the DCI was more than happy to accept.
There was still another hour before the police driver was due, so it was time for more tea. Had he not had such a central role to play, he might have gone for a shot of nerve steadying scotch, but he didn’t dare – and, besides, he could imagine the disapproval of his heart surgeon.
◆◆◆
Hooley jumped out of a cab close to the Central Criminal Court, the Old Bailey as it was widely known, and another of London’s many notable landmarks. He’d spent many a long hour waiting to give evidence at the court.
As he headed East, he hoped the walk would help calm him down. Only now, as he got closer to St Paul’s Cathedral, did he appreciate how much the surrounding area had been developed over the years. At least, he reflected, it still had a feeling of space – helped by the wide pavements which were busy with pedestrians.
Hooley hadn’t gone three strides inside the cathedral when his phone beeped. For a moment, he wondered if he was allowed to answer it in such a special place – but then he saw plenty of people checking their mobiles. It was a text from his ex-wife to say she was on her way but would be a while yet.
Thirty minutes later, he’d gone over to see his family. It was the first time they’d been together in many months and yet they all looked as familiar as if he’d seen them only yesterday. He couldn’t help noting, as always, that his two kids took their looks from their mother, better than the other way around.
His 23-year-old daughter, who was training to be a doctor, smiled sympathetically at him and held his hand for a moment. His son, two years younger and working with Hooley’s brother as a property developer, was more reserved but still spared him a brief hug.
The last time he’d seen his children was for a meal just before Christmas. They’d been polite but withdrawn, clearly still taking their mother’s view that he’d sacrificed his family for his career. That was also the last time he’d seen his wife. Then she’d been cold and aloof, and the stiff way she carried herself was a warning that her rage was merely out of sight and could reboot at any moment.
Today there was none of that, all four briefly united in grief and his estranged family recognising the loss he had suffered from losing his friend. For that brief moment, all was as it had been. Not for the first time Hooley wished he could turn back the clock.
Chapter 46
If it was anyone other than Mary Lou Healy, Josephine Taggert wouldn’t have been so concerned… but she’d heard nothing from her assistant for many hours. Constantly refreshing her email wasn’t doing the trick so she decided to get herself a coffee.
She was halfway out of her seat when an incoming message pinged onto her phone. It was from Mary Lou!
Wow, she thought, the “going for a coffee” trick had really worked this time.
Sitting back down she opened the message and then the attachment. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but the contents shocked her to the core. Was this some terrible practic
al joke? Surely Mary Lou wouldn’t do something like that? Yet there she was, live on screen.
She forced herself to be calm, fighting back a primal urge to panic. She felt cold and shivery as she pressed the play button again. This time she knew what to expect and there was no doubt at all. This wasn’t a joke. Her friend and colleague was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. Despite the temptation to scream and shout, she needed to think hard. She had to react the right way. She sighed. She was going to have to watch the video again and again until she had a handle on it.
The clip opened with a close-up shot of Mary Lou, but not as Taggert was used to seeing her. Instead of the composed woman that she knew, she looked disheveled and had clearly been crying. Her eyelids were red and raw, and her face was swollen and blotchy. Her normally immaculate hair was standing on end; she was dirty, and she had thick black tape over her mouth.
But it was her eyes that were most shocking. Taggert always thought that Mary Lou had the most beautiful big green eyes which constantly sparkled with good humour. This woman could not be more different. Her eyes were dull and frightened. And there was something else, a sense of helplessness and fear.
A powerful wave of emotion slammed through Taggert, threatening to derail her. She gripped her hands as tight as she could. No, she thought, she would not give in to despair.
Over the hateful pictures, a digitally disguised voice was repeating the same short message.
“This is the Cohort,” it announced. “Stay tuned if you want this woman back alive. Do not contact the police.”
Taggert was over the initial shock and now she responded. For the next few minutes she was going to limit the people who knew about this. She would call them by phone and get them to her office. Each one would be told it was vital to say nothing. The half dozen most senior executives, including the head of security, would do in the first instance. More could and would be added.
Just Kill Them Page 19
