‘She could put us in danger!’
‘Coerced or not, let’s not forget that she’s a home invader and she’s responsible for aiding and abetting scores of burglaries, one of which led to the death of a dog and another to the severe beating of an autistic lad. And she’s responsible for the death of Jacob Mulhern!’
‘That’s bollocks and you know it!’ Lee’s argument was born out of the sheer frustration at being left out of the loop and being unsupported, as he saw it, by his senior officer. Mason lowered his tone into a forced whisper before he continued. ‘We’re responsible for the death of Jacob Mulhern. And I don’t mean the police force, Eamonn, I mean me and you. We left him to uniform when we should have been all over it ourselves.’ Mason watched Lee’s nostrils flare and his cheek muscles twitch. He was angry because he knew Mason was right and that hurt like hell. ‘I don’t give a fuck whether you like Jack Warr or not,’ Mason continued. ‘He’s right about the handling of Charlotte. You should see her, Eamonn, she’s putty in his hands.’
‘And what about you, Colin? Are you putty in his hands too?’
As Lee stormed from the canteen, he didn’t notice Bevan sitting with her back to the table he’d just left. Nor did Mason. She got out her mobile and texted Jack on his burner:
We may have a problem.
*
Ridley wore a pair of classic blue jeans, a pale blue T-shirt, black trainers and a black leather jacket. He was so close to looking cool, but somehow couldn’t quite pull it off. Perhaps because he just didn’t feel comfortable. As a man who normally dressed immaculately in a perfectly fitted suit, Ridley now felt very under-dressed sitting in the lounge bar of the Franklin Hotel in Egerton Gardens.
‘You said we were meeting in a caff opposite the emporium!’ Ridley looked Jack up and down. He knew the cost of the clothes Jack was wearing. ‘And don’t even try to put that lot on expenses!’
As Ridley sipped a £5 lime and soda, Jack got him up to speed, flitting from subject to subject as thoughts popped into his head, with Ridley just about keeping up. ‘De Voe’s definitely our man,’ Jack said. ‘I think his main gang might be Brazilian, and they come and go from the country as and when he needs them and maybe also as mules to move the stolen items on into Europe. He could be using different people each time, but I reckon he has a trusted group that he sticks to. I think Mathew knew exactly what he was talking about when he described the man who beat him with a crowbar as being Oberyn Martell from Game of Thrones. Alberto Barro is the spit of him. We need to put plainclothes on De Voe, Betina Barro and Alberto Barro, from today. And we need to have enough officers to change about so they don’t get sussed. De Voe’s got an iPhone and a Samsung, so you need to track both . . . and he has to have an offshore account somewhere to deal with the sales of stolen items. That won’t be in his name, but it might be in Betina’s; they’re close and he definitely trusts her. He doesn’t trust Alberto, though: he’s a liability and is probably only being kept on board ’cos of his willingness to get his hands dirty. Oh, and if you send Alberto’s photo to DC Oaks, he can ask Justin Estrada if he’s the guy in the Adidas NMDs. Estrada’s our stable-boy witness. I think it’ll turn out that they’re two different men, as Alberto seems to be a smaller build—’
‘When was the last time you checked in with DI Lee, DI Mason or DI Gifford?’ Ridley’s question stopped Jack in his tracks. Was Ridley really asking him about pedantic, hierarchical protocol, after Jack had practically just handed De Voe to him on a silver platter? Ridley could see Jack’s anger rise through his chest and colour his face, but he didn’t falter. ‘Don’t look at me like I’m the one who’s in the wrong, Jack. An officer not answering his mobile is the most infuriating thing. And I should bloody know! Especially when that officer is undercover in the company of a potentially dangerous criminal. Anything could have happened to you.’ Ridley paused to sip his drink, giving himself time to formulate his next sentence, while also forcing Jack to wait silently.
But Ridley knew exactly what needed saying and he wanted to get it all out in one go. ‘Don’t treat me like I’m not on your side, Jack. You now expect me to coordinate the biggest dual-approach operation of my career, align resources, track all the key players using officers from across the south-east and south-west of England, deploy armed response, air support, dogs and the mounted division – all while keeping some of the most prominent names in the UK safe from a Brazilian gang of murdering house-breakers who are about to embark on one last job. A job that’ll be bigger than anything they’ve done to date, with risks and rewards so immense that they’ll be armed, extremely dangerous and won’t give a shit who they take down as long as they get out alive.’ Ridley paused for breath. ‘You’re about to ask me to do all of that. Whereas I asked you to do one thing, Jack. Play nice! Can you just do that for me?’
Jack mumbled the words ‘Yes, sir’. They were barely audible but Ridley nodded. ‘Good. Because it’s embarrassing for everyone when his DCI calls your DCI.’
Jack took a second to catch up. ‘Lee reported me?’
Ridley shook his head. ‘He stopped shy of that. You’re a team, Jack. That can be demanding, I know, but it pays dividends.’
Jack was well aware of his own flaws, which was why he didn’t argue further. They were born out of resentment for the red tape and arse-kissing that sucked the life out of being a police officer. It was the best job in the world and Jack did love it – but when he looked back at this case, he sure as hell wouldn’t remember the tactical briefings and the paperwork in triplicate. But he’d remember the thrill of coming face to face with De Voe in the guise of Richard Delaware; of physically forcing Mason to understand his failure to protect an innocent man; and he’d remember feeling the lust in Maggie’s body as his undercover alter-ego made love to her on the bathroom floor, almost as if they were having an affair . . .
Now that they were back on an even keel, Ridley suggested that they both return to the station, so that they could talk tactics before Skyping the rest of the team for an update. Jack agreed but asked if they could change the location to his home address; as he was going to be heading west again soon, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Hannah first.
The first thing Jack did when he and Ridley arrived was get his main mobile phone out of the kitchen drawer. He had seven missed calls from DI Lee, two from Ridley . . . and a voicemail from Charlotte Miles. Shit! Jack put this mobile on speaker and played her message. She sounded frantic. ‘DI Warr! He called. Just now. He told me to get my thinking cap on ’cos he’d be calling again tomorrow and, this time, he wants five addresses. The biggest jewellery targets I can think of. He doesn’t need horse trailers this time; he’s not going for the big stuff. And he didn’t ask me about security systems or anything like that; he just wants to hit the biggest houses in Chipping Norton. He sounded . . . he sounded like he doesn’t care anymore. I’m scared, DS Warr. DI Lee has been calling every day, asking if I’ve heard from De Voe. I’ve done what you asked and called you first, but . . . he keeps calling. I can’t ignore him forever. Call me back. Please! I need you to tell me what to do. I’m scared and I . . .’ The allocated time to record on Jack’s mobile cut Charlotte off mid-sentence.
Ridley’s face was easy to read: why had Jack asked the case’s biggest asset to call him before the SIO?
‘She’s vulnerable, sir,’ Jack explained. ‘Through one mistake, she’s put herself at the heart of this mess, and I want to protect her. The last time a careless officer overstepped the mark and told an innocent bystander too much, that bystander was tortured to death in his stable. Lee wants to bring Charlotte in and use her like a police informant – Bevan told me – but that’ll get her killed. We have to limit what she knows, or she’ll end up accidentally saying the wrong thing to De Voe when he calls, and she will tip him off. Because she’s not a liar, sir. She’s not an experienced police informant. She’s a farmer.’
Ridley instructed Jack to call
Charlotte and together they assured her that although Jack was her primary liaison, in the background the entire force was there to protect her. Ridley’s calm voice was exactly what Charlotte needed to hear and his higher rank made her believe that the entire force was somehow right by her side. Once she’d calmed down sufficiently, Jack asked if she already knew the five addresses she was going to suggest to De Voe. As Charlotte reeled off dozens of potential high-end targets, Ridley numbered them and then plotted them on Google Maps. He then gave Charlotte her next instruction.
‘Charlotte, when De Voe calls you tomorrow, I want you to give him address numbers one, three, four, seven and nine. Tell him you’ve chosen these homes because they contain the highest-value jewellery items, as requested. It doesn’t matter whether they do or not, because he won’t get that far.’ Then, after another five minutes of both men telling her what a great job she was doing, Charlotte hung up.
Jack got two beers from the fridge and handed one to Ridley, who thanked him and said, ‘He’s going for a quick getaway this time. No horse trailers. Just bikes? Quads? Maybe cars? We don’t know what to look out for if they’re changing the way they move around . . .’ He thought for a moment, then chugged down almost half a bottle of beer before he started talking again. ‘Well, we’ve narrowed everything down as much as we can. We’ve given De Voe a cluster of houses, so they’ll be easier to monitor. They’ll avoid the A44, I think, and only two other roads link all five properties. From what you’d expect of this gang, they might be using the tactic of holding traffic with temporary lights at certain crossroads to allow them a clear escape route. So, once they have their targets, we need to monitor those roads to see if any temporary lights pop up. That’ll give us their likely way in and out. Then all we need to know is when. The annual equestrian event starts next Monday and lasts for a week. So we need to be patient.’ He looked at Jack. ‘You, Jack, need to be patient.’
By midday the following day, Ridley and Hearst had got substantial teams of officers allocated to this mammoth sting. Their first job was to trace the various travel agencies used by Betina Barro to book flights back and forth to Brazil and occasionally to Europe. From this information, they were able to identify the names on the associated passports and visas, and although these were no doubt all fake, they still provided trackable details that would consistently appear at both ends of the flight. The account used to fund all of these flights was held at Coutts bank in the name of Betina Barro, and although a constant supply of money fed this account, there was no record of where that money came from, as it was always deposited in cash by Betina herself.
There was no evidence linking De Voe to anything remotely criminal, other than Charlotte’s statement. During the Skype conference call, Jack suggested that DC Oaks be sent undercover onto Charlotte’s smallholding, as a casual labourer. Oaks grew up on a farm, so could act the part. They had to do everything in their power to make her feel safe.
That evening, Jack and Ridley were back at Jack’s kitchen table drinking their way through a six-pack of beer. There was a chilli bubbling away in one pan and cooked, drained rice waiting in another. ‘I’ve only met De Voe once, sir,’ Jack said, ‘but I know he’s catchable. I mean, he’s smart and we can’t underestimate him, but his problem is that he thinks he’s untouchable. He’s arrogant, and he’s greedy. He doesn’t need to sell an emerald ring and matching necklace to Richard Delaware, but he will. He can’t help himself. Another Achilles heel is Betina. He likes her, trusts her, but she clearly comes as a package with Alberto. He’s their weak link. If he’s our killer, and I think he is, then he’s the one with the most to lose and the most to gain from talking to us. But the best thing about Alberto Barro is his selfishness. If we get Alberto alive, he’ll give us De Voe.’
CHAPTER 20
The squad room in Chipping Norton was a hive of activity. Bevan was in charge of updating the information on the whiteboards: one was now dedicated to the timeline, one to the identification of potential gang members and the third board was for outlining the operational tactics that would ultimately catch this gang in the act of robbing five, preselected target houses, all at once. While everyone threw information at Bevan on various subjects, she listened to every word, noted every detail and added it in exactly the right place on exactly the right whiteboard.
When Jack walked into the room, Oaks rushed to his side, eager to get him up to speed on the recent job he’d been personally assigned. ‘Justin Estrada couldn’t pick Alberto Barro as being the man in the Adidas trainers he saw collecting the trailer from Goodwin’s yard. I think, sir, that if the security lighting in the yard was good enough to see that a pair of trainers had a red sole, then maybe Estrada is right. Adidas trainers don’t seem very “Alberto Barro” anyway, if you ask me. He’s a higher-end designer label man, isn’t he?’
DI Lee sidled up and listened with a frown on his face. ‘I’d prefer it, DC Oaks, if you relay any relevant information via the proper channels, rather than skip about reporting dribs and drabs to a select few. Inadequate reporting is how cases fall apart . . . wouldn’t you agree, DS Warr?’
Fresh from the pep-talk he’d had from Ridley, Jack didn’t take the bait. ‘Oaks didn’t want to waste your time with a dead end, but yes, you’re right. Oaks, we know that Adidas Man is a trusted lead player in this gang, so that’s the detail we take from this.’ Oaks said that he would add this information to the board, and off he went. Then Jack, with a friendly smile, asked Lee to lead a briefing with him: Lee could share all of the Chipping Norton discoveries and Jack would share about his encounter with De Voe. Despite his cooperative demeanour, Jack’s intention was actually to irritate Lee. And it worked.
‘Oh, so you’re affording me some respect now?’ Lee said. ‘I specifically told you to keep me in the loop whilst you were in London.’
Jack smiled. ‘Yes, DCI Ridley did mention that you were unhappy with my conduct.’ Then Jack walked away and began the briefing. After getting the attention of the room, Jack invited Lee to stand by his side and speak first, hoping his deferential manner would irritate him even more.
*
There was now so much work going on in the squad room that the briefing was allowed to be a bit of a free-for-all.
The research done on Alberto Barro so far was extensive. He’d lost all of his inherited wealth to polo – playing, socialising and gambling – so he was now financially dependent on his younger sister. From checking both of their bank accounts, it seemed that she would intermittently release funds, to help him ‘re-establish his career’. But it was obvious to everyone that, as soon as Betina’s money cleared Alberto’s bank account, it went straight back out on living the high life. Including, back in 2008, paying a substantial amount of hush-money after he assaulted a waitress in Virginia for refusing to serve him beyond the point where he puked the previous hour’s alcohol into an ice bucket. She’d asked him to leave and he’d reacted by pushing her over a table stacked with glasses. The waitress had hounded Alberto on social media, threatening to report him to the police if he didn’t pay her off. He’d de-activated those old accounts, but had not deleted them, so Hearst had got permission to re-activate them and the private messages were now part of their investigation. It seemed that the waitress had eventually gone quiet for £30,000.
Another, equally disturbing allegation of violence made against Alberto came in 2007, when a member of the Canadian Polo Team, who Alberto was due to play against in a winter friendly, found his horse collapsed on the floor of its stable. The Achilles tendon in its left hind leg had been severed. Although the police were brought in immediately, the culprit was never identified, but the very next day, Alberto was removed from the team and he left Canada. Apparently this was the last time any polo team allowed Alberto near a horse.
It seemed that Alberto Barro was a sociopath at best, and a psychopath at worst.
Michael De Voe was connected to a web of small companies that allowed him to move money a
round. A seven-year-old marketing image of De Voe, from the launch of one of these companies, was pinned to the suspects board. It wasn’t ideal, as it had definitely been photoshopped to make him look younger and slimmer, but it was all they had.
It was hard to track all of De Voe’s cash flow but, for the most part, it all seemed to involve legitimate payments and purchases. They had discovered that a week or so prior to each robbery, between £30,000 and £50,000 went into Betina’s bank account. Lee had used his Oxford leverage to assign a Fraud Squad officer to the highly complex task of following the money but so far, establishing that the money came out of one of De Voe’s bank accounts and he was the paymaster had come up blank.
Just after Canteen Barbara had refuelled the room with tea and pastries, Jack got a message from Ridley. The phone tap had picked up a seemingly innocent conversation between De Voe and Betina. The recording began with three minutes of chat about the emporium shift patterns, followed by fifteen minutes about jewellery. But after that De Voe began to talk in an artificial manner usually associated with cagey criminals who were aware of the potential for being bugged. ‘That dog of yours, Betina, you have to find a way to control it, you know. I’ve never been bitten in my life, and that’s because I know an untrainable half-breed when I see one. It’s in his nature to turn on you too, my dear. I’d hate to see that.’ Betina had then defended her ‘dog’ and reassured De Voe that she could control him. De Voe spoke with genuine concern about her safety, emphasising that some animals are so damaged that no one can truly control them; they want to be liked and loved but, in the end, they don’t know how. When Betina again sprang to the defence of her ‘dog’, De Voe snapped. ‘He bragged about Angelo being alive when he went into the fucking lake, Betina! Wake up!’ And then the line went dead.
Judas Horse Page 20
