‘No comment,’ he said, realising he’d been duped and his lie was exposed.
Blake showed Preston a report from the Met. ‘This states you were picked up by the Met, whilst trying to obtain a false passport from a well-known forger. Unlucky for you he’d been under observation for months, and you were caught in the crossfire.’
‘No comment.’
‘No luggage was found in your possession. Do you normally visit friends without a change of clothes?’
‘I left my case at the B&B.’
‘And where would that be?’
Preston hesitated. ‘Some dive near Euston station, can’t remember the name.’
‘For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Preston two evidence bags. One contains twenty thousand pounds in used twenties and fifty pound notes and a Dominion credit card. Mr Preston, we have two other suspects in custody who’ve also been found in possession of Dominion credit cards in the name of Colonial Ltd. Our tech team have traced these cards to an offshore company account in the Cayman Islands. This investigation is ongoing but so far the bank has identified you as the company secretary, and told us that Leonard Vale, Charlie Bullard and Ibrahim Benzar form the board of directors. What do you have to say about that?’
‘Colonial Ltd is a legitimate investment company with a portfolio of businesses,’ he protested.
‘I can imagine it is, and those businesses belong to Mr Ibrahim Benzar who is wanted for organising the theft of Staffordshire Hoard from the Potteries Museum. You’re his accountant, money-launderer extraordinaire. Do you know Mr Benzar’s whereabouts?’
‘No.’
DS Murphy interrupted. ‘Two of the board members are penniless unemployed convicted criminals. It’s extremely unlikely that Leonard Vale and Charles Bullard have any money to invest; they are in fact bogus directors. Colonial Ltd is simply a conduit to launder illegal funds from the theft.’
‘That’s a serious accusation,’ Preston responded with attitude. ‘Where’s your evidence?’
‘We have a signed confession from the museum caretaker, Mr Arthur Mitchell – Charles Bullard, Leonard Vale and Ibrahim Benzar are all involved in the theft of the Staffordshire Hoard. We have CCTV evidence from the museum, and Colonial Ltd’s balance sheet reads three million. Mr Benzar’s businesses have a total value of four hundred and fifty thousand, including assets. Clearly that’s bad maths. As the company secretary, can you explain these figures?’
‘No comment.’
‘Mr Preston, sooner or later you will have to talk to us. We will sit here all night if need be.’
‘No comment.’
‘Mr Preston, you realise that no comment responses aren’t really acceptable any more; they’ll only go against you in court,’ Blake said, glancing at DS Murphy, signalling a baton pass and a change of tack in their good-cop/bad-cop routine.
‘We know Ibrahim Benzar often uses the threat of violence to manipulate people into doing what he wants. You’ve been his accountant for over five years, during that period has he ever threatened you or your family?’
‘No, I just do his company accounts.’
‘I’ll ask you again, where is he?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Our team of experts have analysed your accountancy records, which show during the recession you lost virtually all your clients, leaving you bankrupt. Before that point your annual salary was around a hundred thousand a year. In desperation you took on Mr Benzar’s accounts. Over time he manipulated you to launder money and assets in return for under-the-counter payments. It’s classic carrot-and-stick behaviour.’
‘That’s not true. I have records that prove Mr Benzar’s accounts were accurately submitted to the Inland Revenue without question.’
‘Oh, come on. You know through lack of manpower HM Customs only investigate obvious tax avoidance cases. You may have submitted them, but don’t take us for fools. In twenty-fourteen, his bar, gym and mini-mart’s combined turnover was three hundred thousand. After tax and costs, he made a profit of a hundred and twenty-five thousand. We found forty thousand in used notes in his brother’s safe; no doubt there’s a lot more stashed elsewhere. Benzar paid you twelve thousand to compile those accounts, and since you only have one other client who pays you three thousand a year, you’re blatantly living way beyond your means.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Preston said defensively.
‘Do we need to spell it out? You drive an S-Class Mercedes, worth sixty-seven grand; your house in Newcastle is mortgaged for three hundred and thirty thousand; your bank records show luxury holidays in Greece twice a year. Fifteen grand doesn’t even cover the annual mortgage repayments. You have no legal sources of income to sustain this lifestyle. Benzar has you by the balls. Your whole world will collapse if you don’t comply. Under his instruction you used your professional knowledge to set up a complex offshore company to launder several million pounds obtained from the sale of the Staffordshire Hoard. The bogus board are members of the gang who stole it. I’ll ask you again… where is he?’
Horrified at hearing the undeniable truth, he shot his solicitor a worried glance. She nodded soberly in agreement with the detectives.
Strained by the interrogation, he murmured, ‘What are my options?’
Blake delivered his shrewd summary like a judge. ‘If you cooperate with us, the court will be more lenient when passing sentence. From what we can see you were under a lot of pressure; concerned about your safety and that of your family. However, this does not excuse your highly criminal actions. Your plight could have been avoided if you’d come to the police prior to the robbery taking place. Instead you put personal gain and wealth before your liberty. If you can help us identify the buyer, the whereabouts of Ibrahim Benzar, and most of the funds can be recovered, it will help your defence team to negotiate the best deal they can.’
His solicitor stopped the interview and spoke with her despairing client.
Blake assumed she wanted to consult with him regarding his plea.
CHAPTER 120
Later that day, DI Blake stood confidently next to his chief inspector at the front of the station’s Major Incident room, and addressed all officers involved in the Staffordshire Hoard case.
‘Great news, everyone. As you all know, yesterday DS Murphy and myself were summoned to Stafford Prison by Carl Bentley – recently arrested on suspicion of the murder of Barry Gibson, but due to lack of evidence charged with conspiracy to supply class A drugs. During that interview, Bentley provided key intelligence relating to the theft of the Staffordshire Hoard. He gave us the names of the gang members involved in the robbery. This morning we arrested and detained Charles Bullard and Leonard Vale,’ he said, pointing to their pictures on the white board.
‘We recovered evidence from both their properties, which includes: a tablet PC, loaded with high-resolution images of the Staffordshire Hoard, an A4 folder containing sheets of specifications of the museum’s security system, with lots of highlighted paragraphs and notes, sixteen-thousand in used notes, and two suspicious-looking credit cards in the name of a company called Colonial Ltd. Our computer tech team has now traced these to a dodgy offshore account in the Cayman Islands, which initially made little sense. That was until DS Jamieson spoke to the bank who informed him the minimum deposit for this type of company account is a million quid. Further probing shows this account’s balance sheet reads three million quid. Alarm bells rang because both Vale and Bullard are registered as company directors, which is highly suspicious considering they’re both unemployed ex-cons.’ He glanced at his folio notes. ‘Through great detective work, PC Evans and DC Moore uncovered a major-lead. I’ll let Casey explain further,’ he said, giving PC Evans the nod.
With all eyes on her, her cheeks reddened. ‘Whilst DC Moore and I were questioning the museum staff, it transpired that the caretaker, Mr Arthur Mitchell, handed his notice in two days after the Hoard was discovered missing.
DI Blake tasked us to bring him in for questioning.’ She puffed her chest proudly.
‘Thank you, PC Evans,’ Blake continued. ‘DS Murphy and I have since interviewed Mr Mitchell, and he’s confessed to being the inside man, naming both Charles Bullard and Leonard Vale in the hope of a more lenient sentence. Another person of interest is Malcolm Preston, Ibrahim Benzar’s accountant. We believe Benzar organised the robbery. Unfortunately it appears he’s fled the country. Interpol have issued a Code Red for his arrest and extradition. I’ll let DS Murphy tell you the other good news.’
Murphy cleared his throat. ‘Whilst raiding the premises of a London forger, the Metropolitan Police caught Malcolm Preston buying a fake passport. He’s since been transferred to us. They found twenty thousand pounds in used notes and another Colonial Ltd credit card, linked to the same Cayman Islands bank account as Bullard and Vale. During his interview, DI Blake and I confronted him with this evidence and asked him to produce legal documentation to validate his sources of income. Backed into a corner, he eventually caved in.’
‘Has Preston told you where Ibrahim Benzar is?’ DS Jamieson interrupted.
‘I’m afraid not, Roger.’
‘What about his brother?’ Jamieson added.
‘It’s possible they’re hiding out together, but we have no intelligence on this. We know they have family connections in Turkey,’ Blake said.
‘Do you think we’ll get them, sir?’ DS Moore chipped in.
‘Hard to say. Interpol issues notices and those get circulated between EU countries. We can also make use of the Schengen Agreement if need be. That means if the Benzar brothers are spotted in any of the participating countries, we’d be allowed to set up surveillance and extradition. That side of the investigation will continue.’
‘Let’s hope it’s on Paradise Island, boss,’ Roger Jamieson jested, ‘I could do with a good holiday.’
‘Couldn’t we all, DS Jamieson,’ said the Chief Inspector to a round of laughter.
‘I’d just like thank you all of you for your hard work on this case,’ Blake said. ‘Everyone’s put the hours in, which has led to four of the six-man gang being charged with robbery and the black market sale of the Staffordshire Hoard worth three-point-three million, which is still yet to be recovered. This side of the investigation is ongoing and the museum has offered a reward of forty thousand pounds for information leading to its return. No doubt this will generate a lot of media attention, considering how high-profile the case is. On the plus side, the gang’s Cayman Island bank account funds of three million have been placed on hold with a view to confiscation using the Proceeds of Crime Act. If no one has anything else to add, that concludes today’s briefing.’
As the CID team noisily left the incident room, DS Murphy approached Blake.
‘Tom, I can’t help but feel this is unfinished business. It really pisses me off those Turkish brothers are on their jollies with a million quid, especially after what they did to Isabel. Where are they?’
‘Listen, mate, no one’s more frigged off than me, but that won’t find them, will it? It’s only a matter of time before they slip up. That kind of money leaves traces. The forty-grand reward will level the playing field. Once their names are bandied about by the media, every two-bit con they’ve shafted will try to stake a claim. Remember Ibrahim Benzar still has three businesses in town. He’s got to get in touch with somebody sooner or later about maintaining them, and, when he does, we’ll be onto him. We’ve informed all his staff to notify us when he does.’
CHAPTER 121
‘They’ve all been arrested. You’d better pack a bag, it’s only a matter of time before…?’
He couldn’t help but overhear the panic in Dominika Connor’s voice as she sat in the office behind the bar of the White Horse pub, door ajar. The bar was empty and he assumed Connor’s Polish wife would notice a customer, but she didn’t, and continued her conversation on the landline.
‘Darryl owes him fifteen grand, if this goes bad he gets half the pub. That bastard Benzar will ruin us,’ she continued to gossip like a fool, until the entrance doors clanked, and two regulars entered the pub. Dominika looked nervously through the door and abruptly ended the conversation. She came out of the office to serve them, still not realising the man sat at the end of the bar had overheard her.
‘Hi. What can I get you?’ she said nervously after the regulars sat down with their pints.
‘You okay, Dominika? Looking worried.’ the man asked her.
‘Just had some bad news, that’s all,’ she said, giving nothing away.
‘Sorry to hear that?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it?’
‘Fair enough.’
‘What you having?’ She asked, her Polish accent still hard to shake off completely.
‘Just a double whisky. Been doing a bit of shopping and fancied a quick one,’ the man could tell Dominika was in no mood to converse. His timing was uncanny, and the vital information he’d just overheard meant he needed to act. He sank the whisky in one shot, said goodbye, and left.
CHAPTER 122
After cruising along the sun-drenched rocky Malaga coastline, the yacht with Ibrahim Benzar and Katrina Osborne on board arrived in Rabat Port, Morocco.
They disembarked and taxied to a luxury five-star hotel overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The beautiful Sultan Oasis looked like a Moorish Castle nestled amongst the palms. The scent of its olive orchards and aromatic herb garden carried on the ocean breeze and wafted around the horizon pool. Guests could take their meals anywhere, all of which were prepared by a top Parisian chef using organic vegetables from the hotel’s irrigated walled garden.
Whilst Kat was out browsing a craft market she’d spotted on a patch of scrubland behind the hotel, Ibrahim sat quietly celebrating his newly acquired wealth in a large wingback chair in the hotel’s library bar. Puffing away on a hundred dollar King of Denmark cigar, he was blissfully unaware of the situation back in the UK. That was until his mobile rang.
‘Where the god damn hell are you?’ the Collector bawled in his ear. ‘Been trying to get hold of ya for days!’
‘Since we pulled the job off I’ve taken time out cruising to Morocco. Poor signal most of the time.’
‘Morocco! Are you fuckin’ crazy? It’s all over CNN and your BBC World News. Are you blind, man?’
‘What is?’
‘The police have captured your crew and seized three million. Seems one of your so-called trusted partners is a god damn pigeon. They’re onto you; your names are plastered all over the media. There’s a forty-K reward for info leading to the recovery of my beautiful Hoard,’ the Collector said furiously.
A sudden wave of nausea came over Ibrahim. ‘Fuck!’
‘Exactly! A hell of a shitstorm is heading your way.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘No, with a woman.’
‘Does she know?’
‘Of course not. What do you suggest?’ Ibrahim asked.
‘I hope you retained plenty of dead presidents, cause you sure going to need ’em. You can’t go back to the UK; they’ll hunt you down like a deer in the crosshairs. Do any of your crew know about me?’
‘Only that I referred to you as the Collector.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I suggest you check out the news online and keep a low profile. Better tell the woman now rather than later. I’m distancing myself from this, before the feds smother me like a pox. When I hear more, I’ll be in touch via this channel.’
‘This isn’t happening. I’ve got three businesses in the UK. Who will take charge? Yusuf’s exiled in India. What a fucking nightmare!’
‘You need a plan, and quick. I gotta go.’
The line went dead. Numb with shock, he stubbed the cigar and headed back to the room to contemplate his next move.
Fifteen minutes later, Kat slipped her key in the studded oak door of their harem suite. Benzar sat on a lounger on the p
anoramic balcony overlooking the ocean, head in hands. The soaring heat bounced off the glass balustrade and dissipated in the air, making the distant horizon as hazy as his thoughts.
‘What’s wrong, babe?’
He was seething. Rising to his feet, he slammed his fist on the table. ‘Fuck! I have something to tell you.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Promise you’ll listen before kicking off?’
‘I’ll try to.’
‘I had it all planned. This shouldn’t be happening. It took months. When I find out who the grass is, he’s a fucking dead man. I’ll cut his throat and feed him to the rats!’
‘Just tell me what you’re ranting on about?’
‘Where do you think all this comes from?’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘The yacht!’ he bawled. ‘The villa in Ibiza, the champagne… everything!’
‘Don’t shout at me, I’ve had enough of that shit from Carl. I don’t know… money from your bar?’
‘That place takes about seven grand a week,’ he sneered, ‘and the bastard tax man robs me. We pulled off a big job worth a few million quid.’
She shot him a worried look. ‘What job? You’re not making any sense, Ibrahim. Stop it, you’re scaring me now!’
‘We robbed the Staffordshire Hoard from the museum in Hanley and sold it to order for five million.’
‘Are you winding me up?’
‘No. If I go back, they’ll arrest me straight away.’
‘You bastard! What am I supposed to do now? You’ve dropped me right in the shit? The police will think I’m involved,’ she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, leaving visible lines in her blusher.
‘You’re in the clear.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Because it’s the truth.’
The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1) Page 39
