Bringing Hell
Page 7
“That’s why I say it may be an error. Any idea who might want to give you a fortune? And yes, I am serious.”
“I don’t even know anyone in the Cayman Islands.”
“You needn’t live there to have a Cayman account. Give it some thought when you get the time, see if you can trace any dealings where K2000K means something.”
“Meanwhile, I have possession of the money, yes?”
“Yes. You have possession and control of the funds. Yet it wasn’t your intention to own the money. There are other factors to consider, such as possession without consent. We don’t know, but we’re sure you won’t use the money and assume ownership. Not yet.”
“Are you saying that the money could still be mine?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s possible I could keep it, and spend it?”
“Yes, you could. Just because you’re assuming it appeared in your account by mistake, that doesn’t make it so. Someone could have given you a nest-egg. You may yet get to keep the money. But for now, I want you to forget about it. We’ll get the bank to look into it tomorrow.”
“I won’t sleep a wink tonight. The excitement and worry. What’s going on, and why?” Her eyes were wide as she shook her head.
“I can understand your feelings. I’d react the same. Listen, baby, let’s wait until we contact your bank tomorrow. Or you may hear from your benefactor. You could be a rich girl. If it’s a mistake, you’ll be no worse off than you were this morning.” He stood and spread his arms. “Right?”
“OK, Daddy, thanks for helping me with this.”
“That’s what daddies are for, sweetie.” He squeezed her, and she kissed him goodbye.
Chapter 10
The four uniformed officers, with the blue lights flashing on their vehicles, came to an abrupt halt outside the Bryant building. Sykes and his sergeant had parked seconds earlier. The officers exited their vehicles and stood on the kerb as the inspector gave them a final briefing. “Remember the real purpose of this trip is to make this mush, er...”
“Louis van Giersbergan, Chief,” his sergeant said.
“Right, him. He looks clean, but he belongs to a crime organisation in Amsterdam. Keep eyeballing him, I want him uncomfortable. Whatever he came here to plan with Grant’s mob, ain’t going to happen.”
The uniforms nodded and flanked the two detectives as they walked into the building. In casual formation, they marched to the front desk. Seated there was a security officer who stood as soon as the sextet reached him. The clock on the wall behind him showed 7:05 pm. “Yes sir, what can I do for you?” The lanyard around his neck held a photo ID showing the name Norman Hughes.
Sykes and his sergeant held up their IDs. “I’m DCI Sykes, this is DS Collins. We’re here to see Mr Grant.”
The sergeant looked in the visitor’s register and took a note of Lou van G’s car details.
“Yes, Inspector, I’ll tell him you’re here.” He picked up the telephone.
Sykes nodded at the uniformed sergeant, who took the phone from his hand and replaced it on its cradle. “Please don’t bother, Norman,” said Sykes, “just tell me where he is and we’ll announce ourselves. I’ll tell him we left you no choice.”
“He’s in a meeting in the penthouse, sir. The lift is right there.”
“Thank you.”
The sergeant instructed one of his constables to stay with Norman. The other five boarded the lift.
They got out on the twelfth floor and rang the buzzer on the penthouse door. A small screen lit up next to the door, allowing the officers to see themselves. Those inside would see the same image.
“Yes, what is it?” a voice enquired through the intercom.
“It’s the police, sir, DCI Sykes. Please open the door, I have some questions for you.”
The door buzzed open and Grant stood in the doorway. “What the hell, Inspector? Is this necessary?”
“There have been developments since we last spoke, sir. May we come inside please?”
“Not a convenient moment, Inspector, I hope this won’t take too long. You’ve brought quite a team with you. Were you expecting resistance?”
“In these times, one never knows what to expect. We are aware of your businesses and your colleagues. Strength in numbers is often a good strategy.”
“If you say so. I suppose you’d better come inside then.”
They walked through the lounge and into a study. The room belied the immorality and lawlessness of its owner. Works of art clung to the walls or perched on pedestals. Shiny oak furniture and sumptuous armchairs filled the floor space. The place outshone the workaday lawmen in their modest suits and crumpled uniforms. Alan Holmes stood next to a bureau sipping from a tumbler of scotch. Seated on a leather couch, Lou van Giersbergan tried to look as unimpeachable as he could.
“Ah, you have company,” Sykes said, as if announcing a discovery. “Mr Holmes, I know.” He turned to van Giersbergan, who was rising from the couch. “And you are?”
Grant hurried to his side. “This is Mr van Giersbergan, an acquaintance from Amsterdam.”
“Oh yes?” Sykes held his jaw, tapping with his index finger as though deep in thought. “Where have I heard the name van Giersbergan?”
Collins had his phone in hand, reading from the screen. “It’s here, Chief, we had an alert originating from Interpol.” He handed the phone to Sykes.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Mm, Louis van Giersbergan, also known as Lou van G. Purports to be a diamond dealer. With known connections to Blauwglas. Blauwglas?”
“Yes, Chief,” said Collins, “an organisation under investigation in Amsterdam for criminal activities.”
Lou van G decided he should speak. “Inspector, I have been in your country for one day and I have broken no laws. There is no reason to detain me. I will leave now if you don’t mind. Gerry, I will schedule another meeting with you later.”
Grant nodded, relieved to bring this line of questioning to an end.
“Well, Mr Lou van G,” said Sykes with a spurious smile. Please show Sergeant Collins some ID and give him your address in London. I may need to talk to you again.”
In that moment Grant realised his lucrative business plans would not go ahead. “Listen, Sykes, this is outrageous. You have no right. Why the bloody hell are you here?”
The inspector watched as van Giersbergan left, then he rounded on Grant. “You want to talk about outrageous? Let me remind you that there is an ongoing murder inquiry on Craig Ramsay, and you are still my number one suspect. Regarding the murder charges you have alleged against Tom Ramsay, and which he has denied, it transpires that you, Holmes and several others tried to torture and murder Mr Ramsay. You forced him to act in self-defence. He has alleged charges of assault, kidnapping, false imprisonment and attempted murder.”
“Rubbish, his word against ours.”
“Oh, I agree, but do you wish to take a chance in front of a jury? With your reputation? Maybe you should contact your solicitor and withdraw these ludicrous allegations.” Turning to Holmes, “What about you, Holmes? You’re an intelligent member of this mob. Do you believe the Director of Public Prosecutions would agree to proceed? That there’s any chance of a conviction? Much better to stop it now, don’t you agree? Or would you prefer to do it in a blaze of publicity?”
“We’ll roll those dice, thank you. And you’ll do your job. We’ve made a formal charge.”
Grant waded in with a smug grin. “That’s right, Sykes, this part of the law we know. You arrest that maniac.”
“Fair enough, I’ll do my job and bring him in. You can’t tell us where he is, I suppose? No? He appears to have vanished. I hope we get to him before he gets to you. We’re done here, Sergeant.”
“OK, Chief.”
They headed for the door, with Sykes bringing up the rear. He stopped and turned back with his hand on the door. “A piece of advice, gentleman, stay away from van G. He has eyes all over him.”
* * *
The phone trilled. He grabbed it and listened to Wallace’s update. “Sykes went in team-handed, Lou van G left about twenty minutes ago. Grant and Sykes had words about you and the murder charges.”
“Oh, how did that end?”
“They will proceed with the charges, Sykes will come for you at some point.”
“Does he know where to find me?”
“Not a clue. He asked Grant if he knew where to find you. Said he hopes to find you before you catch up to him and Holmes. You can’t help liking him, can you?”
“We’ll see about that when he catches up with me. What about Grant and Holmes?”
“They’re on their way out soon. Time for you to get to the Bryant and spoil their appetites. Remember, all the CCTV cameras will stop working when they leave the building. Good luck, mate, it’s in the bag.”
“Time for me to go. Thanks for everything, pal.”
“No worries. Stay frosty.”
* * *
Easing the SUV into the car park, he inched his way to the section reserved for directors. He saw the nameplates of Grant and Holmes and parked a few spaces away. They would now have to pass him to get to their vehicles.
First, he slid out of the car and waited out of sight, beside the driver’s door. He heard footsteps, then voices. Looking through the window of his door, he confirmed it was them and waited, gun in hand, until they passed the back of the car. “Hold it right there.”
They froze and looked at the gun, then at each other. Grant broke the silence, “What the hell...”
“Shut it! I’ll do the talking and you’d better listen.” They both kept quiet and did as he said.
“Hands on the roof and lean forward, feet apart.” They did as he ordered. “Feet further back, at least twelve inches. Both of you.” Again, they obliged. “If either of you tries any tricks, I will shoot you.”
With swift precision, he checked them for concealed guns, a wise precaution. Neither of them was carrying a weapon.
“Grant, you’re driving. Climb in, and mind you try nothing stupid.”
As he moved forward to do so, Holmes moved sideways to the rear of the vehicle. Ramsay saw the move and cursed his carelessness. He turned the gun towards Holmes. Grant drove a kick hard into Ramsay’s right hip, making him stagger backwards. Despite his wounded thigh, Holmes kicked the gun from Ramsay’s hand. At the same moment, Grant lunged forward, punching him in the head. Without pause for thought, Ramsay countered with a gut punch. The blow doubled Grant over, making him cough and pant. Ramsay was about to hit him again when Holmes waved the gun at him. “Don’t even think about it, soldier boy. Hands behind your head.” As Ramsay raised his hands, Holmes grinned at Grant, “Gerry.” Grant punched him in the belly, a short-range blow thrown with all the force he could muster.
“That’s for my gold watch, you thieving bastard.”
Ramsay moved back half a step with the impact. Then, standing upright, he sneered at Grant, “For a fifteen-stone thug, you don’t seem able to punch your weight, Grant.”
“You’re about to find out how wrong you are.”
“Oh? Are we going to slug it out here in the car park? The two of us? In a fair fight?”
Grant grinned at Holmes, while nodding towards Ramsay. “Fair fight. Hark at him, he’ll be asking for Marquess of Queensberry rules next.”
“We can still do one-to-one with no rules. Tell you what, I’ll let Holmes help you if you like.”
“Tell you what,” said Grant moving towards him, “I’ll make that Plan B. OK? For Plan A, we’re all going back to the Tombs. No spoilers, but when we get there, we’ll show you what we did to your brother.”
Holmes had something to add: “It’ll be much worse for you.”
“That’s right,” said Grant, unlocking his car and bringing out two nylon cable ties. He also brought a gun which he put in his belt. “We’ll put your remains in your own car and then crush it. Beats dumping you in the Thames.”
“I won’t lie to you, Grant, you are insane. The world will be safer after I kill you.”
Holmes motioned him to put his hands behind his back by waving the gun at him.
“What are you trying to tell me, Holmes? Use your words, for goodness’ sake.”
They ignored his flippancy. They would unleash all their malevolence on him soon enough.
Grant gave a self-satisfied smirk as he tugged the cable ties around Ramsay’s wrists. He pulled them extra-tight. They man-handled him into the rear seat of his own car. Grant got behind the wheel while Holmes took the front passenger seat, from where he kept Ramsay covered.
Chapter 11
The drive to the Tombs continued without a word. They visualised how this confrontation might end. Only one of them would be correct.
Grant turned up the path to the Tombs’ entrance and reduced the speed. Gravel crunched as the wheels rolled to a halt. Then, taking out his gun, he slipped out of the vehicle and walked to the back. “You first, Ramsay.”
With his hands bound behind his back, he shuffled along the seat and out the door. Holmes climbed out and moved around to cover the prisoner. Although restrained, he had not been idle. Throughout the journey there was little opportunity for movement, yet he had managed to work his belt around his waist. The buckle was on his left hip and he had been manoeuvring it from the rear. They could not see what his fingers were doing under the tail of his jacket. Often, the rough leather would snag because of friction. This did not deter him. He could not allow it to distract him. His expression remained impassive as, in his mind, he cursed with exasperation. Grant unlocked the door and pushed it open wide. “Time for the festivities to begin. I hope you’re still wide-awake Rambo.” He laughed and nodded at Holmes.
“Oh yeah, now we’ll have a game, eh soldier boy?” Holmes prodded him in the chest with the gun.
“Bloody hell, man, can’t you get it through that lump of maggot cheese you call a brain? Marine—not a soldier. Learn it you moron.” That elicited a gut punch from Holmes, accompanied by a belly-laugh from Grant who disappeared into the Tombs. It also enabled Ramsay to pull his belt around more, but he had to keep baiting them to finish the job. “I take it Sykes paid you a visit during your meeting with van Giersbergan? I bet you stood to earn lots of money from that meeting?” He saw clouds of rage distort Holmes’ expression as the latter slammed a back-hander into the left side of his face. The exact spot that Popeye had struck the previous day. This time the inner cheek hit his teeth, doubling the pain. Over-acting, he tottered backwards, spitting blood onto the ground, while tugging the belt around further.
“So, another snitch? Just like your brother. Two of a kind.”
“Well done, Holmes. You’ve deduced that brothers share the same gene pool. Another thing we have in common is our dislike of gangsters.”
“You’ve spoilt a very lucrative transaction for us, one we’ve been working on for months.”
“You know something? I don’t give a crap.”
“I daresay, but your interference will have consequences.”
A predictable response. Now that his knowledge of the van Giersbergan meeting was out, Holmes could connect the dots. It would be obvious that he must have an accomplice. Grant emerged from the Tombs, puffed up with bravado and feeling invincible.
“Behave yourselves you two, save the fun for when we get inside.” He switched on all the lights.
“What’s the matter with you, Holmes? What are you so sore about man? Learn to control yourself, for heaven’s sake.” Thanks to exaggerated body language, the clasp was in position within his reach.
“I’ll teach you a few things about discipline when we get to work on you.”
“You will? How about a drink of water before we begin?”
“Believe me you’ll have
plenty of water once we start on you. That’s important to you bootnecks, Per Mare Per Terram, yes?”
It surprised him to hear this gangster quote the motto of the Royal Marines. “How the hell does a plank like you know the Corps motto?”
“Oh, I’m well informed about our armed forces. I am a man with an education. By Sea—By Land, right?”
“Correct. I’m impressed that you know that.”
“Don’t be. Concentrate on the fact you’ve killed and maimed more people than I have, and that you did it for pay.”
“And now you and yours can sleep in peace without fear of invasion. Whereas you, attack, kill and maim the innocent for your own financial gain. I won’t argue with you. Not about the differences between defence and murder, or duty and crime. We both chose our paths; yours will end tonight.”
“It’ll be interesting to see how much punishment you can take. I imagine it’s a lot, seeing as how you’re a Marine Commando.”
“Well if you intend to talk me to death, I’d like to throw in the towel right now. You boring tart.”
Holmes served him another punch in the stomach. He staggered back against the car, eager to make Holmes think he was in pain. He released a prolonged gasp followed by fake coughing. “You need to understand how to take criticism, mate.”
“You need to keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Ramsay opened the belt, pushing the strap out and away from the prong. The belt buckle was long with an ornate chape attaching to the leather. Putting his right index finger through the end bar he pulled on it. As the bar moved outwards, it drew a three-inch knife blade out of the chape. He started on the left-hand cable tie, sawing through it in less than a minute.
* * *
Grant appeared at the doorway, having removed his jacket. His gun was in the front of his belt. With a grin, he waved his hand towards the entrance. “OK, Al, bring him in out of the cold.”