by Nick Oldham
‘What can you give me?’ Gillrow asked.
‘In terms of promises?’ Henry asked. ‘Nothing - until I’m satisfied you’ve told me every last detail. Then I’ll make decisions and recommendations.’
Gillrow nodded. He had expected this answer. ‘I’ve been dreading this day. I knew it would come.’ He looked at Danny. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you, DS Furness. I never imagined he would try to sexually assault you.’ Gillrow rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Where do I start?’ Henry then knew he had him - a man about to unburden himself, a wonderful thing for a detective to behold.
‘How about with Malcolm Fitch, Billy Crane and this?’ Henry held up the sheet the financial analysts had prepared for him. ‘The thirty thousand pounds in cash you put down as a deposit for this apartment in 1986 and the seventy thousand you received two years ago to payoff the loan. I’d like to hear about all of those things.’
The briefing had been very unusual in that the Russian, Yuri Ivankov, had been summoned from Gozo to Moscow, to a massive hotel overlooking the Moscow River; here, Alexandr Drozdov lived and ran his empire from a penthouse apartment, having ruthlessly driven out the rightful owners. A taxi collected Ivankov at the airport and took him to the hotel where he was met at reception and searched; no one was allowed into Old Man Drozdov’s presence armed, other than his immediate trusted bodyguards.
The penthouse was actually two large apartments knocked into one. A huge, armoured-glass window, capable of withstanding a missile attack, gave a superb view of Gorky Park, one which the Russian did not have time to admire. He was rushed into Drozdov’s presence straight away; the old man was sitting at a desk, typing on a laptop - old fingers, new technology.
‘Yuri,’ he said gravely, raising his head. ‘I have bad news.’
Ivankov had no idea why he was there, only that it must be of major importance to actually see Alexandr in person; he usually received all instructions through third parties. The opening comment from Drozdov made the killer wary. His skin seemed to tighten on his body. Could it be that his end had come? If so, what had he done to bring it about? Would he have the opportunity to bargain for his life?
He looked slyly from side to side, noting that Drozdov was flanked by two armed guards, standing either side, several steps behind so as not to crowd him. There was also the bear-like lieutenant, Serov, Drozdov’s most trusted aide, positioned behind the Russian, maybe six feet away. The Russian could not see this man but could sense and smell him. Maybe he already had a gun out, prepared to kill on the old man’s nod.
In a fraction of as second, Ivankov had weighed up the odds. They were not in his favour.
If he had been brought in here to be executed, then Serov had to be Ivankov’s first target. Even though he had been searched, the stiletto was still up his sleeve ... he would have to turn quickly, drive the knife up through the man’s bearded chin into his brain; at the same time he would have to spin him round for protection from the other guards, seize the weapon from him and take the other two out before shooting Drozdov himself. He had it all worked out. He would not be killed without a fight.
‘Nikolai has been murdered,’ Alexandr Drozdov said, startling the Russian, who was speechless. He knew Nikolai was being groomed for the next Mafia Tsar.
‘How?’ he stuttered. ‘This is dreadful news. You have my sincerest sympathy.’ He meant it.
Drozdov nodded a thanks. ‘The “how” is irrelevant, Yuri. That is the past. It cannot be changed, but the future can become inevitable. Please find his murderer and kill him brutally and without mercy. Make him suffer.’
Ivankov said, ‘I will do that gladly. I will do that for love.’
‘Thank you.’ The old man’s spidery finger pointed to the bear man. ‘Serov will furnish you with details ... and there is one other thing. Yuri: Nikolai’s murderer stole twenty million pounds from us. Before he dies, ensure he reveals the whereabouts of that money.’ Ever the businessman. He waved the Russian away. ‘As I said, Serov will give you details.’
Several days later Ivankov’s investigations, based on what he had been told and what he had discovered for himself, led him to Tenerife where he was sitting, sipping strong Turkish coffee on a pavement cafe across the road from Uncle B’s English Bar and Disco.
‘I do not want my wife to be involved in any of this,’ Barney Gillrow said firmly.
Neither Henry nor Danny responded. They were going to make no guarantees.
Gillrow’s face tightened. ‘You’re a pair of bastards.’
Henry raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘Get on with it,’ he said.
There was a dictaphone on the table, whirring quietly.
‘You were right,’ Gillrow told Danny. ‘Malcolm Pitch was one of my informants. I recruited him in the early eighties after I got him convicted on a couple of conspiracy charges. He was nothing but a shit-bag, really, on the periphery of big stuff. But he knew lots and lots of people. I used him successfully on numerous occasions.’
‘Even though you didn’t keep any records,’ Danny pointed out.
He shrugged. ‘No one did in those days.’
‘And that made it right?’ She was incredulous.
‘No.’ He leaned towards her with a sneer. ‘But it was the system, the culture. Every fucker did it, even down to sharing informants’ pay-outs.’
‘Did you?’ Henry asked.
Gillrow considered the question. He was deep enough in the mire as it was without having to admit to something else. ‘No - I did not.’
Henry allowed himself a little inward smile. He knew there was no chance of Gillrow blabbing out everything in this sweep. It was doubtful whether he would ever reveal the whole picture of his corruption - and Henry was under no illusions here: Gillrow had been a very bent cop - so for the moment at least, he did not feel a need to push the issue. Later, it would be a very different matter.
‘Tell us about Fitch and Crane.’
‘Like I’ve already said, Fitch was on the periphery of things, but not above trying his best to get deeply involved with some pretty heavy people, amongst whom was Billy Crane. Fitch had been grassing for me long before Crane came into the frame. I was really pushing him to flash himself around the East Lancashire criminal fraternity and he gave me some bloody good stuff, but some of it was close to the edge too.’
‘How do you mean?’ Danny asked.
‘Fitch was a participating informant, for a start. He took part in jobs and didn’t get prosecuted for them for one reason or another - usually on a technicality that I dreamed up, or got some evidence misplaced, whatever.’
Henry shook his head in disbelief. Handling participating informants - PIs as they are known - is a minefield of legal complexity. An informant can only be allowed to participate so far in the commission of a crime - usually at the very early stages of planning it - and then they have to be removed in a way which doesn’t alert the other criminals involved. It sounded like Gillrow had allowed Fitch to go all the way to the commission of crimes. Very bad practice, to say the least. Henry knew it happened a lot in the 1970s and 1980s - which is one of the reasons the rules were tightened up.
‘But he was also an agent provocateur,’ Gillrow said, ‘always pushing others to do things, giving them ideas and drawing them in, so eventually they’d get caught by me.’
Simply because there was a tape running, Henry bit his tongue. Agent provocateur - another big no, no. Informants must never - ever - set a crime in motion. Yet here was an ex-DI blandly admitting allowing one to do just that. No wonder the police service was in the state it was in. Bastards like Gillrow, Henry thought, are the ones who’ve spoiled it for us today.
‘And no one knew about this, I take it?’ Danny said.
Gillrow shook his head.
‘Your bosses? Colleagues?’
Another headshake. ‘Strictly between me and him.’
‘Idiot,’ Danny said under her breath.
‘Some of the stunts
me and him put together would make your toes curl,’ Gillrow said proudly. ‘We just went ahead and did it. It was the only sure way of getting bad guys caught and locked away. I got credit and Fitch got cash. I was only doing my job - a bloody good job at that,’ he concluded defensively.
‘By breaking the rules?’ Danny sneered.
‘Listen, love - it was the only way. I put some right toe-rags away. They have all the advantages and the cops don’t have anything but red tape and bureaucratic shite. I got results and the guilty got sent down.’
‘All well and good,’ Henry remarked. ‘But you say Fitch got paid from the fund. Surely some of your managers must have known what was happening, must’ve authorised payments . . .’ Henry’s voice trailed off and he made the connection as Fitch smiled. ‘You managed the informants’ fund, didn’t you?’
‘Controlled it. Authorised payments. Balanced the books. Piss easy.’
‘Idiot,’ Danny whispered again, beginning to hate Gillrow.
‘What happened with Crane, then?’
Gillrow shifted uncomfortably at this question, something Henry was pleased to see. ‘It was just that one or two things came together for me at that time, personal things.’ He sighed and looked deflated now, shaking his head sadly. ‘No excuse, I suppose - but the wife ran up some horrendous debts on the Visa and Access cards. I had no chance of paying them off. I had some gambling debts, too. The usual shite, I suppose. I put in for promotion for the extra money and didn’t get it.’
‘So you went completely bent?’ Danny could not prevent herself from blurting out unprofessionally.
‘You can say what you like, you bitch. I had my reasons.’
Danny was about to lash back. Henry put up a hand to quell her.
‘So along comes Malcolm Fitch and tells me he’s fallen in cohorts with Billy Crane and Don Smith - both excellent blaggers and safe-crackers. He said they were planning to do a Building Society in Blackburn. I saw a window of opportunity to wipe off a few debts, so I went to see Crane. I told him I had enough to pull him there and then on conspiracy - and gave him an alternative, which he took.’
‘Which was?’ Henry and Danny said in unison.
‘To go ahead and do the job and split the take with me, fifty-fifty. Thirty grand each. I told him I’d do a proper official job on it, on the face of it, but I’d make sure he got away so long as he gave me half, as well as a prisoner - Don Smith - which is just what happened.’
‘Why not Malcolm Fitch as the prisoner?’ Henry asked.
‘Because I had to deal with him, too. I’d ensure he got away and then got paid some informants money. I wanted a conviction out of it. Guess I was just an old-fashioned jack at heart. I liked seeing people behind bars.’
‘So neither one of them knew you were dealing with the other?’ Henry queried, trying to get his head around this. ‘Fitch didn’t know you were two-timing him with Crane; Crane didn’t know you were dealing with Fitch.’
‘Not initially, no. Crane eventually found out that Fitch had snouted on him because I think he opened his big gob once too often in a pub and the wrong people heard him. It got back to Crane, who was in prison by then, and I heard he promised he would kill Fitch for it one day - which he did.’
Henry guffawed. ‘And yet he was happy to drop his mate Smith in it,’ he said incredulously. ‘Honour amongst thieves, my buttocks!’ He took a breath. ‘Let me get this straight. The deal was, you fixed it for Crane to get away from the scene of the crime.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you allowed Fitch to do a runner when you were transferring him back to the police station?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Don Smith got caught and convicted.’
‘Yes.’
‘So Fitch got his informants money, Crane got thirty grand, so did you, and Don Smith got a prison sentence. . .?’
‘That’s what should have happened - except it went belly-up on the night.’
‘How? Why?’
‘OK,’ he swallowed, ‘they all three break into the Building Society. The safe gets blown. I’m next door in a greengrocer’s, watching all this on a monitor. I’ve set up the police operation and told everybody that the information is that all three offenders will come out of the back of the shop next door, which was an insurance broker’s.
‘Crane grabs the money and hustles the other two out the back door - where they are met by every cop and his gun - and meanwhile Crane exits out the front door, blasting fuck out of it with a shotgun and running. He had a clear, pre-planned escape route, all the way back to his car. All he had to do was jump in and fuck off. I would just tell everybody he was unidentified.’ Gillrow looked glum. ‘But I cocked up big-style. There was so much going on in my head, trying to cover all the angles that I’d forgotten to stand down you and your mate from covering the Cosworth. It totally went out of my head. When Crane got there, he ran into you - and Bob’s your uncle.’
Although it had happened almost thirteen years before, Henry Christie’s memory of that night was just as vivid as ever. The vision of his best friend taking the shotgun blast and almost dying from it would live with him always. And the fear of that night would, too. Even as Gillrow had been relating the story, Henry’s heart had started beating quickly and adrenaline was pumping into his veins. He could taste the fear he had tasted on that night. Feel the metal of his revolver in his hand. Hear the blast of the shotgun. See Terry Briggs writhing in agony, almost dying.
He said nothing, but Danny saw him looking strangely at Gillrow.
‘What happened to the money?’ she asked.
‘We had a pre-arranged drop in a dustbin. I collected it after Fitch had done a “runner” from me. That’s the cash that paid for the deposit on this place. I put thirty grand into an offshore account for Crane. The extra seventy grand you talk about is legit. Came from a wealthy but dead uncle. Check it out.’
Danny was going to ask a question about his relationship now with Crane, but Henry had had enough, as evidenced by the words which he growled out. ‘You are a piece of shite!’
Henry rose quickly from his plastic chair, sending it clattering behind him. He dived across the gap to Gillrow, grabbed his T-shirt and chest skin underneath and hauled him to his feet. The older man whimpered in fright as Henry pushed him right up against the balcony rail. Henry was livid, literally purple with rage. Danny had never seen him like that.
‘My friend nearly died for you that night, for your greed, for your corruption. I should throw you off here, you slimy bastard.’ Spittle from Henry’s mouth landed in little white bubbles on Gillrow’s face, the two men were so close.
‘Henry! Henry let him go,’ Danny said firmly. She laid a calming hand on her lover’s shoulder. ‘He’s definitely not worth it.’
Henry drew back, smouldering. ‘I haven’t finished with you, Barney. Not by a fucking long chalk. I’ll show you just how I get results by operating with red tape and bureaucracy. The secret is to make it work for you ... and I’m very, very good at that.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Have you returned to earth from the Planet Zog, yet?’ Danny asked Henry in a gentle manner.
They had walked briskly back from Gillrow’s apartment to Los Cristianos, not having realised at the time - because they were having so much fun - how long they had stayed at the ex-detective’s place. They had left at 11.45 a.m. and needed to make the midday meeting with Loz, having arranged to see him at Henry’s hotel room for some further conversation. Ideally they would have preferred to have been in the room, waiting for him, inviting him into their lair, which would have given them the psychological advantage. Now they would be turning up late and flustered.
It was well after twelve when they got into the centre of Los Cristianos, both sweating profusely with the exertion. Henry had not spoken during their journey and Danny had let him have the time and space to brood and reflect. He had been very upset and made angry by Gillrow’s confession - quite understandably
- and Danny accepted that. She would have been upset too. As it was, Gillrow’s total disregard for proper practice coupled with his dishonesty made her despise the man, rather than want to throw him over a balcony rail.
They were in the hotel, walking up the flight of steps to their rooms on the first floor, when Danny decided that Henry’s angry silence had gone on long enough. He needed to be in the right frame of mind for their meeting with Loz Brayfield and not take the legacy of his interaction with Gillrow in with him. Hence her playful jibe about that well-known fictional planet.
‘Yeah,’ he said, and breathed out with relief. He had been carrying the tension with him all the way from Playa de las Americas and Danny had managed to break it with these words. His whole body relaxed visibly. His shoulders fell and a smile returned to his face. He shook his head wryly at his own stupidity. ‘I’d have had some explaining to do if I’d let go, wouldn’t I? I guess I just let the bastard get to me.’
They paused on a landing where the stairs did a 180-degree turn and grinned at each other.
‘He got to me, too,’ Danny admitted. ‘I could have slapped him. We need to sort him out good and proper.’
Henry placed his hands on her shoulders, gazed into her eyes and said, seriously, but happily, ‘I love you.’
Her eyes shone brightly, captivating him.
They kissed and embraced quickly.
‘Work to do,’ she said as they parted.
‘Let’s go and see what our tame toss-bag has for us now,’ Henry said.
They turned, Danny ahead of him, and began to walk up the short flight of steps which would take them up to the first floor.
Loz was sitting on his backside on the corridor floor outside Henry’s room, knees drawn up, arms folded across them, forehead resting on his forearms, sighing with annoyance at their lateness. He had purposely been early for this rendezvous, eager to collect what he had come to regard as his winnings. Another thousand pounds. Only he had no idea what he was going to tell them today for his money. He had already divulged most of what he knew about Crane. He thought he would let Christie ask the questions - which would give him more chance to ogle the woman detective, Furness. Loz could still feel the outline of her bush in his hands and the feel of her soft tits from when he had grabbed her. The memory made him shudder with delight. Maybe he should insist on payment in kind. He sniggered to himself, imagining her giving him a blow job, then looked quickly along the corridor, thinking he’d heard someone coming. But there was no one in sight - just a shadow. . .
