by Nick Oldham
‘ 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 f
right 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…
Ivankov had watched Loz leaving Uncle B’s, scuttling down the street like some sort of weasel. It was obvious that Loz was nervous, evidenced by the glances he continually threw over his shoulder, pausing at shop windows, sneaking furtive looks from side to side whilst pretending to inspect the goods on display. Ivankov wondered what he was playing at.
So far, the Russian’s discreet investigations had brought him as far as Loz and the information had been: find Loz and you find Billy Crane. But Crane was not on the scene. There was a whisper about a villa on La Gomera, but nothing more concrete than that. And Ivankov was now getting impatient. He had to get face to face with Crane very soon to satisfy Drozdov. The sooner the better. Having observed Loz, on and off, for over a day, it was getting to the point where Ivankov was going to ask some very direct questions of him. And then dispose of him.
Tailing Loz was easy for Ivankov amongst the holidaymakers. Loz led him through the streets of Los Cristianos, down to the beach-front and along the promenade to a large, modern hotel positioned on a rocky headland across the small bay from the harbour and ferry terminal.
At some point, Loz seemed to have decided that his anti-surveillance tactics were no longer needed and openly walked up the steps leading to the pool, no more looking back, just sheer cockiness. Ivankov followed him around the Lido, which was crowded to bursting with prostrate, sun-worshipping individuals of all shapes and sizes, into the hotel. Inside it was dark, cool and air-conditioned, all smoked glass, shiny metal and creeping vines. Loz headed straight for the elevators. Ivankov peeled away to the reception desk and picked up a car-hire brochure.
This was the point where Ivankov thought he could lose Loz.
He wondered what he was doing here. Could Crane be holed up here following the robbery? Could Loz be doing some running for him, keeping him in touch with developments? Was Loz going to lead Ivankov straight to the man he had been contracted to kill? That would be very agreeable. Ivankov had a good feeling about the whole thing — if only he could keep tabs on Loz inside the hotel.
The Russian placed the brochure back on the rack, strode across the foyer and stepped into the lift after Loz, who pressed the button for the first floor. He made no offer to his fellow traveller about pressing a button for him. Manners was not his strong point. Ivankov leaned across the front of Loz and thumbed ‘Two’.
The lift rose and moments later hissed to a stop at the first floor. Loz got out and turned right, having completely blanked and ignored Ivankov on the short journey.
The contraption could not go up quickly enough for the Russian who, when it reached the second floor, contorted out through the doors as they opened, ran to the stairs and hared down them — hoping not to meet Loz on the way; but Ivankov had made an appraisal of Loz’s mental capabilities in the short time he’d been watching him, scoring him very low on the IQ scale. He did not have the capacity to out-manoeuvre the Russian, nor anyone else for that matter, Ivankov believed.
At the first-floor landing, double swing doors made entirely of smoked, patterned glass, opened out on to the corridor. Ivankov paused. He could hear the murmur of voices further down the stairs, but they were not important to him. He pushed one of the doors slightly open and scrutinised the corridor. Loz was further down, banging impatiently at one of the room doors. The Russian stepped back out of sight, able to hear the banging through the doors. It continued for a while, then there was silence. Ivankov gently opened to door again and looked down the corridor. Loz was now sitting outside the room. The Russian pushed the swing door open a little further and worked out the room number — 117. The door creaked on it hinges, so he moved back on to the landing as Loz raised his head at the noise.
The Russian turned ca
sually at the sound of people coming up the steps behind him. Two people. A woman in front of a man.
The man raised his head and looked past the woman, locking eyes with the Russian.
Both men recognised one another in that instant.
Henry mouthed the word ‘Fuck!’ as recognition of the Russian hit him like a thunderbolt. His mind tumbled and twisted. The Russian killer, Ivankov, here in the hotel! The meeting Henry had had with Alexandr Drozdov. The race against time to capture Crane before the Russians got to him first… and now Ivankov here, the Moscow Mafia’s most notorious and successful assassin, in the hotel, showing that the Russians were well on Crane’s tail.
Danny, a couple of steps in front of Henry — who had been concentrating on her bum — was on the landing with the Russian. She was unaware of who was standing in front of her, thinking the man was just a hotel guest, nothing more. He had a vaguely familiar look about him, but she did not make any connection with the photograph she’d seen until it was too late… by which time the Russian, who did not know who she was, other than a handy bargaining tool, had grabbed her.
He moved with incredible speed; confident, self-assured, having already planned his next moves in his mind.
He yanked Danny roughly towards him, spun her round and pinned her tight against him with his left forearm across her throat, making her gurgle desperately for breath. She did not even get the chance to scream. In the same movement, he drew his silenced pistol from the waistband of his trousers and jammed the barrel against Danny’s lower spine. He reversed through the swing doors, off-balancing Danny, and dragged her on her heels, almost at a run, down the corridor to where Loz was sitting.
A dumbstruck Henry followed. He was completely disorientated by this turn of events and did not know what to do, other than to wait, see, react or pro-act if the opportunity arose.
Loz scrambled to his feet, his face screwed up in puzzlement. By the time his slow mind had made sense of it, the Russian, with hostage, was right up to him and Loz was staring down the barrel of Ivankov’s gun. His hands shot up straight away.
