Spider Trap bak-9

by Barry Maitiland

  ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

  ‘I wonder why?’

  He sighed, and reluctantly began to negotiate their working arrangements for the evening.

  Tom had arranged to meet Magdalen at a pub in Eltham, a short taxi ride from her home, and drive her from there to the club where they planned to spend the evening. It was the same one, the JOS, part-owned by Teddy Vexx, where George Murray had told Kathy that he and his group were appearing, and she found the coincidence alarming, especially when Tom confirmed that Vexx and Jay Crocker knew and were friendly with Magdalen, who apparently had a taste for Jamaican music.

  For this reason, Kathy didn’t go into the JOS, but waited in her little Renault in the street opposite. She saw Vexx and Crocker arrive in the throbbing Peugeot,and later Tom and Magdalen in his Subaru.While she waited she watched the customers coming and going, listened to the muffled thump of the music and studied the band posters covering the outside walls, Black Troika among them. She wondered if George Murray was any good.

  Shortly before midnight her phone signalled a text message from Tom: ‘WAKE UP ON OUR WAY’. They appeared soon after, Tom having to support Magdalen down the front steps. Her long legs looked as unsteady as a newborn pony’s or the rubbery hand she flapped at another couple leaving in the other direction. They laughed and waved back, and Tom gave them a rueful grin that Kathy felt was probably meant for her before he turned to steer his partner away down the street.

  He drove at a sedate pace across South London, Kathy on his tail. It was twelve-forty when they reached the golf club gates at Shooters Hill, where Kathy pulled onto the verge beneath a low tree and watched Tom, parked further up the lane leading to The Glebe, ease Magdalen out of his car and help her walk towards the gates. They fumbled with the keypad for a while and then they were inside and everything was still.

  The agreed deadline for Tom’s return was two, but at one-fifty Kathy received another message: ‘WORKING L8 MAKE IT 3’. The minutes crept by, getting closer and closer to the hour, until Kathy had her phone out, pressing the numbers for help-and then he was there, letting himself out of the gate and hurrying towards his car, head down, arms wrapped around his chest as if against the cold. His footing seemed unsteady, and at one point he stumbled and almost fell. Then he was in his car and turning, coming fast back up the lane. He hurtled past as Kathy made her turn and she watched his tail-lights disappear into the distance.

  He was waiting for her at the junction with the main road, turning onto it as she appeared, and for a couple of miles she followed him towards central London. His driving seemed erratic, the Subaru weaving in and out of its lane and at one point almost colliding with a turning truck,and Kathy became alarmed,worried that something was wrong. Finally he signalled a turn into a quiet suburban street and drew in to the kerb. Kathy parked behind him, jumped out and pulled open his door.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just not fit to drive. Take me home, will you? I’ll leave the car here.’

  He hauled himself out and stumbled to her car, still clutching his leather jacket as before, and sank into the seat with a sigh.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  He nodded, eyes closed. ‘God, she took a bloody age to pass out.’

  ‘So, how did it go?’

  ‘Okay, I think.’

  ‘Did you find anything? Brown Bread?’

  ‘Not that, but maybe something better.’ He looked up at her with a Belmondo grin, took hold of the zip on his jacket and slid it slowly down, revealing a fat yellow envelope.‘Let’s go home and see what we’ve got.’ He closed his eyes again and fell asleep.

  As she turned her car back to the main road Kathy felt a surge of relief. At least it hadn’t been a total disaster.

  Tom woke as she drew to a stop outside his flat. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.‘I don’t think I’d have made it.’

  He let them in.‘I’m having coffee,’ he said.‘Want a drink?’

  ‘Coffee’s fine. So tell me about it.What happened?’

  ‘Oh, she got pretty legless at the club, more than normal, but at least she was willing to leave earlier than usual. Not for me,’ he added quickly.‘With her parents away there was another attraction. When we got to the house she said her father kept dope in his office safe and she wanted my help to get into it. She had the key and a combination for the lock, but she couldn’t get it to work.’

  ‘Why did she think you could do it?’

  ‘I’ve told her I work as a security consultant. So she took me into her dad’s office and I had a look. It took me ten minutes to figure out what he’d done-you had to subtract one from each of the digits he’d written down to get the true entry code.Inside there were half a dozen sachets of cocaine, some of Magdalen’s mother’s jewellery, a pile of papers and a file. Magdalen removed one of the packets of coke and we went out to the living room.’ He shrugged. ‘Like I said,it took forever for her to fall asleep.She got all wild and lively again, wanting to dance, and then finally flaked out, just before the time I was supposed to leave. So I sent you the message and went back into the office and had another look. The papers seemed innocuous-birth certificates, company registration documents, stuff like that-but the file was odd. It was labelled “Dragon Stout”, and seemed to be concerned with a consignment of Jamaican beer for the Paramounts off-licence chain. I thought it was strange having just one business file in among that other stuff, and I had a closer look. Most of it was straightforward letters and documents about suppliers’ contracts, container layouts, shipping arrangements, customs forms, things like that, but then I came across this sheet . . .’

  Tom opened the yellow envelope and emptied its contents onto the coffee table. He thumbed through them for a moment, then lifted a single sheet with the letterhead of the head office of Paramounts Beers,Wines and Spirits, Importers and Retailers. It was dated the previous year and took the form of a handwritten list of points, like a summary for a presentation or a report, and ran as follows:

  TERMS:

  standard 20' container holds 1120 cases of 2 doz bottles of DS

  300 (25%) cases of ‘special’ = 7200 bottles

  @ 80 gm/bottle = 576 kg FGBC

  @ ?20,000/kg = ?11.52m

  ‘DS is Dragon Stout?’ Kathy said.

  Tom nodded.

  ‘What’s FGBC?’

  ‘Could be first-grade base cocaine. Twenty thousand a kilo is about right for wholesale Colombian, uncut.’

  ‘You think they’re bringing it over in bottles of beer?’

  ‘That’s how it looks.’

  ‘This isn’t the original, is it?’

  ‘No. There was a photocopier in the room, and I copied as much as I could of the file until I ran out of time. I haven’t really examined the rest. I know there are letters to the bottling plant in Jamaica and the names of distributors in the UK.’

  Kathy frowned, worried.‘Isn’t this a bit too easy? I mean, are they really going to put this sort of stuff down on paper?’

  ‘It’s a business, like any other, Kathy. They have to keep records of what’s been agreed, what’s been paid. Look at the initials at the bottom: I.R., Ivor Roach. He’s the accountant, he has to know. It’s his file, in his private safe, in his home.Where else would it be?’

  ‘When is this going to happen?’

  ‘It already has. According to the dates there were four container loads delivered last year. That’s forty-six million pounds worth of cocaine wholesale, say a hundred million on the street as crack or coke.’

  ‘Well.’ Kathy felt incapable of judgement. It was four in the morning and she wanted sleep and time to step back and digest this. She felt she barely recognised the man beside her. His face was flushed, his pupils contracted and his nose running. ‘No wonder they’ve all got better cars than me,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose.‘And no wonder they’ve got plenty of friends.You look tired.’

  ‘Yes,
I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Kip here. Then you can run me back to my car in the morning.’

  She was too weary to argue, and they tumbled onto opposite sides of his bed and fell into a troubled sleep.

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was one of the more difficult interviews of her life. Tom managed it as well as he could have, speaking with conviction, taking full personal responsibility and painting her role in the most favourable light. But still, she felt rotten. Brock didn’t rant or scold, that wasn’t his way. His silence was far more eloquent. He just sat there behind his desk, expressionless, his eyes fixed on Tom as he told his story, occasionally appearing to focus on some detail of his appearance, his puffy eyes, his inflamed nostrils. He didn’t look at Kathy at all, and she felt his disregard like a weight on her chest. Then, when the story was finished, he bowed his head over the papers and read them carefully, line by line, making notes on a pad in his deliberate script.

  Finally he said, ‘You haven’t corroborated any of this? The shipping movements, the customs details, the contractors’ companies?’ This to Tom.

  ‘No, we thought we’d better talk to you first.’ ‘Check what you can, without arousing suspicion. Come back

  at noon.’

  ‘Right.’ Tom began to draw back his chair.

  ‘And bring a written report of your operation, as brief and succinct as possible. Leave Kathy out of it.’

  ‘Fine.’ Tom was on his feet.

  ‘How did she get hold of the key?’ Brock asked suddenly.

  ‘The key?’

  ‘To her father’s safe. You said she had the combination and the key.’

  ‘Oh, yes. There was a false bottom in one of the drawers of his desk. The key and the note of the combination were kept there, along with other keys. She’d seen him access it.’

  ‘Hm.’ Brock turned away and they left.

  They worked at adjoining desks, Tom tracking the movement of the containers and their consignments of Jamaican Dragon Stout through a friend in Customs and Excise, while Kathy checked the details of companies whose names appeared in the record using Companies House and a contact in the Fraud Squad. By noon they had compiled a fairly comprehensive background to the story outlined in Tom’s photocopied material. He had also written a highly abridged account of how he had come by it, with the help, so he said, of an unnamed member of the Roach family.

  ‘So there certainly were those orders and those shipments last year, Chief,’ Tom said as Brock finished reading their report.

  ‘What about this plastics business?’ Brock pointed to one of the names on Kathy’s schedule of companies involved in the transactions.‘Are you sure it existed?’

  The order to PC Plastics in Solihull was one of the most incriminating items in the Dragon Stout file, involving the supply of 50,000 brown plastic sleeves, described as ‘wine sample containers’. These would presumably have been used to hold the cocaine inside the ‘special’ bottles of beer, hidden in the middle of each container load. However the company had gone out of business the previous year and Kathy hadn’t been able to contact its directors.

  ‘It certainly existed,’she said,the first time she’d spoken.‘I got details from Companies House, and I rang the local chamber of commerce, who knew of it. They also know of the managing director, name of Steven Bryce. He has other companies that are still functioning. I tried one of them and was told he’s overseas at present, on a business trip.’

  A hurried breakfast and several cups of strong coffee had restored her confidence to some extent. They hadn’t been able to find anything in the papers that didn’t have some form of corroboration,and Kathy was beginning to be infected by Tom’s obvious excitement. Brock, though, betrayed no particular enthusiasm.

  ‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘Leave it with me.’ He reached for the phone and they left.

  ‘I’ll buy you lunch,’ Tom said as they made their way downstairs.‘He might show a little interest.What does he want, signed confessions?’

  Kathy turned down lunch. She didn’t want to listen to Tom building up his hopes. She wanted to think.

  Later that afternoon she drove into South London and parked in the lane outside PART WORN TYRES.Which part? she wondered. The light was on in the window of the girl’s flat above the laundrette. She silently climbed the stairs to the access deck and listened at the door. She thought she heard the sound of soft music, but not of babies. She knocked.

  The door opened on George’s face then began to swing shut

  again. Kathy stuck her foot in the gap. ‘Go away,’he complained.‘Go away.’ ‘On your own, George? Don’t keep me standing out here,

  there’s a good lad. Someone might see me.’ George gave a moan and let her in.‘Carole’ll be back soon.’ ‘Won’t take long. Just need a bit of help. Nothing heavy. How did you enjoy the concert on Saturday?’ ‘All right.’ ‘I was watching you.You seemed really taken with it.’ He shrugged, scuffed his shoe on the worn carpet tile.

  ‘It was cool.’ ‘They were raising money for people like you, George, for scholarships-music scholarships, for example.You could apply.’ ‘Nah. I don’t do classical stuff.’ ‘Not just classical,any kind of music.I know Michael Grant,the

  bloke who organised it.Would you like me to ask him for you?’ George met her eye with a kind of pained anxiety, as if he knew this was a trap but couldn’t help responding.‘Maybe.’ ‘All right, I will. I passed the JOS last night and saw your

  posters.Were you playing?’ He nodded. ‘Teddy Vexx and Jay Crocker were there too, yes? I saw

  their car.’ Another nod, more wary. ‘Do you know a girl called Magdalen, friend of theirs?’ ‘Yeah …’ Something about the way he said it made Kathy ask, ‘Fancy

  her, do you?’ ‘Nah.’ He looked down at the floor again, embarrassed. ‘She is very pretty though,isn’t she? You’d have to notice her.

  Was she with Teddy and Jay at the club last night?’

  ‘Nah, some other bloke.’

  ‘Ah. Has she split up with Teddy then?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Didn’t Teddy mind her being with this other bloke?’

  George suddenly recognised danger. ‘Did something happen to him? Look, I didn’t see nothing. There wasn’t no trouble at the club. Magdalen and the bloke left about midnight, but Teddy and Jay stayed on till three or four-I swear, I saw them.’

  ‘That’s okay, George. There was no trouble. Look, between ourselves, Magdalen’s family are worried about her drugs and the company she keeps, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah.’He looked relieved.‘The other bloke looked okay.White guy. I’ve seen him around. I was surprised, though, that Teddy didn’t seem bothered.’

  ‘Did he know Teddy?’

  ‘Don’t think so. I didn’t see them speak.’

  ‘All right, that’s all I wanted, George, thanks. And I will look into that other thing for you . . .’

  At that moment they heard the clatter of feet on the deck outside and the impatient rattle of a key in the door.

  ‘Oh fuck.’ George panicked. ‘She’ll see you here. She’ll tell Teddy …’

  ‘What’s her name?’ Kathy said quickly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s Carole’s other name?’

  ‘Marshall, why . . .?’

  The door swung open and Carole marched in. ‘Those bleedin’-’ She glared in surprise at Kathy.

  ‘Ms Marshall?’ Kathy said.‘Hello, I’m from the clinic. There’s been a mix-up over medications. They asked me to come down in person to check you’ve got the right ones. Sorry about this. Can I just see your bottles?’

  ‘Eh? Clinic?’

  ‘GUM, dear,’ Kathy murmured tactfully and shot a coy smile at George, who looked blank.‘Are they in the bathroom?’

  ‘Oh . . . no, they’re here.’ Carole, flustered by Kathy’s imitation of a caring health professional, rummaged in her bag and produced a plastic bottle of pills.

 
Kathy examined the label. ‘Oh, that’s fine. Not you then. Marvellous. I’ll be on my way. Bye.’

  She walked out.

  Brock was called to his second meeting with Commander Sharpe the following morning. The first briefing, to acquaint his boss with Tom’s report,had been met with a frosty bewilderment,as if Sharpe really didn’t want to know what had possessed Brock to ignore his earlier advice, and was embarrassed at having to do something about it. By the second meeting, he had regained his usual confidence and precision, and was unambiguous in his instructions.

  ‘We drop it.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s evidence of a serious crime?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m advised that it’s flawed, unattributable and potentially scandalous.You will not pursue this, Brock, and you will make sure that your errant team member doesn’t either.’

  ‘Hm. May I ask if you’re aware of any other ongoing investigation into the affairs of the Roach family, sir?’

  ‘There is no such thing.’

  ‘Are you sure? Not even at OCLG level? Five, perhaps?’

  Brock noticed a small flush of colour tinge Sharpe’s cheeks as he leaned forward to say, in a lower but even more insistent voice, ‘I am sure, Brock, because your half-baked fantasy went all the way up to JIC, where it was treated with the contempt it deserved. Get Roach out of your head and get on with something else.Do I make myself absolutely plain?’

  Tom and Kathy reported to Brock’s room in the early afternoon. The old files had been stacked neatly in a corner, they noticed, as if ready to be returned, and the pin board facing Brock’s desk was bare. Brock himself was eating a sandwich. He popped the last bit into his mouth, smacked his hands together, wiped them on a paper napkin and threw it into the bin.

  ‘Come in. Sit down.’

  There was no sign of their report on his desk.

  ‘Your little operation has gone through channels,’ he said. ‘There will be no further action.’

  There was a moment’s silence,then Tom said,‘What? Why not?’

  ‘The evidence had no provenance, Tom, no search warrant, no witnesses, no credible means of access. CPS won’t touch it. And the story it told was suggestive at best, open to interpretation.You know that’s true.’