The Murder
Exchange
SIMON KERNICK
CARGI BOOKS
Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
About the Author
Also by Simon Kernick
Now
Tuesday, nineteen days ago
Thursday, seventeen days ago
Friday, sixteen days ago
Saturday, fifteen days ago
Sunday, fourteen days ago
Monday, thirteen days ago
Wednesday, eleven days ago
Introducing Krys Holtz
Thursday, ten days ago
Friday, nine days ago
Saturday, eight days ago
Monday, six days ago
Tuesday, five days ago
Wednesday, four days ago
Thursday, three days ago
Friday, two days ago
Yesterday
Today
Wednesday, three days later
Monday, eight days later
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Deadline
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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THE MURDER EXCHANGE
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552158084
First published in Great Britain in 2003 by Bantam Press a division of Transworld Publishers
Corgi edition published 2004
Corgi edition reissued 2009
Copyright © Simon Kernick 2003
Simon Kernick has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
For Amy.
But not just yet.
Simon Kernick lives near London and has two young children. His previous novel, Relentless, was selected as a Richard & Judy Summer Read.
The research for Simon Kernick’s novels is what makes them so authentic. His extensive list of contacts in the police force has been built up over more than a decade. It includes long serving officers in Special Branch, the National Crime Squad (now SOCA), and the Anti-Terrorist Branch, all of whom have plenty of tales to tell.
For more information on Simon Kernick and his books, see his website at www.simonkernick.com
www.rbooks.co.uk
Also by SIMON KERNICK
THE BUSINESS OF DYING
Featuring DS Dennis Milne, full-time cop, part-time assassin.
‘Taut, gripping, disturbing – a most assured and original début’
Daily Mail
THE MURDER EXCHANGE
Ex-soldier Max Iversson is hired to provide security for a meeting that goes disastrously wrong.
‘From hardboiled cops to ruthless women on the make, Kernick generates a potent cocktail of thrills’
Guardian
THE CRIME TRADE
DI John Gallan and DS Tina Boyd uncover a murderous conspiracy that will take them to the heart of London’s most notorious criminal gang.
‘A taut gritty novel in which Kernick uses every trick in the book to keep the narrative breakneck’
Time Out
A GOOD DAY TO DIE
Exiled cop Dennis Milne returns to London to hunt down the murderers of a close friend.
‘Great plots, great characters, great action’
Lee Child
RELENTLESS
Tom Meron finds himself on the run, pursued by enemies he never knew he had …
‘This is the sort of book that forces you to read so fast you stumble over the words. Phenomenal!’
Evening Standard
SEVERED
You wake up in a strange room on a bed covered in blood. And you have no idea how you got there …
‘If you like lots of non-stop action, this is for you’
Guardian
DEADLINE
You get home from work and your daughter is missing. You know you will do anything to get her back alive – but time is running out …
‘Simon Kernick writes with his foot pressed hard on the pedal. Hang on tight!’
Harlan Coben
Although virtually all the places where the events of this book take place exist, some of the residential street names are intentionally fictional.
Now
There is no feeling in the world more hopeless, more desperate, more frightening, than when you are standing looking at the end of a gun that’s held steadily and calmly by someone you know is going to kill you. And impotent, too. It’s an impotent feeling realizing that nothing you do or say, no pleading, no begging, nothing, is going to change the dead angle of that weapon, or prevent the bullet from leaving it and entering your body, ripping up your insides, and ending every experience, every thought, every dream you’ve ever had. You think about people you care about, places you’ve been to that you liked, and you know you’re never going to see any of them again. Your guts churn, the nerves in your lower back jangle so wildly that you think you’re going to soil yourself, your legs feel like they’re going to go from under you like those newborn calves you sometimes see on the telly. And your eyes. You know that your eyes betray your sense of complete and utter defeat.
You are a dead man, and you know it.
And then two things happened.
Tuesday, nineteen days ago
Iversson
To tell you the truth, I knew Roy Fowler was trouble the minute I laid eyes on the bastard. His eyes were too close together for a start, and the eyebrows joined up werewolf-style which, according to a book I once read, is always a bad sign. I didn’t like the nose either, or the fake tan, but I wouldn’t have let that stand in the way of business. If I was that fussy, I’d be broke. But there was something in the way he walked that put me on my guard, with his eyes carefully registering everyone in the room,
like he half-expected one of them to jump up at any minute and put a richly deserved bullet in his back. He might have tried to hide it by dressing in a smart, well-cut suit and putting an easy smile on his face as soon as he saw me, but I could tell you this straight away: Roy Fowler was one of the world’s guilty.
I stood up as he approached and we shook hands. His grip was tight but a real moist one, and I had to stop myself from wiping my hand down my shirt once I’d pulled it away.
‘Mr Iversson …’
‘Mr Fowler. Take a seat.’
He plonked himself down on the stool opposite me and took another look round. He didn’t seem entirely comfortable. ‘Are you sure it’s all right to talk here?’
‘Someone once told me that this branch of Pizza Hut is the best place to hold a lunchtime meeting if you don’t want to be overheard. It’s because it’s all you can eat.’
He raised a hairy eyebrow. ‘So?’
‘So, apparently it only attracts women with lots of kids, and people who live for their food. The women have to keep chasing after the kids and the rest of them are far too busy concentrating on what’s in front of them to listen to anyone else’s conversation. You’re meant to be able to spot someone who doesn’t fit in a mile off.’
He had another quick look round and pretty much got confirmation of what I’d said. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen people in the place, spread out amongst the formica tables and booths, all of them single and at least five stone too hefty, except for one harassed young mum with bad hair who was there with her three shrieking pre-teen delinquents.
‘I can’t see how they can make any money,’ said Fowler distastefully, wiping his brow. The day was hot and close and he was definitely overdressed.
‘You ever heard of a poor fast-food chain? Course they make money. It’s just tomato ketchup and dough. Maybe a bit of cheese and some cheap meat to decorate. I bet the bloke who owns the franchise drives a Porsche and smokes Cuban cigars.’
‘You reckon?’
I nodded. ‘Definitely. His name’s Marco.’
The waitress, a pasty-faced teenager who looked like she sampled the products a little too regularly herself, sidled over and asked for his order. I’d already eaten before I got there (none of that all-you-can-eat crap for me) and was nursing my second Becks. ‘Just a Coke,’ he told her, without bothering to look up.
She went off and he removed his jacket. A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of his face.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ I asked, getting to the point.
Fowler sighed and gave me a hawkish look. I thought that he probably wouldn’t have been too bad looking if it hadn’t been for the eyes. ‘I need some security. I was recommended to speak to you about it.’
‘So you said on the phone. Who’s been doing my advertising for me, then?’
He paused for a moment while the waitress returned with his drink. He waited until she’d gone before he spoke. ‘Johnny Hexham. You used to go to school with him, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Johnny had been a good friend of mine once. A nice bloke and popular with the ladies, but not the most honest of Johns. He’d probably want something for the recommendation. Whether he got it or not depended on what came next. ‘What sort of security are you after?’
Fowler continued to stare at me intensely, like he thought his gaze somehow made the person being stared at want to trust him. It didn’t. If he’d have told me I had two legs, I’d have looked down to check. ‘I have a meeting that I need to attend in a couple of nights’ time. The people I’m meeting with are not what I’d describe as trustworthy. I’ve gota feeling that if I turn up on my own, then they might consider that a sign of weakness and take advantage. I’d rather have some back-up.’
‘What did Johnny Hexham say about me?’
‘He said that you fronted a reliable outfit and that you knew what you were doing. Those are the two things I’m most interested in.’
‘That’s good. I hope he also said that I like to play things straight. That I’m not interested in getting involved in loads of shit that’s going to get me put inside for years on end. I make a good living, Mr Fowler. It’s not fantastic, sometimes it can even be boring, and a lot of the people we guard make more money in a day than I see in a month, sometimes even a year, but it’s still a good living, and I don’t want to trade it in for a room with bars on the windows. Know what I mean?’
‘I understand all that. And I’m not asking you to do anything that you wouldn’t normally consider doing. This is just one night’s work, one meeting, and all I want is to have people behind me that I can rely on if things turn a bit tasty.’
‘Are they likely to?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s in the interests of the people I’m meeting as much as mine to make this thing work.’
‘And this meeting … what exactly is it about?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, Mr Iversson.’
‘That’s why I’m still here. I make it a point to know as much as possible about what I might be getting involved in.’
‘Fair enough. I’ve got something they want, and they’ve got something I want. It’s an exchange.’
‘That doesn’t help me much. I need to know what you’re exchanging.’
‘Why?’
‘Because for all I know you could be carrying twenty kilos of coke and they could be undercover coppers. I once had a mate who was asked to deliver a package to an address in Regent’s Park. He never knew what was in it. Two hundred quid for half an hour’s work, no questions asked. He was hardly going to say no, was he? When he turned up at the house, the bloke answering the door was from Vice Squad and he was nicked. Turns out he was carrying a load of porn mags where the models were no older than those kids over there. So you see why I want to be careful.’
‘If I tell you, I don’t want it going any further. Not even to whoever you bring with you, if you decide to take the job.’
I told him it wouldn’t and he turned and looked over his shoulder, just to make sure no one was listening. No one was, and he turned back to me. ‘I told you on the phone I owned a nightclub, right? Well, a couple of months back, I got an approach to buy it from some, er, businessmen. I wasn’t that interested, not for the amount they wanted to pay, so I said no. They upped the offer but I still wasn’t that sure. You know, I’ve owned the place close to ten years and it’s always made me a good living. I’m the same as you, I’m not rich, but I’m doing OK. As it happens, I thought they could still up the offer, so I held out for more, thinking that I wasn’t so worried either way.’
He paused for a moment to take a gulp from his drink.
‘Then things started to happen. The club started getting unsavoury elements coming in, loud-mouths looking for trouble. There were fights breaking out, furnishings getting smashed, staff threatened, all that sort of shit. Then some of my doormen stopped turning up for work, saying they’d found jobs elsewhere. It didn’t take me long to find out that these buyers were behind it, and that they were people who it wasn’t worth messing with. A few days ago they came back and asked if I’d like to reconsider their original offer.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, what was I meant to do? I liked the place, still do, but there’s no point in clinging on to the past. Especially when the future’s getting ready to kick you right in the bollocks. It just wasn’t worth the aggravation. So I said I’d accept the second offer but not the original.’
I managed a smile. Put in the same position, I’d have done the same thing. You never want to let them know they’re winning. ‘What did they say?’
‘They might have been lowlifes but they were still businessmen. I think they thought they’d won some sort of victory by making me change my mind, and that was good enough for them.’
‘And is it a good price, what they’re offering?’
‘It’s not bad. I could have done worse.’
‘So what’s the problem? Where do I come in?’
/>
‘We both want a straight exchange on neutral ground. Basically, the deeds for the money. They don’t want lawyers involved and they don’t want the taxman seeing any of it. They just want a straight no-hassle swap. And I’m going to get payment in cash, no questions asked. Then I just walk away. Why I need you’s pretty obvious. These people might be businessmen but they’re not, shall we say, averse to using physical means to get what they want. Without the law involved, I’ve got no guarantees that they won’t just make me sign over everything for nothing. With you there, I’ve got a lot more chance they’ll play it fair.’
‘We don’t usually deal with a few hours’ work here and there. The stuff we do’s more long term.’
‘This is an important deal to me. I’ll make it worth your while.’ Fowler took another gulp of his drink while I waited to hear how much ‘worth your while’ meant. ‘As I said, I want three men. One of them’s going to have to be you. Johnny said I should insist on you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. He said you could keep a cool head.’ I didn’t say anything so he continued. ‘Five grand. In cash. That’s what I’ll pay for you and two of your best people to come along with me.’
‘That’s a lot of money.’
‘It’s a lot less than I’ll be getting out of this deal. I look at it as a worthwhile investment. One other thing …’
‘What?’
‘I need at least one of the people with me, preferably you, to be carrying.’
I tightened the grip on my glass. ‘I don’t want to get involved in anything like that, Mr Fowler.’
Fowler leant forward and I caught a whiff of his breath. It was a nasty combination of sweet and sour, like air freshener in a Gents’ toilet. ‘Look, I know what you’re saying but I’m dealing with dangerous people here and if one of them does something stupid, like pulls a gun, I don’t want it to mean the end of my retirement fund. I know your background so I know it’s not something you can’t handle, and it’s because of that that I’m paying big money.’
The Murder Exchange Page 1
