Once a Killer

by Martin Bodenham

  “Why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I was being silly, but I’ve seen them four times now. The funny thing is they’ve never been here when you’re not home.”

  “Is that why you asked about Rondell? Did one of them look like him?”

  “Not really. They were both white, but it was just something you said about him. You said you would have put money on him being a career criminal. Somehow, I thought there might be a connection. I told you it was probably me being—”

  “Listen to me, Caroline.” Michael held her hands. “If you see them here again, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

  “I will. I have to admit, when I saw them come back, I did find it worrying. I wanted to tell you, but with all the pressure you’re under at work…”

  “Don’t worry about me. I want to know if they return. And if I’m not here, I want you to call the police and then call me.”

  “Who do you think they might be?”

  What could he say? That they were likely to be Rondell’s men keeping an eye on him to make sure he kept his side of the bargain? Or worse still, the authorities were onto him, suspecting him of passing information to insider traders? Once again, Michael was severely tempted to tell Caroline everything so he could bring this nightmare to a close. He looked at Caroline’s worried face and then watched as his giggling daughters ran around the garden. How could he destroy all this?

  Damn Rondell.

  “I don’t know who they could be,” Michael said in as casual a tone as he could find. “Is it possible they may not even have been watching our house?”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  An hour later, they were getting ready for their trip to the beach. Michael was in the garage, looking for the cooler, while Caroline was upstairs helping Emily change. As she passed the bedroom window, Caroline glanced across the road. The black car had returned, and the same two men were in the front seats. She pelted downstairs.

  “Michael,” she said, opening the internal garage door. “I think they’re back.”

  The panic in her voice told him exactly what she meant. “Stay here.”

  As he hit the button on the wall to operate the electric garage door opener, he grabbed the garden shovel and then ran outside. Sprinting across the street, he didn’t see the car rushing up behind him. Its horn blared, and the driver only just managed to swerve around him. Michael ignored it and carried on racing toward the black car, the shovel held high above his shoulder.

  The black car pulled out into the road, burning its rear tires as it accelerated. Michael stood in its path; he wasn’t going anywhere. It bounced up onto the curb, narrowly missing him. Swiveling his body, Michael threw the shovel at the back of the car, catching the rear fender as it sped away.

  “Come back here, you bastards,” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Come back here. This has to stop now.”

  “Michael,” said Caroline, running up to him. “Michael.”

  He stood in the middle of the road, his eyes wide open, knees bent, ready to pounce, both fists clenched. He glared at the car as it disappeared up the road, the smell of burning rubber still clinging in the air.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Mrs. Carpenter, walking over her lawn toward them, garden clippers in hand.

  “We’re okay,” said Caroline, putting her arm around Michael’s shoulder.

  “Shall I call the police, dear?” Mrs. Carpenter’s face was a mix of shock and concern.

  “No,” Caroline said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  She led her husband away from the road. “Come on, Michael. Let’s get you inside.”

  Chapter 34

  AFTER GRADUATING FROM OXFORD with a first class honors degree in philosophy, politics, and economics, Oto Sokol spent a year at the London School of Economics, obtaining his MSc in economics and management. Throughout most of his academic career, Sokol had grown used to being the top-rated student in his class, with a rare talent for combining strategic insight with a detailed understanding of mathematical principles. But at the LSE, he met his match. One student on his course consistently ranked higher than him. What riled Sokol more than anything was that his rival appeared to glide through the semesters without too much effort. That student’s name was Anthony Liquorish.

  While they started out as competitors, by the time they obtained their Masters, Sokol and Liquorish had become the closest of friends; so much so that they joined the same leading London investment bank in September 1981. They even shared a rented flat in Covent Garden for three years until Liquorish married. After that, while their careers drifted apart, they remained good friends, with Sokol becoming godfather to Thomas, Liquorish’s eldest son.

  Sokol went on to launch his own hedge fund in 1988 and, when the Berlin Wall came down the following year, he started building business relationships back in his home city of Prague. After Czechoslovakia’s “velvet divorce” in 1993, he became a regular visitor to the new Czech Republic, where he bought a country pile just outside the capital city. Around this time, money began to flood into his hedge fund, only in part due to its stellar investment performance. The main driver was the surge of capital to the west from the former Soviet states. Throughout this period, the ever-scheming Sokol forged strong links with leading Czech politicians and business leaders, connections that would come to serve him well in later years.

  Eventually, the lure of illicit money became irresistible. He built contacts with the nascent Eastern European mafia bosses, learning from them while he allowed their businesses to launder money through his London operation. After the Czech Republic became a member of the European Union in 2004, Sokol moved to Prague full-time. By then, he’d taken over many of his former clients’ mafia activities, through a mix of guile and brutality, eventually becoming the most powerful organized crime leader in Europe. From Prague, he could administer what had become an empire, ranging from the apparently legitimate London-based hedge fund to drug smuggling, prostitution, arms and people trafficking. From those competing criminal gangs he allowed to survive, Sokol extracted a generous cut of their income in exchange for providing an efficient and sophisticated money laundering service.

  Meanwhile, Liquorish had moved into financial asset management with London’s largest fund management business. He became a director in 1992 and, throughout the 1990s, he built relationships with high net worth families and corporations around the world. Liquorish became a trusted manager of wealth, with an unrivalled knowledge of global tax rules, transfer pricing, and offshore banking. He became the go-to adviser for secretive clients who wanted to shield their wealth from the taxman’s prying eyes.

  But the world imploded for Liquorish in March 2001 when the US Internal Revenue Service investigated a number of his American clients and discovered that, for years, he’d been setting up illegal tax evasion schemes for hundreds of companies and individuals. His employer was fined a record amount at that time and, soon after, it collapsed into administration as honest clients fled. Liquorish served two years in London’s Belmarsh prison and was stripped of his authorization by the Financial Services Authority, meaning he’d never be able to operate in the UK’s financial services industry again.

  By 2003, Sokol was planning his move to Prague and knew he’d be unable to manage the investment side of his London hedge fund while running his expanding activities in mainland Europe. Liquorish was the dream answer to his problem: a man with a massive intellect, unrivalled investment skills, market knowledge and, most important, someone who was comfortable breaking the law for personal enrichment. The day discredited Liquorish left Belmarsh, he joined Sokol’s empire. A month later, he moved his family to Guernsey, an offshore tax haven a few miles off the English coast, from where he could oversee the administration of Sokol’s operation without too many questions being asked by the authorities in London.

  The fortified metal gates clanged as they closed behind Liquorish’s rental car.
When he glanced into his rearview mirror, the two armed guards had already returned to their hut just inside the entrance wall. Once he’d entered the estate, he drove up the mile-long private road leading to the four-story baroque mansion and parked in his usual spot. Two CCTV cameras on the front of the building tracked his movements.

  The wide oak door of the house opened as Liquorish stepped out of his vehicle.

  “Anthony,” said the slightly built man, with jet black hair, walking toward him with his hand extended. “How was your flight?”

  “Oto, good to see you again,” Liquorish said, shaking his friend’s hand. At a little over six feet, he towered over Sokol by a good six or seven inches.

  “How’s the family?” Sokol asked as they took seats in the drawing room.

  “They’re well. Diana sends her love.”

  “And Thomas? How is he doing?”

  “Very well. He’s with Dunbar, Hawkins, and Weinel now.”

  “I always knew he would do well. Pity, though. I had hoped he might join us one day.”

  Liquorish looked away and then quickly reached down to his briefcase and took out a file. “Would you mind if we made a start? We have much to discuss. It’s been a hectic six months.”

  An hour into the meeting, Liquorish put the first file away and took out another thick one. “That’s the real estate and unquoteds covered. Now we turn to the listed portfolio.” He waved the heavy file in his hand.

  “I have read the report you e-mailed,” Sokol said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “There’s no need to talk me through it all.” He rubbed the bottom of his graying goatee with the fingers of his left hand. “I’d rather focus on one or two specific areas.”

  “That’s perfectly fine with me. Where shall we start?”

  “I want to talk about our US holdings first. I have some concerns.”

  “Okay.” Liquorish placed the file on the coffee table. “Most of them are performing well. The chaps on the west coast are ahead of the market, and Connecticut continues to shoot the lights out.”

  “What about Grannis in New York? Has his performance improved any?”

  Liquorish hesitated before answering. “I believe he’s back on track. His recent numbers are showing promise, and he assures me they will continue.”

  “You mentioned moving some of the London assets to him when we last spoke.”

  “Yes, I gave him all of the Mayfair Alpha monies to handle.”

  “Was that wise?”

  “We needed to find a home for them.”

  “But with Grannis?”

  Creases appeared across Liquorish’s forehead. “I’m confident he’s turned the corner.”

  Sokol raised his left eyebrow. “Just make sure he looks after our money.”

  “You seem skeptical. Should I take the monies back off him?”

  Sokol looked like he had a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t want a repeat of Walker’s dire performance. Promising one thing and then watching our money go down the pan.”

  “I can assure you I’m on top of it, Oto. I’ve been crystal clear with Grannis. He’s aware of the consequences if he drops the ball on this one.”

  “Very well.” Sokol looked at his watch. “I hope you’re staying for lunch,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “I was hoping to.”

  “Excellent. I still have some of that Domaine Leroy 1994 you liked so much last time.”

  “Wonderful.”

  When Liquorish returned to his St. Peter Port offices late that evening, the first thing he did was call the Grannis Hedge Fund in New York.

  “Mr. Grannis is in a meeting right now,” said the abrupt receptionist taking the call. “He said he is not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

  “Tell him it is Anthony Liquorish. He will take my call.”

  There was an audible sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Moments later, Rondell came to the phone.

  “Anthony, how are you? What can I do for you?”

  “Two things.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The first is simple. I want you to fire whoever just answered my call.”

  “Done, and the second?”

  “When will you have more news on your next investment?”

  “Couple of weeks, maybe three. Why?”

  “Is it as good as the Collar deal?”

  “Better. Why do you ask?”

  “Just so long as you’re sure it will produce the goods.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the returns on this one.”

  “Let’s just say our friends in Prague are watching. Your performance is on their radar, so to speak. They reminded me of what happened to Walker in London.”

  “I see. That won’t happen to us.”

  “That’s what I told them.”

  “While you’re on the phone, there is something you could do to help us. I was going to call you about it anyway.”

  “Always happy to assist if I can.”

  “The target on this next one is listed in London. That will be a first for us, and I don’t want to get anything wrong.”

  “You want to use our brokers?”

  “That would help. I could use our people, but—”

  “Consider it done. I’ll e-mail you their contact details.”

  “There is something else I ought to mention.”

  “Go on.”

  Rondell paused while he chose his words carefully. “We’ve had some interest from the FBI, but don’t worry. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  “I hope to God you’re right. I told Prague your performance was back on track and that everything’s fine over there. Remember, when I moved the Mayfair monies to you, I put my own neck on the line.”

  “Anthony, you have my word; I’m on top of this. The Feds aren’t just focused on us. We’re a small part of a broader net they’re throwing out there.”

  “Don’t give them any reason to dig any deeper.”

  “That’s why I want to use your brokers on the London deal. Besides, if they start sniffing around anymore, I’ve got arrangements in hand to deal with the people concerned.”

  “You need to have. I can’t stress how important this is.”

  “Relax. There really is nothing to worry about.”

  Rondell stared at the telephone when he replaced the receiver, rolling his tongue along the outside of his top front teeth. Something had shaken Liquorish’s cage. He’d never heard him so worried.

  Time to deal with the Feds.

  He rose to his feet and returned to the meeting room. It was full of sharp suits and hair gel. “All of you out. This meeting’s over.” He held the door open. “Not you,” he said, pointing to Glass Eye, who had been sitting in the corner of the room, watching proceedings.

  Glass Eye joined Rondell at the table. “What’s up? I can tell something’s wrong.”

  “That was the Brit on the phone just now.”

  “Giving us another hard time about our returns?”

  Rondell shook his head no. “Not this time, but when I mentioned the Feds were sniffing around, he started shitting himself.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said we had it all under control and there was nothing to worry about.” He glared at Glass Eye. “That is right, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh. We’ve got insurance in place.”

  “Have they been back?”

  “Nope. We haven’t seen them. I’m sure it was nothing more than a fishing trip.”

  “Maybe.” Rondell inspected his fingernails while he pondered what to do.

  “Want me to do some more digging with my contacts over there?”

  “No. I think it’s time we put our insurance to work. I can’t afford to take any chances. The Brit is bound to bleat about this to Prague. We need to be ahead of the game on this.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Chapter 35

  THE RED BRICK APARTMENT BLOCK was ne
xt door to Enterprise Rent-a-Car on West 84th and Amsterdam. In the window of the ground floor unit was a red and white FOR RENT sign. At one o’clock in the morning, the traffic was still busy on Amsterdam, but there was nothing moving on the cross street. Standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the apartment building, Glass Eye sucked on his cigarette and looked around to make sure no one was watching. The laundry directly opposite was dark, but there were lights still on at the Italian restaurant next door to it.

  “Looks like the restaurant’s empty,” he said to Bull Neck waiting for instructions at the top of the steps. “Go ahead.”

  Bull Neck worked his magic on the glass door and, seconds later, they were in.

  “Fuck. There’s no elevator,” Glass Eye said once they were inside the entrance hall.

  Bull Neck pointed to the staircase. “We need the fourth floor. It’s not much of a walk.”

  “Not for you, maybe.”

  When they reached the fourth floor, Glass Eye stopped and leaned against the wall to recover his breathing. “Give me a minute.”

  Bull Neck placed his head into the corridor leading off the stairwell and then returned. “It’s just across from the stairs. Should be no trouble.” He opened the small tool bag he was carrying and took out something to work the lock and heavy-duty chain cutters. He looked at Glass Eye. “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’m getting too old for this.”

  “I told you I could handle it on my own.”

  “Grannis insisted I take care of it. Why else do you think I’d be out this time of night?” More heavy breathing. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

  Glass Eye watched the corridor as Bull Neck picked the lock and then, once the apartment door was open, used the cutters to snip the security chain. Inside the place was a mess, with empty Chinese food containers left on the coffee table and various items of clothing scattered across the arms of the sofa. They walked past the small kitchen to the only bedroom at the end of the hall, where they stood and listened. There was a faint snoring sound coming from inside the bedroom.