Die Twice

by Simon Kernick

  ‘So, how did it go?’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Tugger in his thick Geordie accent. ‘The lasses are high quality, I have to say.’

  ‘They ought to be for that sort of price.’

  ‘Aye, I know. Two hundred quid for half an hour. That’s about two quid a thrust. It’s a shocking price. I was down at a place in Puerto Banus a couple of years back and it cost £38.70 for a girl once the exchange rate was taken into account. And you got forty minutes.’

  ‘See, that’s what I’d consider a fair deal. A quid a minute. Not much more expensive than a fairground waltzer.’

  ‘And considerably more exciting.’

  ‘Exactly. So, what’s the layout in there like?’

  ‘Reception’s on the second floor. There’s a lift goes up there. You come straight out into a foyer and you’re facing the lass on the desk.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘Two bouncers in dickie bows. Big lads, mind, but not armed. As far as I saw, it’s only them, and they won’t be any trouble. There’s a bar that’s off the foyer and that’s where the lasses hang out when they’re not otherwise engaged. You can go in there and have a drink with them; if you like one, you go off with her to one of the rooms. I’m not sure how many rooms there are, definitely no more than a dozen. I went up to the next floor and there were six that I counted, all very spacious and comfortable. They use rooms on the fourth floor as well, and I reckon it’ll be the same layout. The second floor’s just the reception area, and the first and ground floor’s accommodation for the staff, I think. Basically, the whole building belongs to them.’

  ‘Well, you know the plan, Tugger. Will it work in that sort of place?’

  He appeared to think about it for a moment. ‘Aye, I think so, but it’s risky, no doubt about it.’

  I grinned at him. ‘But think of the rewards. Think of how far a hundred grand’ll go up your way. You could probably buy a whole street in the north-east for that.’

  ‘Aye, maybe so, but you’ll have to move up there too, Max. You can’t even get a garden shed round here for that sort of price. Hardly worth risking your neck for.’

  ‘It’s only a short piece of work,’ I replied, stopping at a red light. It struck me then that Fowler had said pretty much the same thing on the day we’d first met.

  But you know what they say. Once bitten, twice ready.

  Monday, six days ago

  Gallan

  My weekend was blissfully quiet. Rachel and I did the tourist thing, stuff we’d never done together when we’d been living in the same house, because at that time I’d never really felt the need. We went to the Tower of London, the London Aquarium, Madame Tussaud’s, and even the Houses of Parliament. And when we weren’t treading the pavement, we were taking it easy and enjoying each other’s company. I cooked curry on the Saturday night and we ate it in front of a video of The Nutty Professor. The food was terrible, the film not a lot better, but it didn’t matter. It was just a nice way to spend the evening. I let her stay up until quarter to eleven but warned her not to tell her mother. ‘Otherwise she won’t let you stay with me again.’ She winked and gave her nose a conspirator’s tap, telling me not to worry, it would be our secret. Girls can be so manipulative.

  Manipulative or not, I was a lot sadder than I thought I’d be when I had to take her back on Sunday evening. I promised I’d have her for the weekend again in two weeks’ time and she told me that she’d look forward to it. I think, then, I must have done something right, but it was still a lonely journey home.

  When I walked into the station on the Monday morning, however, I was feeling more refreshed than I had for a long time. Crime in the area had continued to be fairly stable in the intervening time. A fifteen-year-old Somali refugee had been put in hospital with severe head injuries after being beaten with a baseball bat during a gang fight (three minors had been arrested at the scene and bailed pending further enquiries); a spate of seven muggings had occurred on one estate, one ending in a stabbing, but the two perpetrators, both fresh out of a young offenders’ institute, had already been arrested and charged; and a twenty-one-year-old woman had knifed and seriously wounded her common-law husband with a kitchen knife. She too had been arrested, and charged with GBH.

  Although harrowing for the victims and their families, particularly the parents of the Somali boy who’d come to Britain seeking sanctuary and who now had to keep vigil at their son’s bedside in intensive care, in many ways these crimes were a CID officer’s dream because they were all pretty much self-solving. There’d be plenty of paperwork, as there always was when someone was arrested, but other than that the manpower effort would be minimal, and it would make our clear-up rate that much better. All of which meant less pressure from above.

  In fact, so confident were the Brass that morning that the chief superintendent, in tandem with Knox, announced that the long-awaited ‘Back on the Beat’ initiative was going ahead that week. Members of CID, including the DCI, were to spend a night out patrolling with uniformed officers in an effort to regain an understanding of the pressures the uniforms had to endure, and to help, in the words of the chief super, ‘to foster a continued and ever deeper spirit of co-operation between these two essential and ultimately symbiotic arms of law enforcement’. These words were uttered with a completely straight face, which told you a lot about the sort of leadership we had. I was pissed off to learn that members of the Matthews murder squad were also being used on this exercise, and I was told later during the squad meeting by Knox that Berrin and I would be going out on Wednesday night. I made a brief complaint about this, but I knew that one way or another I was going to have to be in attendance. The chief super had sanctioned it, therefore Knox would enthusiastically go along with it, as would Capper. My problem, like that of so many other coppers, was that the chain of command above me was made up almost entirely of politicians.

  In the meeting that morning, the first ten minutes were taken up with Knox’s prime suspect, the elusive Mr Iversson, and his possible victim, the even more elusive Mr Fowler. Of Iversson there remained no sign, although his photo and details had now been distributed to all the relevant security services, so progress was expected in this quarter; but more worryingly, at least for Knox’s theory, was the fact that there didn’t appear to be anything to link him with Matthews. Capper and Hunsdon had also been digging further into Fowler’s background, and had even searched his flat, but it soon became clear, as they detailed what they’d been doing and who they’d been speaking to, that they hadn’t found out anything that wasn’t known already. Effectively, things hadn’t moved on.

  Knox then casually dropped a bombshell. Jean Tanner, he said, had turned up safe and well, and had told DI Burley that she and Craig McBride had been experimenting with heroin and that McBride had taken an accidental overdose. ‘Apparently she panicked, put him in a cupboard and fled her home, going up north for a few days. She thought everything would die down, which I know was a bit stupid of her, and she got nicked when she arrived back yesterday. She’s still in custody. We’re still going to need to talk to her, of course, and Burley’s given us permission to do that later on today.’ He turned to Capper. ‘I think it’s best if you and Paul do it, Phil,’ he said. I opened my mouth to protest but Knox put a hand up to stop me. ‘I know you originally turned up the lead, John, but I think you must have rubbed Burley up the wrong way.’

  ‘The Pope would have rubbed him up the wrong way,’ I said, thinking that I would have put money on the fact that Burley was somewhere on the Holtz payroll. ‘All I did was ask him a few civil questions.’

  ‘I know, I know, but he’s a touchy sort. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’

  We moved on, and now it was my turn to explain the poisons lead. I went through what I’d discovered, trying to ignore the occasional quizzical looks from Capper and Hunsdon, and even Knox, as I detailed the background to the Bosnian conflict and its connections with Britain, and ultimately with organized crime in the f
orm of the Holtzes. ‘I’ve emailed the photograph of Merriweather and this soldier down to Malik, along with the article, and I’ve asked him if he can find out the identity of the soldier and get someone who can translate it. The words Contracts International appear in the article so I think it’s fair to say there’s some link between them and the Holtzes. I haven’t been able to get anything on the company as yet, but I want to look into it a bit more closely.’ No-one said anything for a moment; they all looked like they were thinking. Quite what was anyone’s guess. ‘Look, I know it’s a long shot, but I spent three hours hunting down information on this sort of poison, and the only place I could find where it was used before was in Bosnia. And there’s definitely a link between Bosnia and the Holtzes, and also a possible link between the Holtzes and Shaun Matthews.’

  ‘Well, go that route for the moment, John,’ said Knox, not sounding too confident that anything would come from it, ‘and keep me and Phil posted on what turns up.’

  ‘I’m not sure, guv,’ said Capper. ‘It looks like it could be another red herring. Maybe it’d be better if John and Dave went to see Jean Tanner, as it was their lead. We’ve got quite a lot of other things that need doing.’

  But Knox wasn’t keen on that idea. ‘No, it’d be better if you and Paul did it, Phil. Much better.’

  Capper nodded, but didn’t look too pleased. I wondered again if he really had been a customer at Heavenly Girls, and couldn’t help but think how amusing it would be if Jean Tanner had been one of the women whose services he’d used. It would make for an interesting meeting even if it didn’t help us too much. I was pretty certain Jean knew a lot more than she was letting on. The thing was, nothing about her story smelled right. No-one had said anything about her being a smack addict, and there’d been absolutely nothing in McBride’s demeanour or appearance when we’d questioned him to suggest that he was one either. And if he’d OD’d, why hadn’t she? I could have done with questioning her, but instead I’d have to make do with getting hold of interview transcripts and pushing Knox to find out what he could from Burley.

  The meeting broke up shortly afterwards and I brought Berrin further up to date with my extra-curricular enquiries as we sat at our desks. He also looked vaguely sceptical and said something about it all sounding ‘a bit obscure’, but, in the absence of anything else, I was determined to press ahead with what I had. The important thing initially was for us to track down Martin Leppel, the man who could tell us more about Contracts International. I got Berrin to check police records and liaise with Special Branch and the NCIS to see if they had anything on him, while I phoned round journalist contacts to see if any of them could dig up an address.

  It didn’t take long to strike gold. Roy Shelley, a local scribe who was well known to the station’s CID, had taken barely half an hour to come up with the goods. Now a leading reporter on one of the nationals, he told me that Contracts International had been disbanded in 1997 after some financial irregularities and an unwelcome TV investigation into alleged illegal arms shipments to Liberia, but that Leppel was now running an outfit called Secure Consultants from an office in Moorgate. I wrote down the address and telephone number.

  ‘Apparently it deals with much the same thing as Contracts did,’ Roy told me. ‘Supplying ex-soldiers abroad to provide training for the natives, and also hostage negotiators for kidnappings and the like. It’s much smaller than Contracts was, and I think it’s probably a lot more above board as well. Leppel got his fingers burnt last time. He hasn’t got a record as such, but he came close to it.’

  ‘Any information on what he’s like?’ I asked. ‘Is he a crook?’

  Shelley chuckled. ‘Now if I answer that, I might be done for slander. How come you want to know anyway?’

  ‘I might have a story for you.’

  ‘A good one?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But I promise if anything comes of it you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. To answer your question, he’s not a hundred per cent kosher, but from what I understand he’s not an out-and-out villain either. He’s like a lot of people, Mr Gallan. Tries to stay on the right side of the law because it’s easier that way, but doesn’t let it stand in the way of a moneymaking opportunity.’

  I thanked him and, after promising once again to inform him immediately if a story presented itself, rang off.

  ‘All right, Dave, we’ve got him,’ I said, and rang the number Shelley had given me.

  It was answered on the third ring by a well-spoken male voice, stating the company’s name. I asked to speak to Martin Leppel. ‘Speaking,’ came the crisp reply.

  I introduced myself and explained why I was phoning. ‘I’d like to have a chat with you with regard to one of your former employees at Contracts International.’

  ‘Contracts was wound up years ago,’ he answered brusquely, clearly not wanting to waste time speaking to the police.

  ‘I’m aware of that, sir, but you may have information that would be of use to us. It’ll only take up ten minutes of your time.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should help, DS Gallan, since the police have never done anything to help me. Most of the time I’m being harassed by members of Scotland Yard who appear to have bugger all better to do than try to ruin the reputations and livelihoods of perfectly respectable businessmen.’

  I remembered Neil Vamen saying much the same thing. It made me wonder sometimes whether they did in fact actually believe it. ‘Any co-operation you give will be favourably viewed, sir, and as I said, it’ll only take up a very small amount of your time.’

  ‘What type of investigation is it?’

  ‘Murder.’

  ‘All right. I’ve got a meeting in the West End this afternoon but I’m free after that. Come to my office at five o’clock and I’ll see you then. I presume you know where to come?’

  ‘We do indeed, sir. Thank you very much.’

  Leppel grunted something and hung up.

  * * *

  The offices of Secure Consultants were on the sixth floor of a grand-looking City building on a road off London Wall. I rang the bell next to a polished brass plaque with the company name and logo on it and Berrin and I were buzzed through the door without preamble. A lift opposite took us up to the sixth floor where we were met by Martin Leppel, a short but fit-looking individual with an aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and what looked like a regimental tie, and his thin, slightly weathered face was deeply suntanned. He nodded in greeting and we shook hands all round.

  He led us through a glass door emblazoned with the company name, then through a small reception area which was unmanned (Leppel explained that his secretary had the day off) and into his spacious office that looked out on to the street. Photographs of various men in military uniforms, including a large one of Leppel in officer’s garb holding a regimental sword, adorned the walls. It set off the right image of a man with a very strong army background.

  Leppel took a seat behind his imposing and spotless desk and motioned for the two of us to sit in chairs opposite. He didn’t offer us a drink. ‘So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.

  ‘We’re after some information regarding Contracts International’s involvement in the Bosnian conflict.’

  ‘Can I ask why you need this information?’

  ‘We’re investigating a murder and it might be that an employee or employees of the company working in Bosnia at that time could throw some light on an area we’re still a bit hazy on.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, sir. Not at this time.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t in Bosnia. I’ve never been to any of the Yugoslav republics in my life.’

  I could tell this wasn’t going to be easy. ‘But you managed the company, which is why we’re here today. Now, as I said to you on the phone, this shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘What is it you want t
o know?’

  ‘How long were Contracts International involved in Bosnia?’

  ‘We got our first contract in October 1993 when it became obvious that the West was going to stand by and watch the Muslim population suffer. It was to train regulars of the Armija BiH.’

  ‘The who?’ asked Berrin.

  ‘The Bosnian Muslim army. The contract was successful and we were awarded a number of others. We remained in situ until the Dayton Peace Agreement in December 1995.’

  ‘I heard suggestions that some of your operatives on the ground remained after this time.’

  ‘You heard wrong, then,’ said Leppel icily. ‘There were, aside from our employees, freelancers in the area providing a similar if somewhat inferior service to ours. They were the ones who stayed on after the ceasefire. As soon as Dayton came about, our contracts were terminated and we left.’

  ‘Could you tell me who funded the work your company did in Bosnia?’

  ‘Plenty of people have written that we were funded by all kinds of fanatics, but they’re wrong. However, I’m afraid I have always treated my client list, both at Contracts and at Secure Consultants, as confidential, so I’m not going to comment on that.’

  I nodded. ‘Fair enough. Can you recall how many employees you had in Bosnia in total during the two or so years you were there?’

  Leppel thought about it for a moment. It looked like he was making calculations. ‘I would say something like forty altogether, though it’s possible it could have been more. Bosnia was one of our biggest operations at Contracts.’

  ‘Now I know you weren’t there, Mr Leppel, but were you aware that any of your men had contacts with the so-called mujahidin, the Islamic fundamentalist fighters who were also in the region at the time?’

  ‘Yes, I know who they were, but as far as I’m aware, no, none of them did. You must remember that these fundamentalists hated all Westerners, whom they regarded and regard as infidels. Some of them have even been linked to Osama bin Laden, so they would never have socialized with our people, even if they were nominally on the same side. Might I ask where we’re going with these questions?’