by Conrad Jones
“Paula and Sharon. I’m Robert, but everyone calls me Bob.” He tried to smile again but the pain was still in his eyes.
“You were telling us about the argument, Bob.”
“Yes, I was.” He walked to the patio doors and looked out at the grass, his hands clasped behind his back. “When Gill died I set up a trust fund for Lou, in case anything happened to me. Everything would go to Lou, of course, but you know how long these things can take, and I didn’t want her to struggle while they managed the estate. Lou couldn’t cope with her mother’s death, she became angry and bitter. She was out partying all the time, drinking herself into all kinds of trouble. Then along came the cocaine and the men. God knows how many different men I’ve seen creeping out of here in the morning, some days there were more than one.”
He turned to face them and he wiped his eyes. There was a painful silence before he continued.
“It was terrible watching my baby girl losing her dignity and self respect. I tried to help her. We went to grief counselling at first, which didn’t help her at all. She just became more depressed. The more depressed she became, the more she drank. I sent her to rehab three times in the last two years, but she slipped back into the gutter every time.”
“I’m sorry about Lou, Bob. It must have been very difficult for you. What made you report her as missing? Could she have stayed out partying with her friends?” Paula hoped Lou was drunk somewhere, high as a kite on cocaine, but alive. She did not want her to be the woman who had been butchered in Jamaica Street. Robert Parker seemed to be a nice man. Finding out that someone had strung his daughter from the rafters of a derelict building and tortured her to death would break his heart.
“No. You see, she always came home. I never chastised her for bringing men home because it was better than not knowing where she was. It was the lesser evil for me.”
“I see. You said you argued about money before she left,” Paula prompted him.
“Yes. I found out that she was taking money from her trust fund. She had spent thousands of pounds. I give her a generous allowance every month but she has squandered it on drink and cocaine. Gill would be spinning in her grave if she could see what her precious daughter has become.” His voice cracked again and he took a crisp white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.
Paula swallowed hard. If he had known why they were visiting him, he wouldn’t have said that. His daughter had possibly become the victim in a horrific murder investigation.
“Do you have any recent pictures of Lou?” Paula asked. They wouldn’t help in identifying the body, but they might help them to find witnesses who had seen the victim before she was murdered.
“Yes. I’ll dig some out for you. I’m sure there are some on a disc we took at Christmas. We managed to spend a few hours together on Christmas day, before she rushed off to a party, of course.” He headed for the door, which led into the kitchen. “Would you like some tea while I’m in here?” He called. Paula heard drawers opening as he rummaged for his camera.
“Tea would be good, please, Bob,” Paula answered.
“What do you think?” Sharon whispered.
“It doesn’t look good given she always came home after a night out. Eleven days is a long time to be out partying.” Paula had a bad feeling about it. She stood up and followed Bob into the kitchen. It was a modern design fitted with new appliances that looked unused. “Did Lou have any close friends we could speak to?”
Bob took his camera from a drawer and turned it on. He scrolled through the pictures while he thought about Paula’s question.
“Not really. All her close friends from university moved away and the others stopped talking to her when she began behaving badly. Here is a picture of her taken at Christmas.” He showed Paula the screen. Louise was a pretty woman with long auburn hair. The same colour as the victim.
“She’s a pretty girl.” Paula chose her words carefully, making sure she didn’t use the past tense. “What about boyfriends?”
“There were many, I’m afraid. Before she left she was seeing a foreign chap, Turkish, I think.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Should I be worried, Detective James?” His eyes looked into her, searching for the answer, and the softness in his voice was gone.
“We’re just trying to find her, Bob,” Paula lied again. She wasn’t sure if he could sense there was something wrong, but she couldn’t let him know anything about the victim unless they were sure it was her. “Did you know his name?”
“Salim. She called him Sally when she spoke to him on the telephone. I always got the feeling he was supplying her with cocaine. She asked if he was bringing Charlie to the party one night. I didn’t think anything of it until I realised she was taking drugs. Then I realised who Charlie was. I felt like a fool, of course. I found some in her handbag once when she left it in the living room.”
“Do you mind if I look into her bedroom, Bob?” Sharon was listening to the exchange from the doorway.
“I don’t see why not if you think it will help to find her. It’s the second bedroom on the left. I haven’t touched anything. She was very particular about me going into her room, especially when I’d challenged her about the cocaine in her handbag. She called me a snoop and insisted that I keep out of there.”
Sharon went to check the bedroom while Bob made three cups of tea. He looked lost.
“What can you tell me about Salim? She wouldn’t be the first woman swept off her feet by a handsome foreigner. Lou might be sat on a beach somewhere sipping cocktails,” Paula smiled, but she didn’t believe Lou was on a beach. She believed that her mutilated body was lying in the morgue. Bob passed her a mug of tea.
“Maybe she is. That is what I’m hoping, Detective James.” His tone changed and he stopped calling Paula by her first name. Maybe he could sense something wasn’t right.
“Paula, please.”
“Sorry, Paula. I have the feeling that there is more to your enquiry than you are telling me.”
“We need to check that we haven’t missed anything that will help us to find her. What do you know about Salim?”
“Not much. I never talked to him. He couldn’t look me in the eye when we he left in the mornings.”
“How did he leave, Bob?”
“Sorry. I don’t understand.”
“How did he leave the house, taxi, or did he drive?”
“Oh, I see what you mean. He drove a white Porsche of some description. They all look the same to me.”
“We’ll need to show you some pictures of the different models to see if you can identify what it was. It’s important.”
“I’m not sure you’ll need to do that. He had a private registration plate, SAL 1. I told all this to the investigating officers who took all her details at the time I reported her missing. Why didn’t they follow it up?”
“Maybe they hit a dead end, Bob, but we’ll double check anyway.” Paula sipped her tea and avoided eye contact with him. He was becoming suspicious; she could see it in his eyes. She wasn’t sure the investigating officers would have taken Lou’s disappearance seriously, as she was drinking, taking drugs and sleeping around. If the preliminary investigations had hit a brick wall, then they would have assumed Lou was partying somewhere.
“Why are you here, Detective?” Bob asked her in a crisp voice. He was regaining control of his faculties. The grief was subsiding momentarily. “You have found someone, haven’t you?”
“Bob we have to be sure that we haven’t missed anything that will help us in finding Lou. That is why we’re here.” Paula wanted to ask him about the jewellery, specifically if Lou had worn a sovereign ring. It would be too obvious now. He would realise they were trying to identify a body.
“Paula, could you come here a minute, please,” Sharon called down the stairs.
“Excuse me a minute, Bob. She may have found something of use to us.” Paula smiled, but it was not returned. Bob sipped his tea and looked out
of the window. A feeling of dread was creeping into his guts. Burying his wife had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He wasn’t sure he could bury his daughter too.
Paula climbed the pine staircase and headed for the second door on the left. The door was open and Sharon was standing near the bedside cabinet. The bedroom was untidy. There were clothes scattered on the floor. There was an odour of stale cigarettes mixed with perfume.
“What is it?” Paula asked. “He’s getting suspicious.”
“I think we’d better call the Guv.” Sharon pointed to a photograph on the cabinet. It was a picture of Louise in a nightclub somewhere with three friends. She was wearing a black dress and holding a cocktail in her hand. On the index finger of her left hand was a small gold sovereign.
Chapter Twelve
The Oguzhan Cartel
Jessie woke with a start. His skin was damp with sweat, his heart racing. It was three in the afternoon and he was trying to catch up on some sleep. The pain caused by his ears kept him awake despite swallowing boxes of ibuprofen. The hospital had given him some strong painkillers when they discharged him, but they had been gone within days. Every time he moved his head, the pain was unbearable. When he did fall asleep, his dreams became nightmares. The robbery at the poker game haunted him and so did the conversation he had had with his bosses, the Oguzhan family.
The Oguzhan cartel was a branch of the Turkish mafia from Istanbul. The Turkish mafia dominated the world’s heroin trade; for nearly four decades, they had processed the raw opiates from the Middle East in clandestine labs. They trafficked eighty percent of the heroin and cocaine that reached Western Europe and the United States. Jessie didn’t know much about the top members of the cartel. The ‘Babas’, or godfathers, were a mysterious and deadly group with connections to the police, the military and the governments of their region. At a historic conclave in Sophia, Bulgaria, the Babas had carved up Europe between them, and the Oguzhan cartel had moved into the United Kingdom. Jessie was trying to clear his head when his mobile rang. He rifled through his pockets looking for the device. The caller was Gus Rickman. He was a handy guy to have on your side and a dangerous enemy too.
“Hi, Gus,” Jessie answered. Talking hurt him. Every time he moved his jaw, spikes of lightning flashed in his brain.
“Alright, Jessie?” Gus’ gravely tones came through the speaker. “How are you?”
“I’m okay, thanks, considering,” Jessie replied bravely. He had never felt worse in his entire life. He was sore and scared.
“Have you heard from Salim?” Gus asked. Word on the street was spreading and the city’s jungle drums were beating. No one could believe that mavericks had hit the poker game. It was suicide. Gus wanted to know who had taken his money, but he was also concerned about how the Turks would react to losing their drugs.
“No, nothing,” Jessie answered between clenched teeth so that he didn’t have to move his jaw.
“What about the Oguzhan family?”
“I had a long conversation on the telephone with one of them,” Jessie explained. “I don’t know who he was but he was right up his own arse.”
“Salim’s family were the first of that bunch to come here, Jessie.” Gus sounded serious. “There are thousands of the slippery bastards here now, but his side of the family are the real power mongers.”
“I thought they were all loosely connected,” Jessie said, “but I didn’t realise he was that important.” Jessie swallowed hard. If Gus was trying to help or cheer him up, then he was failing miserably.
“He is the main Baba’s grandson,” Gus explained. He had done his homework. “During the nineties, they were the biggest firm down south, unrivalled in London, but in recent times, there’s war with the Kurdish and Albanian mobs.”
“They’re all fucking lunatics, right, Gus?” Jessie tried to laugh but it hurt too much.
“Dangerous lunatics, Jessie,” Gus warned him. “The Green Lane area of London has been a blood bath for the last decade. Most of the killings are attributed to the Oguzhan clan.”
“Great,” Jessie moaned. His head was banging. “How the fuck did I get involved with this lot?” The Turks had gradually moved north, buying nightclubs to front their drug businesses. Jessie had been struggling financially and they had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, paying way over the real estate value of the club to get a foothold in the city. The deal had seemed perfect at first, especially when they offered Jessie the opportunity to remain the manager and co-owner of the business.
“How involved are you, Jessie?” Gus growled.
“What do you mean?” Jessie gasped. “In the robbery?”
“You tell me,” Gus replied calmly. “Were you involved?”
“No. I fucking was not, Gus.” Jessie stood up and his head felt like it might explode. “They cut my ears off!”
“Maybe that wasn’t part of the deal.”
“What?” Jessie sat down again.
“Maybe they did that to make it look real,” Gus said. “I wonder if you and Salim set it all up.”
“No way, Gus,” Jessie cried. “I get on with Salim, but I don’t get involved in their shit.”
“Okay, Jessie,” Gus said. “You tell me how involved you are with the Turks and then we can take it from there.”
“Look, I was on my arse, Gus,” Jessie sighed. He could sense the underlying venom in Gus’ voice. It wasn’t just the Turks he needed to worry about. “Salim called me out of the blue and offered me stupid money for the club and he offered me a job running the shithole!”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I soon realised the deal was flawed, when he asked me to hide a shitload of heroin and cocaine.” Jessie’s throat was dry as a bone. He needed a drink. “I flipped at first but he said that if I didn’t do it, I would be shot dead and so would Rose. He said it as if he was asking me the time. Cool, as you like. ”
“Sounds like a good incentive to help out,” Gus said sarcastically.
“I just kept my mouth shut and did as I was told,” Jessie explained. “They paid me good money and I’m retiring in a few years. It was easier to keep my head down.”
“What did they say on the telephone?” Gus seemed calmer.
“Well, I explained that the fire had caused substantial damage to the nightclub, but the insurance companies would pay to rebuild it eventually, and they were not too bothered about it.” Jessie paused. “Then I had to tell them about the robbery and the drugs. He was livid about losing five kilos of cocaine and I was terrified that they’d kill me. I thought that the fire might conceal the robbery but it didn’t. The contents of the safe, some passports and other documents were untouched by the fire and the drugs were gone.”
“What did they say?” Gus asked. “What exactly did they say, Jessie?”
“He asked if I had heard from Salim Oguzhan. I told him that he had disappeared and wasn’t answering his mobile. He didn’t say much about Salim.”
“Salim is an important member of the cartel.” Gus reinforced what he had said earlier. “I can’t understand why you didn’t get more of a reaction.”
“I don’t know. I asked the family for the chance to explain what had happened at the poker game and they told me to expect a visit soon.”
“What did he mean by a visit?” Gus asked.
“I don’t know, Gus,” Jessie sighed. He sat back on the bed and pulled the quilt over him. It was cool and there was a breeze coming from downstairs. “He just said to expect a visit from the family to explain to them what happened.” Jessie wasn’t sure what a visit entailed and he was anxious.
“You need to be careful what you say, Jessie,” Gus said after a few seconds silence.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the biggest drug dealers in the country have had their stash nicked and their grandson is missing,” Gus sighed. “They will be looking for someone to blame, and if they look in the wrong place, then you could have more than your ears to worry
about, understand, Jessie?”
“Yes, I think so,” Jessie replied quietly.
“Keep me informed, Jessie.” He heard the line go dead. It was obvious that Gus Rickman was distancing himself from the situation. Jessie wondered whom he could turn to if he needed help. He threw back the quilt and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A bolt of pain scythed through his brain as he sat up and he groaned. He waited for the pain to subside before standing up. Jessie caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. A thick bandage swathed his head; the gauze dressings over his ears looked comical. There were dark stains on the dressings where blood had seeped through the stitches.
“Bloody idiot,” he grumbled at his reflection. “You should have given him the combination the first time he asked.” He wrestled a pair of black trousers on and then grabbed a cardigan off the end of the bed. Jessie hated cardigans, but he couldn’t pull anything over his head. It was too painful. He shouted downstairs as he dressed. “Put the kettle on, Rose.”
Rose and he had married twenty-five years earlier in South Wales. They had met at a rugby game between Pontypool and Cardiff and married a year later. Jessie had been a keen rugby player back then, and he had been handsome despite his broken nose and cauliflower ears. Rose had fallen for him immediately. Now he didn’t have all of his ears. The man he saw in the mirror looked old and tired. They had worked in the licence trade all through their marriage, running various pubs before they had moved into the nightclub business. Things had been good at first, but the breweries had begun to push landlords’ margins to the limit, and combined with the smoking ban it had been the death knell for thousands of pubs and clubs. Jessie was a scallywag. He wasn’t a villain or a gangster, but he liked to mingle in their company. There was always the odd deal floating around when he mixed with people like that, and that was what had kept them afloat for years until he had sold the club to the Turks. Now he wished he hadn’t, but it was too late for hindsight.
“Rose, put the kettle on, darling!” He shouted again. She didn’t answer. Jessie thought she might have nipped out to the shops while he was sleeping. As long as she didn’t buy any more handbags, he thought. She had hundreds of handbags, half of which she never used once they were taken out of the box. “Rose, are you there, darling?” There was still a touch of the valleys in his voice.
