Beyond Reach

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘So why hasn’t he turned up?’

  ‘Qué?’

  ‘Why isn’t he here? Doing more business with Esme?’

  ‘No sé? You don’t know?’ The smile again.

  ‘No. So just fucking tell me, OK?’ Winter knew he was beginning to lose it. Most Sundays he stayed in bed late, read the Telegraph, took a leisurely stroll with Misty if she was in the mood, tucked into a roast at one of the Gunwharf eateries. Now he was fleeing the Spanish police and trying to head off a London gangster who’d evidently taken one risk too many.

  ‘He’s been arrested. Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Qué?’

  ‘Arrested. Crashed and burned. Gone. Potted. Off the plot.’

  ‘Sí. By your police.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In London. Two days ago.’

  ‘Does Mackenzie know that?’

  ‘Sure. He tells me on the phone. He checks up that I’m meeting you. He tells me to keep you safe. He says for me to take you to Baiona, to the hotel, to his daughter. A pleasure, my friend.’

  ‘Why the drama? If Garfield’s not coming?’

  ‘His wife is here. She arrive last night at the airport. She comes to see Esme.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No sé.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mackenzie didn’t tell you?’

  ‘No. Like I say he tells me to look after you. He tells me to keep you safe. I have men in Baiona. Esme?’ He glanced across. ‘She speaks Spanish?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bueno.’ He nodded. ‘Good.’

  The last person Esme expected to see was Winter. She was sitting in the sunshine on the hotel’s terrace. The hotel itself was a wonderful confection of wrought-iron balconies and peeling wooden shutters. A Spanish flag fluttered over the ornate entrance and the fading pink of the stucco was streaked with seagull shit. The terrace formed part of the restaurant and the remains of a meal for three had yet to be cleared away. Winter eyed the mountain of discarded oyster shells and crab claws. There were two wine bottles upended in the ice bucket and a folded copy of the Financial Times lying on one of the empty seats. Esme’s guests had clearly gone.

  He stood behind her, wondering where Madison fitted into all this.

  ‘Some kind of celebration, Ez?’

  She looked up. She was wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses and must have spent most of last week on the tanning bed but nothing could hide the fact that she was pissed.

  ‘You,’ she said.

  ‘Me,’ Winter agreed. ‘Your dad sends his best. Hopes you’re having a nice time. Where’s lover boy?’

  Esme looked at him for a long time then tried to get to her feet. Winter pushed her gently back.

  ‘I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine,’ he said. ‘This is Juan. The other guy’s name I didn’t catch. They’re mates of a guy called Riquelme, big fan of your dad. Problem is, they don’t speak English.’

  He waved the two Spaniards into the empty chairs and requisitioned a fourth from a neighbouring table. Esme was looking from one face to the other, clearly lost. Riquelme, after the lightest of handshakes, had disappeared back to Cambados.

  ‘So …’ Winter nodded at the debris on the table. ‘Who had the pleasure?’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Your company, Ez. One of them, I assume, was Madison. The other?’

  Esme gazed at him a moment then shook her head.

  ‘This is none of your business.’

  ‘Wrong, love. It is my business. And you know why? Because it’s also your dad’s business. And just now you’re in fucking disgrace. How do I know that? Because he told me.’

  Esme’s shoulder bag lay beside her chair. Winter bent quickly and retrieved it. The two Spaniards were watching his every move.

  ‘Tell them it’s cool, Ez.’ Winter was going through the bag. ‘What’s the Spanish for damage limitation?’

  Esme tried to seize the bag. Winter pushed her off. Then the edge of his shoe found her shin under the table. She swore and pushed her chair back. She was wearing a short cotton skirt. Her legs were as tanned as the rest of her. She began to rub the hurt, still cursing.

  ‘Put ice cubes on it, Ez.’ Winter nodded at the bucket. ‘Brings out the bruising.’

  He’d found what he was looking for. He cleared a space on the table, mopped it with a napkin and laid the document flat. It was in English. It appeared to be a contract for the sale of the hotel. There were ten pages, each initialled at the bottom. Three signatures, one belonging to Ezzie.

  ‘So who are these people?’ Winter tapped the other signatures.

  Esme took off her sunglasses. Pain appeared to have sobered her up.

  ‘One of them’s the owner.’

  ‘Fresnada?’

  ‘Yeah. He signed first thing this morning.’

  ‘And the other?’ Winter peered closer at the name.

  ‘That’s our partner.’ She frowned. ‘Dad’s partner.’

  ‘You mean his wife.’

  ‘Yeah. How did you know that?’

  Winter ignored the question. He’d turned to the final page. Each of the signatures had been separately witnessed. Damage limitation had ceased to be a joke.

  ‘Who did you get as a witness, Ez?’

  Something in Winter’s tone of voice had caught her full attention. She’d never seen him this businesslike.

  ‘A local guy. Dad and me met him last time we were down here. He’s a notario, a lawyer. He’s handling our side of the deal.’

  ‘And Mrs Garfield?’

  ‘She brought her own, a London guy, Christopher someone.’

  ‘He was here? At the table?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So where are they now?’

  ‘En route back to the airport.’

  ‘With the contracts?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Shit.’ He nodded at the Spaniards. ‘Ask these guys if they have wheels.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t fuck around, Ez. Just trust me. Just do it.’

  She turned to them and said something in Spanish. Juan, the older of the two men, nodded.

  Winter asked her what time Garfield’s flight went. She frowned. She thought early evening. It was a direct flight back to Gatwick. They had some call or other to make in Vigo first. Winter reached for her bag. Her mobile was at the bottom. He passed it across the table and told her to check the flight’s departure time.

  She stared at the mobile, not knowing what to do.

  ‘Ask at reception,’ he told her. ‘They’ll have a number.’

  She got to her feet and limped inside. The younger of the two Spaniards couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  ‘Guapa,’ he muttered.

  Winter had returned to the contract. As far as he could make out, Bazza had just parted with two million euros for the hotel. Garfield was in for a million. His wife’s signature was indecipherable.

  Esme had reappeared at his elbow.

  ‘The flight goes at seven forty-five local.’ She appeared to be getting a grip at last. ‘They’d have to be there at half six.’

  Winter checked his watch. Just gone four. The airport was an hour away, max.

  ‘Do we know what they’re driving?’

  ‘It’ll be in the hotel register. They had a hire car.’

  ‘You know which company?’

  ‘Hertz. I saw the key fob.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Hertz was allocated spaces for hire cars in the airport car park. He’d seen them this morning. This was getting better. He nodded at Juan. ‘Tell our man we need to get back to the airport.’ He grinned at her for the first time. ‘Pronto.’

  Winter could tell that Esme wasn’t keen on joining them for the trip to the airport. When he accused her of hiding Madison upstairs she took him to her room. Only one of the twin beds had been slept in and there was no sign of any other luggage but her own. She’d flo
wn down here, she insisted, to complete the deal that she and her dad had been negotiating for months. None of that had anything to do with Perry Madison.

  ‘But you want to move out here. Is that right?’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, love. Just tell me whether it’s true or not.’

  She shrugged. Spain was nice. She’d always liked it. This particular area was wonderful, so green and unspoiled after all the crappy developments along the Mediterranean coast, and yes she could see herself spending a bit of time out here. As far as the hotel was concerned, her dad was right. She’d fallen in love with the place at first sight and nothing that had happened since would change that.

  ‘Not even Madison?’

  ‘Fuck off, Paul. Perry’s my affair, not yours.’

  ‘Wrong again, Ez. Shagging coppers is a crap idea. Especially in our line of business.’

  ‘He’s a human being not a copper. Why can’t men see that?’

  ‘Because you’re potty about him. Because he might be more devious than you think. And because you’ve just put your dad in bed with a cocaine dealer.’

  The latter news brought Esme to a halt. She was standing by the window, enjoying the sun on her face.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A drug baron. A toot peddler. A bugle merchant. This guy’s money is dirty. And now some of it will soon be sharing an account with your dad’s. You’re a lawyer, Ez. You know the way POCA works.’

  ‘The Proceeds of Crime Act?’

  ‘Yeah. Garfield’s money taints everything. Including us. Where is he, as a matter of interest?’

  ‘Garfield?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘In the States. On business.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘His wife.’

  ‘Great. You want the bad news or the bad news? Number one, his wife’s lying. Number two, Garfield was arrested a couple of days ago on supply charges. We’re talking millions and millions of quid, Ez. I checked with your dad on the way down from the airport. He’s put some calls in. The Met don’t do these things lightly. They wouldn’t touch a face like Garfield unless they were sure of a result. Once that happens, your dad is history. And so are you.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why the fuck not? You’re a lawyer, Ez. You’re supposed to understand all this money-laundering bollocks. It’s your job to check out Garfield’s stake. It’s there in the legislation. In fact it’s your responsibility. You can go down for this, easily. So why didn’t you look? Why didn’t you start asking questions?’

  ‘Dad said there was no problem.’

  ‘Dad was wrong.’

  ‘Yeah, but -’ she shrugged ‘- Dad’s Dad.’

  Winter held her gaze. She was right. Bazza Mackenzie had always believed what suited him at the time. It was part of his charm, part of his MO.

  ‘We have to get that contract back, Ez. What’s Garfield’s wife’s Christian name?’

  ‘Nikki. She’s really nice.’

  ‘I bet she is. You’ve just let her bury a million euros offshore. They’ll get it back in the end but if that lawyer’s smart he could make it very difficult for them. A million buys a lot of sangria. Comprende?’

  Esme nodded. Then she sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Winter stood over her, waiting. Finally her head came up, her eyes shiny with tears.

  ‘So what do we do, Paul?’

  They were at the airport car park by half past five. Winter fetched take-out coffees from the terminal while Esme briefed Riquelme’s heavies on the way they were going to play the interception. By the time Winter got back the atmosphere in the car was almost festive.

  ‘They don’t see a problem,’ Esme told him. ‘Under the circumstances they say there’s no way Garfield will go running to the police. They’re shit hot on money laundering down here.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  They sipped their double espressos in silence for a while. Juan found a local station on the radio. The sun began to dip towards the west. By the time the Hertz Seat turned up, Winter was wondering about the possibility of a nap.

  ‘They’re here.’ Esme gave him a nudge. ‘That’s them.’

  The Seat circled the car park. The woman was driving, a younger man beside her. The Spaniards were watching him too, making their assessments. The car pulled into one of the Hertz reserved spaces, no more than twenty metres away. The Spaniards were already out of the car, moving across to the Seat. Jeans and T-shirts. Obviously fit. They stationed themselves on either side of the Seat, making it impossible to open either door. Winter and Esme joined them.

  Nikki Garfield wound down her window. She was a sleek middle-aged woman with a salon tan. Plainly irritated, she wanted to know what was going on.

  Esme told her she’d had a change of heart over the purchase of the apartments and the hotel. She’d decided to ditch the project. She wanted the contract back.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Commercial reasons.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’m not prepared to say.’

  Her companion leaned over. He was younger, looked in good shape. There was no warmth in his smile.

  ‘Why the pressure?’ He gestured at his door. ‘What’s with the heavies?’

  ‘They’re friends of ours.’ Winter this time. ‘They’re looking after our interests.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  The lawyer whispered something to Nikki Garfield. The key was still in the ignition but Winter got there first. He yanked it out then slipped it into his pocket.

  At this, the lawyer pushed hard on his door and got out. Winter admired his courage but knew he was doomed. Juan, the older of the two Spaniards, must have been in the military or maybe the police. He spun the lawyer round in a neat armlock and slammed him against the side of the car before kicking his legs apart.

  Esme told him to go easy. She still wanted the contract.

  ‘This is totally out of order.’ Nikki stared up at her, outraged. ‘We negotiated in good faith. We’re civilised people. A contract is a contract. You pledged your word. It’s done, signed, sorted. So now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way.’

  She too tried to get out of the car but couldn’t shift the weight of the younger Spaniard against the door.

  Winter went round to the back of the car and unlocked the boot. A briefcase lay between three pieces of luggage, two of them in matching pink. He pulled it out. It was locked.

  ‘You’ve got a choice here, Nikki.’ He was back beside her door. ‘Either we take the briefcase or you unlock it.’

  ‘That’s theft.’

  ‘Wrong. It’s negotiation. I expect your tickets are in here too. If you want to get home tonight, maybe you should give me the key.’

  The car park was covered by CCTV. One of the Spaniards was looking at the nearest camera. The terminal was a couple of hundred metres away. The last thing Winter needed was a visit from security.

  ‘The key,’ he repeated.

  The woman shook her head. She too had realised that time was on her side.

  The lawyer made his move. Lashing out with his foot, he caught his captor below the knee. The Spaniard grunted with pain but maintained the armlock. The lawyer did the same thing again. This time he missed but the Spaniard’s patience had run out. He reached forward with his spare hand, smashing the lawyer’s face against the edge of the roof. The lawyer’s body sagged. His hand went to his face. Sitting on the warm tarmac, his back against the car, he stared at the blood dripping into his lap.

  Nikki had produced a mobile. Winter had no idea who she was phoning but knew this was getting out of hand. Seizing the mobile he told Esme they were off. Any minute now security would arrive. Worse still, the police.

  ‘What about the contract?’

  ‘We take their luggage.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yeah. Plus the briefc
ase.’

  She stared at him a moment then shrugged. Winter had already removed the luggage from the boot. The Spaniards carried the bags back to their car. The lawyer, watching, made no attempt to stop them. Seconds later, they were on their way out of the car park.

  Esme was sitting in the back, nursing the briefcase. The other bags were in the boot. She stole a look over her shoulder. Nikki Garfield was bent over her lawyer beside the hire car, a tissue in her hand.

  ‘She’s right.’ Esme was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘That was definitely theft.’

  Chapter sixteen

  MONDAY, 26 MAY 2008. 09.03

  It had taken Jimmy Suttle two minutes to brief Faraday on the latest developments over the Blue Dragon murders. Faraday had come in early, wanting to clarify his own role on Major Crime, only to find DCI Parsons already chairing an Operation Adelaide meet. Peering round her office door, Faraday counted half a dozen faces at the conference table before beating a retreat. Now, more than an hour later, Suttle appeared to give him an update.

  The surviving kids, he said, had both been charged with blackmail. After a brief appearance before the magistrates they’d been released on police bail, stepping out of the court buildings to find themselves mobbed by a huge bunch of supporters who’d taken the bus down from Paulsgrove. The Chinese, meanwhile, had both been remanded on murder charges. Their solicitor was already talking about a defence of provocation and in all likelihood they’d be looking at a couple of years for manslaughter. It was now confirmed that one of the Chinese was an illegal but he’d still be facing an initial stretch inside before the Home Office got round to deporting him. Mr Hua, the owner, was back at the Blue Dragon, contemplating the ruin of his business.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Someone put a brick through his window first thing this morning. He’s also had stuff through the letterbox, dog shit mainly.’

  ‘Weren’t uniforms supposed to be keeping an eye on the property? ’

  ‘They had a bloke on all Saturday night. Then they relied on car patrols. It obviously wasn’t enough.’

  Feelings on the estate, he said, were running high. One of the witnesses in the restaurant had filmed the whole thing on his phone and posted the result on YouTube. The movie had become an overnight sensation. Two and a half million hits and counting.