Corpse in Waiting

by Margaret Duffy

  It was the next morning, we were at SOCA’s HQ in the office Patrick uses when he is there, sometimes having to share it with someone else, and he was talking to the DCI on his mobile. I had my head on his shoulder, eavesdropping.

  He said, ‘Fred’s not very bright and probably should have kept his trap shut but I would guess that the first room is kept empty as a ploy to make people think nothing’s going on there. It’s actually rather feeble but might work with casual enquirers. What do you want me to do with the names and addresses I took?’

  ‘This is a real can of worms and I’m very concerned that young women might have been removed from the place and are being held somewhere else,’ Carrick replied. ‘Since you rang me last night I’ve been on to a couple of ex-colleagues in the Met who deal with people trafficking and prostitution and they told me that most of that kind of thing, especially where it’s regarded as being big organized crime, is handed over to your lot. Otherwise it’ll have to be reported to the Met. I suggest you sound out Mike Greenway and give him your info before I do anything else in case connections can be made with stuff people are already working on. My bit of it’s really only involved with Ingrid’s incident at Limpley Stoke. Oh, by the way, you can have the car back.’

  ‘It must be a write-off surely,’ Patrick said in surprise.

  ‘I doubt it. The windscreen’s smashed and there are a couple of small dents on the wings but otherwise, other than the damaged brakes, it seems OK. D’you want me to get a Land Rover expert to give it the once-over?’

  It was agreed that Patrick would arrange with the garage where the vehicle is serviced, not far from home, that they would collect it thus freeing James from any further bother.

  Greenway was deeply involved with the Capelli case but receptive to what Patrick had to say; that is, he gave him ten minutes. I stayed in the office, calling the garage, updating our insurance company and checking that all was well at home: just because I am a consultant it does not mean I have to be in on everything.

  I felt better today. A few bruises, mostly hidden by my clothes, had ripened nicely but the wound on my cheek was healing well and I had been able to leave off the dressing. Otherwise I was still relying on the painkillers, but at least was down to a ‘legal’ dose. Other ills, my marriage, could be described as no longer ‘dangerously ill’ and now ‘stable’.

  Greenway referred the information Patrick had given him, plus the names and addresses, to his second-in-command, Andrew Bayley, who undertook to deal with it as soon as he possibly could. There were certain parallels to cases already being investigated, he said; young women lured to this country with offers of good jobs in domestic service and similar, only to be imprisoned in inner city apartment blocks and other such buildings. Gang-raped and forced to become drug addicts they were then sold into prostitution. Bayley also said that he would contact James Carrick.

  At present anyway, this was as far as Patrick’s and my responsibility lay as the Capelli business had to be given absolute priority.

  Martino Capelli left prison and, twenty-four hours later, nothing had happened. I knew that Patrick, for one, was keen to stir the brew gently, famous, or otherwise, in our MI5 days for ‘making things happen’. Greenway was impatient too and at five in the afternoon on the second day of Capelli’s freedom he called a meeting.

  ‘Any suggestions?’ he asked, having briefly run though events so far and after there had been some general discussion.

  I gazed around the room, the one adjacent to the Commander’s office. Other than Greenway, Patrick and I there were present a trio from the Met I had not met before, the man running the surveillance on the flat in Romford and another two involved with the operation to thwart Martino Capelli’s jewellery raid and subsequent strike on West End Central police station. There was one development in connection with this; the jewellery shop to be targeted was heavily rumoured to be Hinchcliffe and Atterberry’s, in an arcade off Regent Street.

  Patrick asked, ‘Is it known where Martino Capelli’s mob keep their weapons?’

  Without looking up, the man in charge of the surveillance team, DCI Leyland, muttered something to the effect that it was not.

  ‘Would you like me to find out for you?’ the adviser, who did not like being muttered at, then went on to enquire coolly.

  ‘No, thank you,’ was the grating answer. Leyland added, reluctantly, ‘They use a lock-up garage not far away but we don’t think there are any weapons or explosives stored there.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Intelligence.’

  ‘What intelligence?’

  Leyland sighed with exaggerated patience. ‘Mobsters don’t usually use lock-ups to conceal valuable stuff or weapons and explosives as they’re so easily broken into and people are always hanging around such places hoping to do just that. And they’re scared stiff of sniffer dogs.’

  ‘Italians probably don’t come under the heading of usual mobsters,’ Patrick argued.

  Before there could be any local explosions, controlled or otherwise, Greenway said, ‘Gentlemen, I asked for suggestions. Please stick to the point.’

  ‘It is the point,’ Patrick persisted. ‘We locate their weapons, stake out wherever it is and grab them when they collect them. No raid, no risk of the general public getting hurt.’

  ‘But we want to arrest these people when they’re on a big job,’ one of the other two said.

  ‘So they get banged up for ever,’ his chum added.

  Patrick said, ‘But most of these men are wanted for serious crimes already – they can be arrested anyway for firearms offences and will be banged up just about for ever.’

  Leyland said, ‘There’s a lot of meticulous planning already gone into this. We need to scoop up even more mobsters, already wanted or not, whose role in the job is further down the line, when the gang’s actually carrying out the raid and when they’re making their getaway – drivers, heavies, people like that.’

  ‘You’ll need to have top-quality armed personnel right in the jewellery shop.’

  ‘We are putting armed personnel right in the jewellery shop. But only to protect the staff if necessary. We don’t want to start a firefight there and the idea is that the gang’ll be allowed to steal some stuff and we’ll pick them up with it on them.’

  ‘I should very much like to be permitted to be in the area of these premises,’ Patrick said.

  ‘No,’ Greenway said. ‘If Tony Capelli’s wheedled his way into the outfit he’ll know your face.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know me at all. I’d be the bloke with the squint mumbling to himself while cleaning the windows – anything.’

  I have noticed that sometimes when men are together, especially those very tired with brainstorming, the testosterone level seems to have the effect of diluting the sum of their collective intelligence causing them merely to snipe at one another.

  ‘When is this supposed to happen?’ I enquired heavily.

  They all looked at me.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Greenway admitted.

  ‘As you yourself said you’d like to, you could risk everything and have Irma Burnside brought in for questioning. Quietly, while she’s out on her own so anyone’ll think she’s still out shopping. Tell her that she might be in serious danger as her sister’s been murdered and the police still don’t know the motive behind the crime. That could be perfectly true. If Tony Capelli kills his cousin in order to take over the crime syndicate, he’ll probably get rid of her as well as she will have fulfilled her purpose. We haven’t a clue what yarn he’s spun her although the little shit must have promised her loads of money.’

  My turn of phrase seemed to sharpen them up a bit.

  ‘I like that,’ Greenway said. ‘But what happens when she doesn’t return? We daren’t risk her telling them where she’s been.’

  ‘No, you send a cop round to the flat crying his eyes out to tell whoever’s there that she’s been run over,’ I said much more sarcastically than I should ha
ve done. ‘Come on, will they care? She’s quite likely an inconvenience anyway. The fact that she’s missing might even force their hand. I’m sure the woman will cooperate and opt for police protection if it’s impressed on her that all she’s likely to get is a bullet from Tony if she doesn’t.’

  ‘Right,’ Greenway said decisively. ‘We do it now.’

  ‘But there’s no knowing whether she’ll go out on her own again today,’ I warned.

  Leyland grabbed for his mobile and contacted someone on watch. It was possible to discover from overhearing the one-sided conversation that Irma Burnside had already left home, at around four fifteen that afternoon and driven off in her car, a Vauxhall estate.

  ‘Did she have any luggage with her to suggest she was bailing out?’ Leyland asked. ‘No? Did anyone follow her?’

  I guessed, from the nervous way that he was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair and the worried look he shot in Greenway’s direction that the reply was something along the lines of there being not enough personnel to tail everyone who could be regarded as a bit-player who might only be going to Sainsbury’s. Sir.

  It was arranged that a comprehensive lookout would be kept for her return and that she would be stopped, if possible, before she came within sight of the building where she lived.

  We all hung around, waiting for news.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘She’s done a runner and it’s all my fault for acting the hit-man,’ Patrick said unhappily when we were both in the canteen a little later drinking coffee and eating fruit cake, in-flight refuelling really as neither of us was hungry.

  I could see some truth in this as Patrick is potentially far more intimidating than any Tony Capelli clone on a bad day. Recollecting what had taken place though there had been every impression that Irma had been more impressed by him than scared, together with having the exciting prospect of the intruder blowing Martino’s brains out and thus smoothing out her love life for her.

  I said as much, with little effect on Patrick’s mood.

  ‘Look, bringing her in for questioning was originally on Greenway’s wish-list,’ I reminded him. ‘And don’t forget, things change from minute to minute.’

  They changed: Irma Burnside was picked up half an hour later, her car loaded with shopping, and weapons, having collected them from the lock-up garage on her way back from Sainsbury’s.

  TWELVE

  Obviously, this complicated matters because the gang would be wondering where their guns and Jammie Dodgers were. Both Patrick and I knew that it was no use praying that they would think Irma had done the dirty on them, something had to be done, quickly.

  ‘Will you trust me on this?’ Patrick asked Greenway when the meeting was immediately reconvened.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Get some results by talking to her, with Ingrid.’

  ‘Explain to me why I should hazard the entire operation by placing it in your hands.’

  ‘Because it’s what the pair of us are bloody good at.’

  Greenway looked at him stonily as if trying to read his mind.

  ‘You can confirm what I’ve just said by speaking to Richard Daws,’ Patrick added.

  Colonel Daws, Patrick’s one-time boss in MI5, was now somewhere in the upper echelons of SOCA. He recommended him for the job.

  ‘There’s no time for that,’ Greenway said roughly. He turned to the others. ‘What does everyone else think?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Leyland said with a shrug. ‘If it’s screwed, it’s screwed.’

  The other two had nothing positive to offer either.

  ‘They’re backing you to the hilt,’ Greenway said to us with a fierce grin. ‘Off you go then.’

  He at least, would be watching and listening.

  Irma Burnside had been escorted into the same interview room in which we had questioned David Bennett. She was almost as furious as he had been.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be an effin’ crook!’ she bawled at Patrick when we entered.

  ‘It’s just one of my hobbies,’ he said with a smile, seating himself.

  The baleful glance landed on me. ‘And who’s she – really?

  ‘We go around together. And if you don’t object she’ll take notes.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I have much choice in the matter, do I?’

  ‘Miss Burnside, despite driving a car carrying weapons of various kinds and egging me on to murder Martino Capelli you have not yet been arrested or charged with any crime, but are here mostly for your own safety.’ He then went on to formally introduce himself, and, as before, giving the impression that I was just one of his not-really-worth-introducing assistants.

  ‘I’m not saying anything,’ Irma announced, crossing her arms defiantly.

  ‘At least we know where we are then,’ Patrick murmured. ‘I take it these weapons were concealed in the lock-up garage which the various gangsters you’re harbouring use for precisely that.’

  ‘Go to hell!’

  ‘And you were told to collect them as they were to be used very shortly in a raid on a West End jewellers. After which, as a diversion and a two-finger salute, an attack was to have been made on a central London police station.’

  ‘You’re talking as though—’ She stopped herself just in time.

  ‘It’s not going to happen?’ Patrick said softly. ‘It’s not, it’s history, Irma. You’ve been watched for months.’

  ‘I – I wasn’t going to say anything like that! And what’s all this about me being brought here for my own safety? More lies?’

  ‘No. Tony Capelli is fairly stupid but greedy for power and although police informers are silent as to whether he’s out to take over his cousin’s criminal empire we think he is. You won’t be part of that plan.’

  ‘Yes, I am. He loves me. He said so. He told me he’s over here on business – he’s nothing to do with crime now – and then he’s going to take me back to Italy where he’s got a lovely villa.’ Irma stopped speaking abruptly but then added, ‘I’m not saying one word more. Take me home.’

  ‘He has a wife and family in Italy,’ Patrick said.

  I looked at him quickly but his expression betrayed nothing. I was aware that he had been on the phone to James Carrick within the past hour but knew nothing about this revelation. He does not normally lie about this kind of thing though, not even to criminals.

  Silence.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Irma Burnside said at last.

  ‘The Italian police seem perfectly clear on the matter.’

  ‘Why should they know about him?’

  Patrick sat back in his chair. ‘You didn’t notice the armed thug who acts as his minder? Were you asleep when I had a conversation with him recently at your flat? It’s never occurred to you that both of these men belong to the Mafia?’ And without waiting for a reply, ‘Where is Martino, by the way?’

  The woman gaped at him. ‘Why – why he’s inside! You know that!’

  ‘He was released yesterday.’

  ‘Released? But no one’s seen him. He hasn’t been back to my place.’

  ‘He’s probably been given the news that Tony’s around and might just be planning to kill him. What did they tell you they were going to do with the firearms?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was guns I had to fetch.’

  ‘You must have done. Together with semi-automatic pistols in a cardboard box and another box containing ammunition in the boot of your car there was a sub-machine gun on the back seat that only had a length of old curtain wrapped around it.’

  ‘Bugger off,’ Irma muttered.

  ‘You’re in this up to your neck and will go to prison for a very long time. Worse, and as I said just now, your life is very likely in grave danger. Have you never asked yourself why your sister died?’

  There was immediate alarm. ‘Imelda? What’s happened to her then?’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s dead. Murdered.’

  ‘You’re lying to me
again!’ the woman cried in real distress.

  Patrick switched off the tape machine after saying that he would not continue the questioning until the witness had recovered.

  This was risky and not like him at all. If the person being interviewed had been male he would have taken full advantage of the shock and carried on battering him down until he confessed and/or agreed to cooperate. But . . .

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ Patrick enquired gently.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she answered almost inaudibly.

  It was not necessary for him to do so but he left the room to organize it. I knew the reason for this: it was now my turn.

  ‘Do you know about all this?’ Irma said to me.

  I told her I did.

  ‘You’re his working partner.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What’s he really like?’

  ‘He won’t let anyone hurt you but will make you tell him the truth even if it upsets you far more than you are now.’

  After this had sunk in she said, ‘It’s terrible about Imelda. We weren’t that close but she was my sister.’

  ‘Was it ever suggested that she might come and live with you?’

  ‘No, she’d have hated London. I once stayed with her for a short while when she had a flat. She loved Bath.’

  ‘Only there was talk that she’d written a letter to someone saying that she was.’

  ‘This is all news to me. Please tell me what happened to her.’

  Although our conversation could be overheard in the adjoining room anything she told me would not be allowed to be used in evidence unless I engineered it so that Patrick obtained the same result and it was recorded.

  I said, ‘Her body was found in a house in Bath that belonged to her boyfriend’s aunt.’

  ‘What, Dave’s place?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘God,’ she muttered and was silent for a few moments. Then she said, ‘I didn’t like him very much. I only met him the once and all he talked about was money.’

  ‘Did he have anything to do with Martino?’