by J. A. Gill
Beside the bed the phone rang and startled him. He froze and listened to the message being left on the answer phone. 'Matty, where are you man. We're all at the bar. Footy is starting. You'd better not be hung over. The Jackster is coming over, he'll pick you up in about ten minutes. You really are a muppet. See you in a bit, mate.'
Swift stared at the door which he expected to burst open at any second. He frantically began pulling at the rope with regained energy. The bed post creaked some more and cracked. The bed jolted as the leg slid out. Matt began to scream and shout for help. He could hear movement outside the door. A chair fell over. A cupboard closed. Then the front door opened and slammed shut. Silence. Matt stopped pulling for a moment and held his breath. 'Has he gone?' thought Matt. 'Was it over?'
Forty
Matt Swift was treated for shock then quickly given the all clear. He was a lucky man, if luck was the right word to use after his ordeal. His brush with death, because he was a journalist, didn't appear to dampen his enthusiasm to dish up his own story now to fellow journalists. He relished the limelight and knew the score, there was only going to be a small window of opportunity for him to cash in. So he was happy to talk to us and he was even happier to be part of his own media circus. Not that I wished it on him but I wondered whether his revelations might in the end come back to bite him. My other concern was that the soon to be headlines were giving his remarkable and heroic escape from the clutches of a sensationalised serial killer a kudos no murderer deserves.
'He had glasses and a beard but it was him,' insisted Swift as he slid the photo back across the table to me.
'The man in your apartment was this man, Simon Baker?' I repeated.
'Yes, definitely. I recognised him. And he told me as much himself. And it makes sense. I wrote front page stories on him when he was arrested for keeping his wife as a slave in an underground dungeon. He now wants pay back, he told me as much. You need to arrest him now. Why isn't he already locked up? I need to speak to Karen again, I need to make sure she's safe.'
'Officers are with her, she's fine. It's unfortunate you can't remember how you came to be tied to the bed by Simon Baker, if indeed it was, Simon Baker.'
'I told you, I went to sleep around midnight -- alone. There was no outrageous party and no drugs and alcohol bingeing conclusion for you here, Inspector Hardy. I woke up tied to the bed, he must have somehow drugged me. Otherwise, I would have woken up, right?'
Traces of a sedative had been found in Swift's blood but I didn't need to mention that to him at this point, best to keep some information back. I sensed he was holding back for journalistic and financial gain so trading information had become more like a game of chess. Difficult to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves. Swift looked restless. 'We're nearly done for now, Mr Swift. So how do you suppose he got into your apartment?'
'Look, I know where you're going with this and for the last time, I don't know. Maybe, he came through a window? It's kind of your job to figure that stuff out, not mine. This sicko would have cut me into tiny pieces if I hadn't escaped and your quizzing me! Question him, not me.'
'I'm having a hard time figuring out fact from fiction. You see, your story of the events keeps changing. Originally your friend Jackson Jamil arrived and with the help of a neighbour released you. Now you say you "escaped".'
'When I say I escaped, what I mean is I got away or was saved. What does it matter?
'To me it makes a great deal of difference.'
Swift looked at me scornfully. 'All I am saying is, that I was nearly another Scotland Yard statistic. Most likely another unsolved crime. And right now, I've had enough, I want to leave. I want to see my wife.'
'Just a few more questions. Trust me, it's best we do this now. And believe me Mr Swift, all I want is to understand the truth, the better I understand what happened the easier it will be to make an arrest. If you can stick to the unvarnished truth that would be helpful.'
'Well perhaps you'll wish you had arrested him when he comes after you. From what I remember you were the arresting officer. It was you and Inspector Rayner who rescued Mrs Baker from the rat infested dungeon.'
I ignored the inaccuracy of Mrs Baker's incarceration but the fact I had been the arresting officer had crossed my mind. It was likely part of the reason he was taunting us and playing his games. In his mind, he was reaching out to me and sending me a message.
Forty-One
I got one of those calls that change the course of your day. I called Heidi Hamilton in forensics and told her I needed to reschedule our meeting. Instead I headed to the Carrington Grande Hotel just off Bayswater Road where a multiple homicide had taken place sometime in the early hours of the morning. I was met in the corridor by a young detective called Sarah Dark.
'What can you tell me?' I asked.
'There are three in the room and one outside,' she said. 'All shot. Each have at least one body and one head shot. So it looks professional, at least...'
'I know what you mean. The deaths don't look spontaneous or a random act.'
She smiled.
'You're doing great,' I said. I could remember being in her shoes and I could remember how it felt when in an effort to not say the wrong thing, you could end up not finding the right thing to say.
'I was just on my way to begin questioning guests,' said Detective Sergeant Dark. I've had the hotel manager giving me hell but I think we see eye to eye now. I explained this was a murder investigation and that I would be discreet but if he didn't allow me to do my job I'd have no choice but to close the hotel indefinitely.'
That brought a smile to my face, I guess she let him have it. 'Good. Also make sure he gives you all CCTV footage both inside and out.'
Rayner was already in the room, gloved up and looking for anything that might lead us to the identity of the victims and their killer. 'Well this party could have gone better,' said Rayner. He pointed to a young woman who'd been laid out on the on the floor and a young skinny man half hanging off the bed. I walked to the bed and looked at the young man. Shot in the middle of his back and in the side of his head.
'I went through his stuff,' said Rayner. 'He's French, here in London studying medicine. Perhaps this was a sideline to make some quick cash?'
'According to the hotel receptionist the woman is a prostitute, she's a regular, very popular. Check out her tattoo. Not sure what it means right now. Maybe it's a coincidence.'
We looked at each other. Rayner knows my feelings on things being a coincidence or an accident. I knelt down and looked more closely at the girl. On her shoulder was the same wolf tattoo as Aleksandra's.
Then Rayner turned his attention to the large man. 'This one is a guest of the hotel, his name is Klaus Seidel. He's been a long term visitor to the hotel. Stays here every six months or so, has the same room every visit. There is also another body outside, another male, his name is Hans Vogt and we're told, by the receptionist again, he's Mr Klaus Seidel's driver and personal aid. Hans Vogt's room is next door.'
I nodded and Rayner continued. 'They are both German citizens. They always arrive together and leave together. Same routine for at least the last five years. That's how long the receptionist has worked here and she remembers them as guests that whole time.'
Rayner and I spent the rest of the day at the hotel. I examined both rooms and talked to hotel staff. The CCTV had been shut off during the incident and the hotel manager promised a full investigation into why that was. I told him Detective Sergeant Dark would assist. I didn't hold out much hope of any great revelation. Whoever turned off the CCTV was either a member of staff or the shooter or both. Pursuing that line of enquiry for me was a lot of work with very little likelihood of a result. Better to look into Klaus Seidel and Hans Vogt.
Forty-Two
Monica, Alice and Faith were all still staying with my parents so I decided to make an early start at Scotland Yard.
Klaus Seidel and Hans Vogt were German citizens so the first thing I did wa
s to check the INTERPOL database. Both were on the database and both files had been edited in the last twenty hours. Both files read: DECEASED. Each file offered nothing more than basic information. No detail, no known associates. I was surprised at the lack of detail but put it to the back of my mind.
I put in some calls around Scotland Yard and it was suggested I speak to Perry Wales at the Organised Crime Unit. I knew Perry and so I called and left a message.
Robert Olsen was also on my list and for him I only had a private number. Olsen is MI5 and our paths crossed on a case a couple of years back when a Member of Parliament and his family were brutally murdered at their country home. I also got Olsen's voice-mail and to my surprise he called me straight back, I think more out of courtesy than out of any sense of duty and presumably on a more secure line. I gave him the details and he said he'd look into it. Which either meant he'd look into it or what he knew he couldn't share. I knew it was a long shot, after all MI5 aren't big on sharing.
I poured some coffee and grabbed a toffee and pecan muffin then stared at them for a while. My mind began processing the investigations, leads, dead ends, lies, threats, victims, names and priorities in an effort to make sense of everything I was juggling.
The phone rang and made me jump, I grabbed it, it was Perry Wales. 'James Hardy, you handsome bastard, how the devil are you? Still fighting the good fight? When are you going to get a proper job over here with us catching real criminals?' Perry was a joker, as well as an excellent detective.
'I'm doing my best. How's Karen?' I asked. 'You know, Karen's an angel to have put up with you all these years. Please send her my regards.'
Perry went quiet. I could hear him clearing his throat and sniffing. 'She left me,' he said finally.
'Oh, Perry I -'
'Didn't you hear? It was about six months ago. She said she couldn't be married to a real detective a moment longer. I hear she's with someone in your department now.' Perry began laughing so loud at his own joke that I had to hold the phone away from ear until he calmed down.
'Very good, very funny' I said 'Everyone knows she married you for your sense of humour, and if that's true she's not going anywhere.' Perry laughed despite my poor attempt at a come back.
'I had you my friend. Hook, line and sinker,' he said. 'Now, what do you need?'
I told him about the four bodies at the Carrington Grande Hotel and that I believed the murders were a professional hit. That I was interested in the two German nationals and their known associates. I held back on the giving him too much detail about the rest of the investigation as I specifically wanted him to focus on the Klaus and Hans. Perry listened carefully and asked for forty eight hours as he was already working on something big for the Flying Squad.
I was drumming my fingers on the desk considering my next move when I got a call from Heidi Hamilton. She told me she might have some news for me.
Forty-Three
I loved how excited Heidi Hamilton sounded, it was like she'd just won the lottery. 'The bullets went off for analysis and we got a hit on the NABIS database,' she explained. 'I still have lots to do on my side of things but I knew you'd want to hear what was found on the ballistics side right away.'
'Definitely, anything you've got, I'd love to hear it,' I said. The NABIS database is a really big deal and this is just one more great example of how their work helps investigations move forward and can ultimately lead to convictions. The National Ballistics Intelligence Services team, NABIS for short, gathers firearms information. They collect, analyse and compare guns, shells and bullets from crime scenes or from seizures. If it's weapon related it all goes into the database where UK police forces can run comparisons. It's a bit like the finger print database but for anything firearms related.
'The NABIS team confirmed the handgun used at the Carrington Grande Hotel killings was a twenty two, almost definitely a Walther 22 with a silencer. The same weapon was used to kill a man called Tyrone West eight months ago,' said Hamilton.
'That is fantastic news, I owe you big time,' I said.
'I won't hold my breath, you say that every time, James Hardy.'
'I know, look as soon as this is over I'll buy you a drink, I promise.'
'Dinner?'
'Well okay, dinner and a nice bottle of wine,' I laughed.
'It's a date.'
'Well, let's just call it dinner and a nice bottle of wine.'
'You call that, I'm calling it a date with James Hardy.'
'You never cease to surprise me, you're a very complex woman Heidi Hamilton.'
'You have no idea Mr Hardy but I can assure you you'd enjoy finding out how complex I am. Now get back to work Hardy, the sooner you solve this investigation the sooner you can start paying off some of your debt to me with dinner and wine.'
Forty-Four
It felt like I might be getting somewhere at last on Aleksandra's investigation. I read through the files on Tyrone West, and decided to contact the lead detective on the Tyrone West murder, a Fraud Squad detective called Laura Chambers. I got put through to her boss who told me he'd get her to call me. Right now, he told me, she was working surveillance and couldn't be contacted. It was around nine that night when she called. We arranged to meet at an Indian restaurant called the Old Bengal in Beaconsfield Old Town at ten thirty that night. She told me I was buying.
The Old Bengal was a modern looking restaurant inside what had once been a traditional English house. The front steps were lit using pale blue spot lights and inside glass and lighting gave a contemporary feel. Smartly dressed, attentive waiters ensured I was quickly seated and offered a Cobra beer. A few minutes later the same attention was given to Laura when she arrived and was shown to our table.
Laura was dressed in a tight fitting t-shirt, jeans and casual shoes. Her sandy coloured hair was tied back and she looked tired. 'James Hardy, I've heard a lot of good things about you. First class homicide detective. The go to man when it comes to serial killers. Smart, tenacious, tall and good looking.' said Laura.
'Not sure about that,' I said.
'Don't be modest I hate that. It's what I heard, some of it must be true,' said Laura with a wry smile. She poured herself a second glass of red wine. 'I could not do what you do. Psychopaths day after day. Listening to their excuses and witnessing what's going on in their sick and twisted heads. Mutilated bodies. Missing persons. Tortured kids. I don't know how you do it.'
Seems Laura says what's on her mind. 'The victims and potential victims,' I said. 'I do it for them and their families. It's how I am able to do it, it's the only real reason there is to do it. Someone needs to stop the killer. It takes it's toll and it was never my first choice when I joined the Met. But then when does life ever turn out the way we thought it would?'
Laura looked embarrassed. 'I'm sorry. Ignore my mouth, I'm just letting off, I've been stuck in a box doing a surveillance double shift. I'm tired and not thinking. All I really want is a shower and sleep. Can we start over? The Chief said I should speak to you, he said it was important.'
'Nothing to start over,' I said. 'I appreciate you giving up your time.' I went over the case as quickly as I could. Laura ate her curry and listened attentively. Eventually I got to Tyrone West and the ballistic evidence linking him to the murders at the Carrington Grande.
'I remember Tyrone West. His friends called him Irish. Never sure why, I always assumed it was an in joke and something to do with County Tyrone. He certainly wasn't Irish. My feeling was Tyrone got offered an opportunity to make some quick money and soon found himself out of his depth.'
'Out of his depth how? And with who?' It was Laura's turn to talk now and I was all ears.
'Tyrone Peter West was a smart guy and a hard worker. He started his car washing business with nothing but a cloth, a bucket and bottle of liquid soap. He started in a supermarket car park. Each time he got himself established the supermarkets would bring in a more professional crowd and throw him out. Eventually he got sick of that and so starte
d approaching cinemas. He and a friend were soon clearing four to five thousand pounds a week with the only cost being liquid soap. He needed more people. From there he grew the business to a dozen or so hand car wash stations. He also arranged exclusive deals to have crews washing cars in cinema car parks, supermarket chains and out of town car parks. Eventually he caught the attention of those who needed what he had in ample supply. Cash.' Laura put a packet of cigarettes on the table and indicated we should step outside for a while to continue the conversation. We made our way to the front of the restaurant and having lit her cigarette she continued. 'From what we gathered he was most likely either threatened or blackmailed in some way but however it started he eventually found he was in over his head with some Albanian mafia types. The Albanians were making a fortune in cash with drugs, prostitution, extortion, illegal goods etcetera. So, what they need an endless supply of cash rich legitimate businesses to launder their money. All their cash needs cleaning. Tyrone never really had a chance once they heard about his business and how much cash was going through it each week. Once they got their claws into him it was over for him. However much he generated in cash each day he'd have to add another ten to twenty percent of their dirty money on top. Once it was banked it was clean, it was laundered, and all they had to do then was withdraw their money and spend it on legitimate items like houses and cars. Easy.'
'What happened?' I asked. 'Why did he wind up dead?'
'That part we don't really know. Perhaps he wanted out. Perhaps the Albanians wanted the business for themselves. Perhaps he just looked at someone the wrong way. All we know is one morning he was found at his desk with one to the head and one to the chest,' said Laura. She ground out her cigarette and lit another.
