The Black Rose Conspiracy

by James McKenna

  "As Richard Portland was a judge and his death recorded as an open verdict, I need to put his details into a secondary but parallel investigation involving other aspects."

  "The paperwork is all done, everything is in my report."

  "But just run through it again. And the small details, your own feelings." He smiled and watched her eyebrows rise.

  "Not much to tell. It happened in a quiet residential street with only one witness. The vehicle was a 4 x 4, silver, very muddy and driven by a woman. The witness got half the number but the DVLA came up with no match to a 4 x 4. Either the witness got it wrong or the plates were false."

  "No other witnesses?"

  "A child. It happened during the morning school run. She must have been on the pavement almost behind him because she apparently appeared from nowhere. She stood over the body for a moment then ran. Though we've appealed for other witnesses to come forward, she never did. Scared I guess, or maybe her parents prevented it. Portland's head was a mess." Sergeant Mills grimaced and braced herself against an involuntary shiver.

  "The car must have been damaged. No reports from any garage?"

  "We checked extensively, nothing. Portland came from between cars and took a full blow which then lifted and dropped him under the wheels. The vehicle's speed was estimated at forty miles per hour. That would have smashed the headlights and dented the wing. The driver's attention must have been on a mobile or something because she was on the wrong side of the road and clearly not looking. She didn't even brake, just accelerated away. She knew it was her fault, stupid woman."

  "Could have been deliberate?" Sean asked.

  "Possibly." Mills sipped at her coffee, eyeing him over the rim. "The coroner returned an open verdict and the case is still active, though I've been informed that polite circles only mention it in hushed tones."

  Sean smiled for her. "Tell me, Esther," he paused. "Off the record if need be."

  "Off record, Richard Portland was an eccentric. He was liberal to the point of cosseting criminals. He believed the only cure for criminality was re-education in moral values. He was against custodial sentences. Cases were thrown out for the slightest reasons. The criminal fraternity loved him, but their victims didn't. He also enjoyed a drink and, from conversations with his wife, I suspect he also enjoyed other women. There was no reason for Portland to have been in that area during that time of the morning but it's only streets from a house we suspected as being a high-class brothel. Unfortunately, it was not under surveillance that morning and its activities have since ceased. We traced two girls, both Russian. One let out they had moved up from a London club called the Black Pad, but both claimed they were now teachers, giving Russian lessons to businessmen. I was advised such information was irrelevant and should not be included in my report." She smiled. "Polite circles don't like that sort of thing upsetting reputations. The autopsy showed Portland was well over the limit. My guess is that he had a night and morning with the girls before making for a minicab firm at the bottom of the street."

  "Esther, still off record, could you think of any motive why someone would kill him?"

  "He was a judge being soft on criminals. The media were often outraged, so were the criminals' victims. The driver could have been one of them, the mother of a rape victim, a rape victim herself. But a chance encounter like that would be improbable."

  "Unless they were following him," Sean said.

  "All possible but there's no proof." She glanced at her watch and gave a tight smile.

  "What did his wife think?"

  "She showed genuine grief, then became angry, then hard. I had the impression she was as sweet as old lace, but underneath I think the lace is dusted with arsenic. She's party chairwoman of the DJP. Well suited."

  "What about insurance?"

  Ms Mills gave a soft cynical smile. "Women like that take care of themselves. I'm confident she cleaned up nicely." She glanced again at her watch.

  "One last question, what is your gut feeling? Was it murder?”

  Momentarily she fidgeted with her cup on the table and raised her eyebrows without looking up. "I've done the paperwork, it's all in the report."

  "Tell me, Esther, just between us two and away from polite society."

  "The child worries me. She could have pushed him. There are no schools that way. It may not even have been a child, just a small person dressed in schoolgirl's clothes. They do that sort of thing in a brothel."

  The rush hour had started, the traffic building up as Sean came back onto the street. It was still only 5pm. His appointment with Ipswich CID in charge of the Holmes murder enquiry was not until 9.30am the following day. He had intended to drive down and stay overnight, but finishing in Leeds so early gave spare time. A fast drive would have him in Belsize Park around 8.30pm and if he left by 7am the following day, he would be in Ipswich just after 9am. Time for a few beers, buy a curry and give Victoria and Denise a shock. They were not expecting him back.

  It took Sean an hour to reach the motorway then he cruised in relatively light traffic heading for London.

  Schoolgirls figuring in both incidences could have been by chance, but if another figured in the Holmes death then the coincidence was stretched. Murder began to rear its ugly head, but who would benefit? The widows with their insurance, the DJP? In the fading day his mind ticked over the possibilities and dismissed most as speculation.

  CHAPTER 10

  Roddy Dwyer had a shaven head and one gold earring. His clothes were an example of expensive bad taste and his voice held a hint of Ireland’s north. He placed two coffee cups on the small, window counter they shared then slid up onto a stool. Beyond the café window the last of the rush-hour crowd pushed up and down the Strand, faces half smiling in the new summer sun.

  “The DJP,” Roddy said, swinging round to face Victoria, glancing at what thigh lay exposed below the hem of her fitted skirt. “Now some people see them as outraged grannies demanding law, order and justice. I see them as a bunch of juicy widows on the make. Fair play to them mind, I’d vote for anyone who could kick the present idiots out of power.”

  “How do you see their connection with the Mafia?”

  “Current word on the ground is, they will push for Government backed casinos to help pay for the Health Service and other such bodies. Funding would come from Paradise Casinos, a multi-national US chain, big on America’s West Coast. They’ll manage the place for a fee and only ten percent of the profit. The other ninety percent goes back to the community.”

  Victoria was about to speak when Roddy’s phone rang. He slipped it from his pocket, glanced at the screen. “OK, OK, OK, I’ll be there,” he said into the mouthpiece and placed the phone on the counter.

  “Why would Paradise Casinos do such a deal with so little profit?” Victoria asked.

  “Because the Mafia want to launder money. What better way than to get a deal to manage a Government network of British casinos? Problem is, the Russian Mafia will want a slice of it. In particular, that section of East European criminality who are currently banking with Gjon Krata. Casinos coupled with the London property market would become a great laundry basket. The ideal cash point for European investment.”

  “So, quite what is the connection between Paradise Casinos and the Mafia?” Victoria made to cross her legs then thought better of it.

  Roddy glanced down. “Don’t MI5 pick up anything?” He shook his head. “No wonder security in this country is such a mess. Paradise Casinos are the Mafia. They are run by Vasco Aguzzi the untouchable. No arrest warrant has ever come close to him.”

  Victoria nodded. “Does Eleanor Baxter have contacts with him?”

  “Eleanor Baxter is employed by him.” Roddy snatched up his mobile as it rang again. “Yeah, yeah, OK, OK, I’m nearly there,” he said to whoever listened before taking a photo of Victoria’s knees. “Just to get me through the day,” he grinned.

  “Perusal of my legs comes at a price, Roddy. Speak.”

  “M
y belief is the majority of money funding the DJP currently comes from Aguzzi via Baxter and Silverman’s son, Jerak. Of course, nothing is proven, just hearsay. But I got it from a contact who has a contact who leaks info for the FBI. Either for political reasons or because they lack funding to find proof themselves, they leak to quality investigative journalists like myself. We do the work, they then get evidence for nothing without upsetting the politicians. Neat, what?”

  “But is it true?” Victoria asked, seeing a similar scenario emerging to that described by Alice Sibree.

  “I’d say rock positive. Here’s why. Vasco Aguzzi is currently the US’s Mafia principal European banker. Now he’s looking for a slice of the Russian pie, but Krata is in his way. On the other hand, Silverman in his own devious way used to deal with both Russia and America. Now in my book his ex-wife, Laura Manning, was once the brains behind Silverman, now she’s a member of the DJP. Smell a rat?”

  Victoria shook her head. “Parliament would never sanction such sinister involvement from an MP.”

  “Certainly not but only if they had irrefutable proof. Otherwise they’d be battered by the grannies of middle England, not to mention the dykes, the “hang ‘em” crowd, the charities, the hungry and anyone else who would lose out should the casino deal not get through Parliament. Aguzzi is President of the West Coast Commercial Bank which is accredited both in the US and here. Getting proof on Mafia connections has proved impossible. The FBI have never succeeded and you lot don’t know what day it is. That leaves the likes of me to battle alone.” His mobile rang. “I’ll be there any time,” he said into the mouthpiece. “OK, right I’m on my way.” He clattered the mobile back onto the counter.

  “So, I’ll believe you, Roddy.” She smiled sweetly, leaning forward whilst moving her fingers from a strategically placed top button, now open on her blouse. “Are there any other involvements? Krata sounds like he might be in Aguzzi’s way.”

  “He is. Russia wants western properties and assets. Casinos will give them a new cash point at which to do their laundry. They also want to destabilise European politics and make it easier to put their own selected politicians, via the DJP, into the British Government.”

  Victoria raised her hand. “OK, Roddy. I’ll accept the conspiracy theory but it’s still a hard one to bite.”

  He put fingers on her thighs and felt her suspender. “In bed with you would be heaven.”

  Victoria lifted his hand back onto the counter. “No chance.”

  Roddy stood to leave. “You don’t believe me.”

  Victoria slowly crossed and re-crossed her legs and Roddy sat down again.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “Vasco Aguzzi was associated by banking with Silverman. Baxter is a senator who heads a far-right neo-conservative group with heavy sway in middle America. They are particularly strong in the unions, the militia groups and the ‘do or die’ flag wavers. Though shunned by polite circles, these ultra-neo-cons have plenty of voices in the Senate and enough voting power to elect a President,” he paused, his eyes on a spot where her skirt hem had hitched a little higher.

  “Speak, Roddy,” Victoria said.

  “If Aguzzi has the neo-cons unwittingly on his side via Baxter, he’ll be able to influence a large part of the American and British public.”

  “That would take a great deal of money.”

  “So here’s the crux. And I expect to receive the star prize. Aguzzi was partner with Silverman in the Silverman banking group. Silverman defrauded his own bank of twenty billion dollars. The money was reputedly held in Syria. Silverman said the Russians stole it. Everyone knows Silverman stole it and somewhere it is still out there. Strangely, Silverman appears to have conveniently drowned. Now all in the know are searching for his money, including the UK Government.”

  Victoria raised the thigh of her right leg as high as possible then crossed it over her left leg. “So tell me your opinion.”

  “Was that the gold star, sight of white knickers?”

  Victoria raised her eyebrows. “Continue and when you’ve told all I’ll tell you a secret.”

  “The Right Wing in Europe all shout for end to immigration, particularly from Africa but Baxter works for Aguzzi who thinks only of American Mafia power, money and might. That comes from control of Europe, the Middle East and, in particular, the financial houses in Britain. Hence the need for Silverman’s twenty billions for bribery and corruption. Not least to influence success of the DJP.

  “Hence the Black Rose Conspiracy,” Victoria said, thoughtfully as she uncrossed then re-crossed her legs.

  Roddy sighed. “Oh, Victoria, if only you realised the power of women.”

  “If not the power of women, Roddy, it’s the weakness of men.”

  Once more his mobile rang and his eyes moved up to Victoria’s blouse as he answered. “OK, yeah, I’m almost there.” He pocketed the phone and returned his hand to the visible band of her stocking top. “OK, my lovely. I’ve given you everything I know. What’s in return?”

  “Very informative, Roddy, but is this information authentic?”

  “As I said, all leaked by the American Secret Service to make life difficult for the likes of Aguzzi and Baxter. They know the media, that’s guys like me, are better at investigating than the Secret Service.” He smiled in self-satisfying praise. “Which is also why they didn’t pass it on to MI5. Without any collaborating proof your lot would have laughed and junked it.”

  Victoria lifted his hand again and placed it on the counter. “In return, when my investigations are finished, when I’m free to pass that information to you, you’ll be the first to receive it.”

  “Promises, promises, that’s all I ever get. How about in kind?” His hand hovered then reached for his mobile as it rang. “Yeah, yeah, I’m there now. You’re there too! Where? Wrong place. OK, I’m on my way.”

  “Roddy, you have my number.” She slipped from the stool, momentarily lifting her skirt on the seat. “If the DJP is up to no good, we’ll expose them.”

  “I’d rather expose you.”

  “You’d be disappointed. Do you have any contacts in the party? Someone who could open doors for me?”

  “You could try Joe Carver, also Sammy Wilkins.”

  “Joe I’ve heard of but not Wilkins.” She watched as he wrote in a notepad and then tore the page out.

  “Joe is an old boyfriend of Laura Manning. He lives on Paxos. Ex-Special Forces and Police, tough guy. My belief is, Laura persuaded the DJP to hold their convention on Paxos because she wants to make contact again and introduce him to the party. A guy with his sort of experience could prove useful to her.”

  “And Sammy?”

  “She’s an admin girl in the DJP. She lets me know what they want me to know.”

  Victoria knew most of what Roddy had said would be journalistic speculation, whether from an FBI source or not. What intrigued her was the fact he painted an almost identical scenario as Alice. Middle England grannies were indeed not as they seemed.

  “Hey, Victoria, come on, just for me.”

  She moved her shoulders to ruffle her blouse and pouted. “I’m sorry, Roddy, I can’t. You see, my secret is, I’m a lesbian.”

  Outside of the café she called Denise on her mobile. “I’ve received journo talk that the whole DJP setup is a Mafia conspiracy to control British politics.”

  “Journo talk,” Denise said, “is usually full of bullshit.”

  “I know, but this guy is on the case and on previous occasions his info has been good. Even if he’s fifty percent right it means the DJP are already controlled by outside sources. Give this lecture in Hackney all the time you need to circulate. I’ll do the same at the Judith Holmes lecture.”

  “That’s me definitely on the pull then. See you mid-morning tomorrow,” Denise said and switched off.

  Victoria toyed with her mobile, realising that with Sean out tracking, she would now be alone for the night. For moments she considered ringing Wendy. Stric
tly for research, she reasoned. Wendy might know of inside behaviour designed to gain speedy social acceptance amongst the lesbian community. She needed to know how to extract from unwanted attention without causing offence. How to behave publicly with Denise to ensure they were accepted as a couple. Just for research, of course. She ran her thumb over her phone, switched on the screen then locked it again.

  In Charing Cross Road she bought a newly published book on the emergence of the DJP. A cover photograph showed a picture of the author, a plump, bespectacled woman with flushed cheeks and a serious smile. Kate Carwell was the Head of Admin in the DJP, a staunch activist for female equality and advancement.

  With knowledge of the DJP imperative and with a few hours to spare, Victoria walked down to the Embankment and Waterloo Bridge. Under a warm sun and with few people in the vicinity, she found an isolated bench with a view over the grey rippling turmoil of the Thames. Gulls skimmed the waves as a pleasure boat passed, its bows pushing against the tide, the drone of its engine intermittently carried by the breeze. After five minutes she extracted the phone and dialled Wendy’s number. To her disappointment but also a measure of relief, she was connected to voicemail.

  Victoria re-pocketed the phone and began to read her book whilst lulled by the gentle lap of water against the embankment walls.

  Kate Carwell’s message was without compromise and explained why so many women were attracted to the DJP. According to Carwell, male-led politics had turned the world and the British nation into a dangerous place. It was time for women to stand up and the only way they could do that was to unite under a common banner of female unity, not unlike the suffragettes. They had half the votes and providing every single one was used, male apathy at election time would ensure victory for the DJP. She believed all women must unite in a determined effort for common sense, they must take control, then use peaceful democracy, education and a fair distribution of wealth for effort. They had to make the world a safer place for themselves, their children and their men. Men were welcome amongst the ranks, providing they kept their peace and made women’s rights, along with law and order, a priority.