Blood Debt, page 9
He put a call through to the police station’s switchboard and asked for McGuinness.
After he introduced himself, McGuinness answered with a curt, ‘Go ahead,’ and Rick realised that others were listening.
‘I’m guessing you have an audience.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘There’s a few more things I wanted to ask. I’m on duty overnight, but could we meet first thing? Breakfast, maybe?’
‘All right,’ McGuinness continued in a neutral tone.
‘I’ve got a nine a.m. briefing, so I was thinking somewhere close but not too close to the station – at about eight?’
‘That’s doable,’ McGuinness said.
‘Great.’ Rick named a corner café on King’s Road.
The decorators knocked off at five and the apartment settled into stillness and silence. The warehouse was quiet, too. Only a couple of vans had come and gone in the three hours to five o’clock, delivering boxed items, backing up against the entrance, unloading and leaving. He logged each arrival, photographed number plates and the faces of the deliverymen. Others on the team would identify the drivers, but Rick suspected that they were regular white van men, earning a living from delivering for one or more of the national parcel delivery firms.
He was stationed in the living room, which the decorators had completed a few days earlier, so the headache-inducing reek of drying paint and turps had mostly gone. One wall had been replastered and coated with emulsion and the combined smell of drying plaster and chalky paint brought to mind the last time Rick had decorated the family home in Putney. That was four or five years ago. With a painful jolt, he remembered that last autumn, Jess had gently prodded him to update the colours and replace the sheer curtains in the master bedroom with something that would keep out the early-morning sun. Actors, like police, worked peculiar hours and snatched their sleep whenever the opportunity arose. He would sometimes come in at four in the afternoon and find her curled up in bed, ‘catching up’, as she called it.
In unguarded moments of tiredness and in the phase of unreality between dreaming and wakefulness, Rick would still catch a glimpse of Jess in profile against the backlit drapes or see her sleeping contours in the fall of the bedcovers.
There will be life after Jess.
It was Sam’s voice he heard.
Life after Jess … Rationally, Rick knew it as a literal fact. Hadn’t he gone on, these last five months without her? But logic couldn’t assuage the dull ache he felt coming home to an empty house every night. He’d never been big on socialising, but after the things he’d done – the liberties he’d taken and laws he’d broken in searching for Jess – he’d have felt a hypocrite sitting in a bar with honest coppers. So, in the five months since, his days were a monotonous routine of work, the gym, the dojo, and home.
Could he really call that life?
Chapter 18
Next morning, eight a.m.
THE CAFÉ HAD JUST OPENED when Rick slipped inside. DS McGuinness came in a few minutes later, eyes on a swivel, looking for anyone he might know.
Two mugs of steaming coffee arrived as McGuinness settled himself at the table, and to save on time, both men ordered food before the server left.
‘Sorry about yesterday,’ Rick said. ‘Did Steiner give you grief over it?’
‘No, that was quite a convincing performance you gave.’ McGuinness’s mouth twitched. ‘Almost had me fooled.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘You might want to steer clear of her for a bit, though.’
Rick scratched his eyebrow. ‘That’s the plan.’
‘So,’ McGuiness said. ‘Unanswered questions.’
Asking straight out why he’d been booted out of MIT would be tactless, so Rick asked about Floren getting off the arson charges without even a reprimand.
McGuinness shook his head. ‘That fucker … We couldn’t find a one single thing to link him to the fire. No paper trail, no e-trail. We looked at his mobile phone, his computer, the satnav on his car – nothing. We even checked his dashcam flash drive, hoping he’d slipped up, said a few unguarded words. He didn’t. And he was nowhere near the blocks the night they burned down.’
‘But you’re still convinced he was in on it?’
McGuinness gave a snort of disgust. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he nudged Gillies in the direction of the petrol cans.’
‘D’you think that’s why he was murdered?’
‘I know he got what was coming to him.’
‘To be fair, we did away with the death penalty last century, mate.’ Rick smiled to show he wasn’t entirely unsympathetic.
‘Yeah, but Floren didn’t just get away with murder, he made a bloody fortune out of it.’
‘That’s been bugging me – how did Floren get the development?’
McGuinness’s look said, You really have to ask?
‘Okay, so maybe he greased a few palms,’ Rick said. ‘But didn’t—’
Their orders arrived and for a few seconds they remained silent while hot plates of scrambled eggs were juggled and room was made for sides of toast, and McGuinness began scarfing his eggs and potato waffles with a relish that was surprising in so slender a man. Rick leaned forward and began again, keeping his voice low. ‘Didn’t the victims’ families lodge objections with the planning department?’
McGuinness chewed and swallowed. ‘They tried every legal avenue open to them. When Floren put in plans to the council six months before the fire, they emailed objections, gathered petitions, held protests at the town hall – you name it. But he got his outline planning consent anyway, and the council planners were wowed by his detailed proposals. The scheme was finalised and approved the week of the verdict.’
‘That’s a bit cold, isn’t it?’ Rick said. ‘You’d think the whole thing would have been put on hold at least till after the trial.’
‘You would, wouldn’t you? Except Floren was a charmer. Everyone I spoke to at the council said what a nice man he was.’
‘But after the fire the families would have a strong case to stop the project. Why didn’t they go back to the council?’
‘Those people had been literally burned out of their homes,’ McGuinness said. ‘They’d been through hell – still are, some of them. God, some of the injuries …’ He shook his head. ‘But the NHS is broke, mate. There’s millions on waiting lists and the survivors needed help right then – not eighteen months down the line. And where were they gonna get the kind of money they needed for a planning appeal? Not from Victim Compensation, that’s for sure.’
‘The Crown must’ve seized Gillies’s assets?’
‘As soon as he was charged,’ McGuinness said. ‘The land, his house, even what was left of the blocks of flats.’
‘So they decided to sue Gillies for damages instead of launching a planning appeal?’
A brief nod. ‘Most of them wouldn’t want to go back even after the new development was finished. And a law firm offered to represent the residents on a no-win no-fee basis in a class action. It was the best offer they were likely to get, and they took it.’
‘Well, at least that should be a big payout for the families.’
‘Not as big as you’d think,’ McGuinness said sourly. ‘Floren had paperwork to show he’d already sunk a shitload of money into the scheme. He got every penny of that back from Gillies’s assets on the basis that he’d been defrauded.’
Rick swore softly.
‘Amen to that,’ McGuinness said.
‘So Floren got a chunk of cash and his application went through unopposed. What about competition from other developers?’
‘You know how it is. Councils are always strapped for cash and opening the scheme to new investors would’ve meant going through the whole costly rigmarole of vetting new planning applications and new investors. Floren even said he’d cover the expense of cleaning up the site. It was almost inevitable he’d get the gig.’
Rick could see why the families might be motivated to take Floren out, but the families had been cleared. He tapped one finger on the tabletop, mentally shifting the scraps of information around, trying to make the pieces fit. ‘If it wasn’t revenge for the arson attacks, who did put the hit on Floren – Gillies?’
‘He would seem the obvious suspect,’ McGuinness said. ‘But he hadn’t a bean to barter with.’
Rick took a bite of the bacon and egg bap he’d ordered while he thought. ‘Well, if the families didn’t pay for the hit, it had to be some criminal Floren pissed off.’
McGuinness tilted his head in agreement.
Recalling Floren’s website, Rick asked, ‘Who runs the corporate trust that’s taken over the day-to-day running of his property company?’
‘I would love to know,’ McGuinness scoffed. ‘I’m told it was “looked into”, but the inquiry didn’t get far.’
‘Who looked into it?’ Rick was wondering if Dave Collins might have had more success than whoever the Met got to look into Floren’s financials.
McGuinness wiped his face and hands meticulously with his napkin before answering. ‘Trusts are the go-to for criminals wanting to shield money.’
Rick stared at him. ‘You think Floren was a frontman for a criminal gang?’
McGuinness took a swig of coffee and Rick got the impression he was deciding how much he could safely say. He began slowly, as if weighing every word.
‘When Floren got the development through planning, I went to the SIO on the arson inquiry, told him I wanted to talk to the planning officers. I got shut down.’
‘By who?’
‘The SIO. But he looked as sick as I felt telling me to lay off.’
‘The order came from higher up the food chain then.’
McGuinness didn’t reply, but the look on his face told Rick everything he needed to know. Someone had been bought off.
‘Did he buy off the free press?’ Rick asked. ‘Is that why they didn’t lay into him during the trial?’
‘Look, I’ve got no proof that money changed hands – not between him and the council or the free press,’ McGuinness said. ‘But a pal of mine works freelance for the local rags. She said Floren had threatened her with libel action if she linked his name to Gillies or the arson attack. She’d been working on an exposé, asking questions. She’s experienced – knew to keep it vague, didn’t get specific. Passed it off as a touchy-feely human interest type story. The only person who knew what she was really up to was her editor.’
‘So, he was paid off?’
‘Or scared off.’
‘By Floren? Or by whoever’s behind this trust?’
‘Back then, I thought it must be Floren – I mean, he was the face of Deptford Waters …’ McGuinness raised one shoulder and let it fall. ‘It was only after he was killed that the Dream Schemes Trust came out of the woodwork. Suddenly it all made sense: the money for bribes and lawyers, the chemical clean-up after the fire, muscle to put the frighteners on people – it all came from the trust. Must have.’
‘So maybe they used Floren to get their investment capital back, and killed him when he outlived his usefulness?’
Before McGuinness could answer, Rick’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Checking the screen, he mouthed, ‘Superintendent Ghosh.’
‘How soon can you get here?’ Ghosh demanded.
‘I just finished my shift, sir – I’m having breakfast.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
Rick suppressed a sigh. ‘Ten minutes, if I rush it.’
‘Do that. My office.’ Ghosh rung off, and Rick stood, tucking cash under his plate and picking up the bap to take with him.
‘It’s not even eight-thirty, yet,’ McGuinness said.
‘Well, you know what they say about the wicked,’ Rick said with a rueful grin.
Chapter 19
RICK TURNER STOOD IN FRONT OF Detective Superintendent Ghosh’s desk, waiting for him to finish tapping in something on his laptop.
‘You can’t go pestering investigators about inquiries you have no connection with,’ Ghosh said, without looking up.
For a second Rick wondered if someone had seen him deep in conversation with McGuinness over breakfast, but Sam had taught him a thing or two in childhood about the art of dissembling, so he held back from commenting, instead gazing at his boss with polite interest.
Irritated by his silence, Ghosh shoved the laptop aside and glared at him. ‘The Blackfriars robbery is none of your business,’ he hissed.
Rick relaxed a little: they hadn’t been seen; this was about his chat with McGuinness in the canteen the previous day.
‘The task force is looking at gang crimes in the round, sir,’ he ventured.
Ghosh shook his head. ‘I won’t have that. The Blackfriars crew isn’t in Emin’s league – Quinn is just a disgruntled employee who roped in a few friends to help him extort money from his bosses.’
‘They kidnapped two women, held a bank to ransom, got away with millions.’
‘They didn’t get away with it,’ Ghosh snapped.
‘No thanks to us.’
Ghosh launched to his feet; his eyes bugged. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m just wondering who turned them in,’ Rick said, backpedalling a bit.
‘Again – not your business. Steiner’s business.’
‘Okay. But there’s something off about the Blackfriars arrests and the Emin setback.’
Ghosh’s long fingers were splayed on the desktop, as if he might spring across it at any moment, and Rick took the safe option of sticking with Emin. ‘Take the warehouse fire. Two guards disarmed and bound with zip ties, then carried to safety. The production-line workers allowed to leave. The tip-off coming before the fire really took hold, the caller requesting a hazmat appliance.’
‘Your point?’
‘Why’d they let the workers just wander off into the night? Why let guards go? Why burn the drugs? Why would a rival gang care about firefighters breathing noxious fumes?’
Ghosh chewed on that for a few seconds. ‘Valid points. But it still doesn’t justify your intrusion into the Blackfriars arrests.’
‘But there’s parallels,’ Rick said. ‘They didn’t touch the money from the robbery and the arsonists didn’t touch Emin’s drugs. They locked Quinn’s firearm in the boot of the car before they called the police in. Warned them as well. Doesn’t that look like concern for first responders’ safety? Same as the caller who warned the fire service they’d need hazmat.’
Ghosh stalled for a second, folding his arms and frowning at a spot on the table. ‘I’ll talk to Kath Steiner and Will Fenton,’ he said at last. ‘Ask them to look into it. But you will keep your mouth shut and your nose out until you’re invited to give an opinion. Clear?’
Rick hesitated, and Ghosh said, ‘For God’s sake—’
‘I think there’s another case we should look at again,’ Rick said. ‘The Floren murder.’
Ghosh seemed almost dizzied by the suggestion. He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Rick saw his temper had risen. ‘The consensus is that the landlord commissioned Floren’s murder. It was simple revenge.’
‘He was zip-tied. CCTV was down – knocked out, maybe.’
Ghosh fixed Rick with a flat stare. ‘CCTV cameras fail all the time – usually at the exact moment you need them.’
‘Who called in the police? The security cameras weren’t working and the place was deserted that night. Why wouldn’t they identify themselves?’
‘People make anonymous calls to emergency services. And there’s one striking difference between Floren and the other two incidents,’ Ghosh added sharply. ‘Floren was murdered – shot dead – probably by a professional assassin.’
‘I think everyone’s agreed on that, sir.’
‘Well, that’s very magnanimous of you, Sergeant.’
Rick ignored the snipe. ‘But Floren was bound and gagged. What professional assassin takes the time to bind and gag a man? And why would he then remove the gag, then shoot him?’
Ghosh seemed stuck for an answer to that.
‘There were two triple-nine calls – one to say there was a disturbance, and another a few minutes later to report shots fired. Same caller. Why would he call twice? Wouldn’t the killer know he’d shot Floren? Or did he forget to mention it in the first call?’
You might want to dial down the sarcasm a bit, Rick, Sam warned.
Rick took a breath. ‘The CSU found multiple footwear marks at the scene. Professional assassins usually work alone. Someone else was there, sir.’
‘The CSU couldn’t determine if the shoeprints were from the paramedics and police responders.’
‘Couldn’t rule out persons unknown, either,’ Rick said, working the next part out as he spoke. ‘But if there were two incidents at Deptford Waters that night, it begins to make sense.’ He saw that Ghosh was about to interrupt, so he talked faster, raising his voice a little. ‘In the first incident, Floren was bound and gagged. In the second, someone unconnected with the first assailants shot him.’
Ghosh threw up his hands. ‘Floren doesn’t fit your so-called pattern because he’s dead, so you just make up a story that’ll fit!’
‘That’s not what I’m doing, sir,’ Rick said, exasperated, but trying to remain respectful and reasonable. ‘There was a van with fake decals on the development that night. Whose was that?’
‘The assassin’s, no doubt.’
‘A bit absent-minded, leaving it behind, wasn’t it?’ As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back.
Rick saw something slip behind Ghosh’s eyes and knew that he’d lost the man – lost the argument entirely – and with it, any chance of convincing his boss.
Ghosh pointed a finger at him. ‘You’re like a puppy chasing leaves. Turning this way and that, constantly distracted by irrelevancies. That’s not how police work is done!’
