Over My Dead Body

Chapter 25

‘I may have had a breakthrough in the Sleeman case,’ said DS Adaja, as he sat down in the chair by William’s desk.

‘Walk me through it,’ said William, putting down his Biro and leaning back.

Paul handed him a see-through evidence bag that contained a single fifty-pound note. ‘An anonymous person left this for me at the front desk.’

‘Presumably you had it checked for fingerprints — did they find any?’

‘Mine,’ admitted Paul.

‘Idiot. Anyone else’s?’

‘Max Sleeman’s.’

‘Better. And, from the smug look on your face, they must have come up with someone else even more surprising.’

‘Leonid Verenich.’

‘The psychopath who was thrown out of the Russian mafia because he was too violent?’

‘The same.’

‘I thought he was serving a life sentence in Dresden prison.’

‘He was until he met a certain Colonel Putin, and became more useful on the outside,’ said Paul. ‘What I can’t work out is how he got past immigration control.’

‘That wouldn’t have proved difficult for someone with the connections Sleeman has, in both underworlds,’ said William. ‘So now all you have to do is find him.’

‘That won’t be easy. In Moscow he was known as “whispering death”.’

‘Whoever left that note at the front desk must know how to find him.’

‘But I have no idea who that was.’

‘I do,’ said William.

Ross had never travelled business class before, but as he’d barely slept for the past few nights and would need to be at his sharpest when he arrived in Cape Town, he reluctantly paid for an upgrade, looked up to the heavens and touched his wedding ring, once again thanking Jo, who was rarely out of his thoughts.

He knew he could spare only a couple of days to warn Mrs Pugh of her pending death, while Miles Faulkner remained his overriding priority. If the choirboy were to summon him, he’d have to drop everything and come running. That was assuming the choirboy could find him.

He leant back in his comfortable seat and looked forward to a long uninterrupted sleep, thankful that the place next to him was unoccupied.

The steward was just about to close the aircraft door when an overweight, out-of-breath man rushed onto the plane and lumbered down the aisle checking each seat number. Ross stared out of the cabin window and watched as the airbridge was pulled back, hoping the latecomer would pass by, but then he heard a squelch of leather as the man collapsed into the seat next to him, still breathing heavily.

‘Just made it,’ he said between gasps.

Ross glanced at his new neighbour, who could have lost a couple of stone and still been overweight. Certainly not a candidate for Nightmare Holidays.

He decided that as soon as the plane reached cruising altitude, he would recline his seat, cover himself with a blanket, put on his eyeshade and not take it off until the steward announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts, we are about to begin our descent.’

‘Hi,’ said his eleven-hour travel companion, thrusting out a hand. ‘Larry T. Holbrooke the Third. What takes you to Cape Town?’

The last thing Ross needed was a chatty American who looked as if he’d already had a good night’s sleep. He wondered what the reaction would be if he gave a truthful answer: ‘I’m hoping to prevent a very unpleasant individual from murdering his wife, inheriting her fortune and living happily ever after.’

‘Ross Hogan. I’m on holiday, and off to watch the Test match,’ he replied as they shook hands. This stopped any further conversation for a moment, but only for a moment.

‘Lucky you. I’m on business. Can’t remember when I last had a vacation. Tell me, Ross, what’s your line of business?’

Ross didn’t respond immediately. When he had first enlisted in the SAS, he’d had to sign the Official Secrets Act, so he couldn’t tell anyone what he did. Since he’d joined the police force, he was bound by the same law.

‘I work for a travel company. And you?’ he said, immediately regretting the words.

‘I’m a financial broker. I collect short-term debts. So if someone owes you a large amount of money that you need collecting, I’m your man.’

Suddenly, Ross was wide awake. ‘How does that work?’ he asked, as he clicked on his seatbelt.

‘Let’s imagine the travel company you work for has a cashflow problem. You have reliable customers, but they often take sixty, sometimes ninety days to pay their bills, while you have your costs to cover, like rent and your payroll. I buy those debts, so you can carry on your business without having to worry about any temporary financial embarrassment.’

‘Where’s the profit in that?’ asked Ross.

‘I wait for the sixty or ninety days to pass before I collect the full amount owed, and then take a commission of between two and three per cent, depending on how long your company’s been a customer.’

‘But if the customer doesn’t pay up after ninety days,’ said Ross, ‘wouldn’t you lose the full amount?’

‘You’re right, but I only deal with companies that have a high Standard and Poor’s credit rating. I’m not in the risk business, which means I don’t make a fortune, but I’m doing just fine. My grandpa, who founded the company, used to say if you treat folks right, they’ll come back and do business with you again and again.’

‘Mr Holbrooke...’

‘Larry, please.’

‘Larry. I have a problem you just might be able to help me with. But first I have to admit that I don’t work for a travel company, and it’s the wrong time of year for a Test match. I’m a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police.’ He produced his warrant card, which Larry studied carefully.

‘Scotland Yard, no less! I’d be happy to assist you, detective, but what can I offer that your redoubtable police force can’t?’

‘For starters, you might be able to advise me how to deal with a loan shark your grandpa wouldn’t have done business with.’

‘Will you be taking dinner, gentlemen?’ asked a stewardess, as she offered them both a menu.

‘Sure will, miss,’ said Larry.

‘Me too,’ said Ross.

‘OK,’ said Larry, once she’d taken their orders. ‘Walk me through your problem slowly, and don’t leave out any details, however mundane they might seem to you.’

Ross took his time telling Larry everything the police knew about Max Sleeman, his associates and the methods they used to make sure his customers repaid their debts punctually.

The stewardess had cleared away their trays and was serving coffee before Larry T. Holbrooke the Third offered an opinion.

‘Fascinating,’ said Larry, as he dropped three sugar lumps in his coffee. ‘With two words you revealed Sleeman’s Achilles heel, which you can now take advantage of.’

‘As long as I can identify those two words.’

Larry began to stir. ‘You have the bow, detective, all I can do is supply the arrows.’

‘Detectives rely on clues,’ Ross reminded him.

Larry took a sip of coffee, before drawing an arrow from his sheath. ‘When did Sleeman tell you he’d be collecting the first payment of six hundred pounds?’

‘On the first day of the month, without fail.’

‘“Without fail” are the two words you have to take advantage of. Because you now know the time and the place when his collector will appear.’

‘I can’t be certain of the time,’ said Ross.

‘You’ll be the first call he makes that morning,’ said Larry, as a steward topped up their coffee.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘First payments are always the easiest to collect. It’s later, when the borrower gets deeper and deeper into debt and can’t pay up, even if he wants to, that the real trouble begins. I always give my customers a few days’ grace, but then I’m not just interested in a single transaction. That’s not possible for the Sleemans of this world, who deal in threats and deadlines. So you have to make sure that when his collector turns up on the first day of the month, you have the six hundred pounds ready to hand over. Then you’ll be in the driving seat.’

‘I know you’re going to tell me why,’ said Ross.

‘Don’t forget, he’ll be spending the rest of the day collecting money from less willing customers. You can be sure he’ll leave the most difficult one to last, and I have a feeling you’ll want to be present when that happens.’

‘How dumb of me,’ said Ross.

‘Not at all. I’ve been in the debt-collecting business for over thirty years, and during that time I’ve come across crooks every bit as ruthless as your Sleeman guy. You’ll be pleased to hear they usually end up dying alone with no one attending their funerals.’

‘What if I don’t get that lucky?’

‘Then you’ll need to be on top of your game on the first day of next month.’

Ross was already thinking about where he would park his car. How he would...

‘One last question before I grab a couple of hours’ shut-eye,’ said Larry, as the steward removed his coffee cup, and stored away the tray table. ‘How recently did you lose your wife?’

Ross was so taken by surprise it was some time before he recovered sufficiently to say, ‘A few weeks ago. But how did you know?’

‘I lost Martha six years ago,’ said Larry, ‘and I still never stop touching my wedding ring. Don’t listen to people who tell you it will get easier as time goes by. It doesn’t. I wouldn’t be fifty pounds overweight and living on aeroplanes if it did.’ With that he reclined his seat, pulled his blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

‘Thank you,’ said Ross, delighted this shrewd and decent man had slumped down in the seat next to him, and not moved on.

‘The head of Heathrow airport security on line one, chief,’ said Paul.

William picked up his extension to hear a familiar voice. ‘Good morning, sir. It’s Geoff Duffield. You asked me to let you know if DI Ross Hogan booked himself onto an overseas flight.’

‘I’m listening,’ said William.

‘He boarded flight BA027 to Cape Town at nine thirty last night. It touched down at nine o’clock this morning, local time.’

‘Thank you,’ said William. ‘Has he booked a return flight?’

‘No, sir. His ticket was open-ended. But I’ll let you know as soon as he makes another booking.’

‘He’ll be back before the end of the week,’ said William, without explanation.