The Murder Exchange

Monday, eight days later

Gallan

But we never did find out who poisoned Shaun Matthews.

Five days on, and after much internal discussion, the likeliest scenario suggested that, for whatever reason, Jean Tanner had been the one. The theory, agreed by all the original investigating team, but with absolutely no evidence whatsoever to back it up, was that there had been some sort of relationship between Tanner and Matthews, but it had ended before his death and, for whatever reason, there’d been bad blood between the two of them. Being a girl who liked to throw her favours around, she was also seeing Craig McBride, and had got him to supply her with the poison to get rid of her ex-boyfriend. McBride was the only person we could think of who might have had the means to obtain it, almost certainly when he’d been out in Bosnia. He was also stupid enough to think that he could get away with it by making Matthews’s death look like an accident. Jean had undoubtedly thought the same way, and had administered the fatal dose to her unsuspecting ex.

Then, a few days later, we’d paid a visit to McBride and he’d panicked, thinking we were getting too close. He’d gone round to talk to Jean, they’d had an argument, and at that point she’d decided that he was now a liability. Maybe he’d been suggesting she come clean and tell the police, or something like that.

Jean had acted decisively. Somehow, she’d managed to obtain and inject him with a huge quantity of heroin and, unable to get rid of the body, had left to plan her next move, before finally deciding that it was probably best to return and make out that the whole thing had been an accident. Burley, then, had probably not been as corrupt as I’d first thought and, rather than trying to protect her as a favour to Vamen, he was simply being too lazy to do his job properly, and his obnoxiousness was natural rather than artificially created. Fair enough. Hopefully some day, someone in charge would notice it, and he’d suffer as a result.

We’d brought Jean Tanner in for questioning and Berrin and I had kept her in for twenty-four hours while we’d interrogated her. She might have been a weirdo (although I have to say I found her to be pretty level-headed) but she was no fool and, knowing that the police had nothing on her bar theories, had denied everything. She didn’t know who’d killed Shaun, she hoped they caught whoever it was, and, as for Craig McBride, that had been a tragic accident that had taught her the dangers of drugs. When I’d pointed out that McBride had had a phobia about needles, her jaw had dropped, her eyes had widened, and she’d simply said, ‘Really? How odd.’ In the end, we’d had to let her go. Berrin had been pissed off, and was particularly concerned that a woman who might well have committed two murders in the space of a couple of weeks was walking the streets unmolested.

‘Let me tell you something,’ I’d told him. ‘Crime can sometimes be a good short-term career move, sometimes it can even be quite a good medium-term one, but I promise you this, it’s never a good long-term one. They all get caught in the end. If she is a psycho and she really did kill those two blokes, then somewhere down the line, she’ll try it again, and she’ll come unstuck. In the meantime, just make sure you don’t ever go out with her.’

‘Do you think she did it?’ Berrin had asked.

‘Thinking it and proving it are two very different things. If I can’t prove it, then I prefer not to make a judgement. Probably is all I’d say. Probably.’

It was a sunny morning in early September and I was walking down Cleveland Street towards the Middlesex Hospital. My mobile rang. It was Malik.

‘John, how are you?’ His tone was cheery, which wasn’t really a surprise. The object of his last year-and-a-half’s work, the Holtz family and their immense criminal enterprise, was finally unravelling. Some might even say it had something to do with my perseverance.

‘I’m well, Asif. You?’

‘Very good. Look, the reason for my call, it’s a thanks, really, for all the work you’ve done, and to let you know that this morning we arrested Vamen and six of his associates on a whole variety of charges relating to their activities. And Merriweather’s continuing to sing like the proverbial canary.’

‘I’m glad he’s proving useful. It’s a pity he’s got to get immunity, though.’

‘Well, he’s not going to get full immunity. There are a couple of charges he’s going to be facing, and he might get a nominal spell inside.’

‘Not nearly as much as he deserves, though.’

‘You know the score, John. Sometimes you’ve got to swallow your principles when you’re dealing with people like that. Whatever happens, he’s a marked man for the rest of his life. I’d rather not be in his boots.’

‘Any sign of the bodies? Franks and the others?’

‘We’re still searching that maggot farm but I’m not optimistic. The maggots will have eaten all the flesh and apparently the bones were ground down afterwards. It seems they’ve done it with a few people.’

‘I bet they have. What about the knife in the Robert Jones murder?’ Merriweather had told us that Joe Riggs had been at the Fowler murder scene that night, and had retrieved the knife and the tape from Fowler’s briefcase while the night-club owner was being murdered. He had then weighed down the objects in a strongbox, and chucked them in the Thames.

‘Nothing yet, but we’re still looking.’

‘I think that’s my only regret in all this,’ I said, ‘that we didn’t get a chance to bring either Franks or Matthews to trial for the killing.’

‘In a way it’s better this way, isn’t it? There wasn’t a huge amount of evidence against them. They could easily have got off, and then the family would have been devastated. At least now they know that the people who took their son away have paid a pretty heavy price.’

I wasn’t so sure. All we had was Merriweather’s word for that. Maybe he’d been more heavily involved than he’d let on, which would have explained why he’d co-operated so quickly when it had become obvious to him that the police were on the scent. If so, he was going to get off scot-free.

Malik asked me if I’d kept the family informed of what had been going on. ‘I have as much as possible. I think they realize now that no one’s ever going to go to prison for the murder but, like you say, maybe it’s better this way.’ Not that I really believed it.

‘I’m going to have to buy you lunch sometime soon,’ said Malik. ‘When things have settled a bit. I’ll give you a call, OK?’

‘Sure,’ I said, doubting if I’d be eating a slap-up meal on SO7 for a while yet. ‘That’d be nice.’

We said our goodbyes, and I walked into the hospital entrance.

Iversson

I was sitting up in bed in my hospital room and thinking about how I was going to get out of this situation. It didn’t look good. They had two armed coppers guarding me in shifts round the clock. I was obviously a real VIP. Very Important Prisoner, that is. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to be fighting my way out. Not only was I absolutely fucking exhausted, I also had a minor blood infection, and the wound in my shoulder was making the use of my right arm next to impossible. I was just going to have to front it and hope for the best. I’d thrown the Glock into a wheelie bin in Clerkenwell while I was on the way back to Elaine’s apartment on that final, fateful day when the bitch had finally showed her true colours, so at least there was no way that could be used against me. Most of my co-conspirators were dead, and if Elaine and whoever the gunman with her was didn’t break (and I had no reason to think they would), I might just be able to scrape through unscathed. I’d been taught anti-interrogation techniques back in my army days so I was reasonably confident I could hold my own, even in my weakened state. As the days had passed and my wounds had slowly healed, so my pecker — battered so badly (quite literally) by my experience with Elaine, and Joe’s betrayal — was finally going back up again. I will tell you something about me: I am nothing if not resilient.

I’d almost escaped, too, even after all the shit those bastards had put me through. While Gallan had been occupied by Elaine and the bloke with her, I’d grabbed the holdall with the money, opened up the window, and chucked it onto the roof of a parked Audi before jumping out myself and landing arse-first on the holdall and the roof. Unfortunately, in my haste, and due to my somewhat disorientated state, I’d neglected to put any clothes on and, though I’d made a manful bid for freedom, limping naked along the street with near enough half a million quid on my back, I was always going to look a little bit too conspicuous to be able to melt, commando-like, into my surroundings. I did manage about two hundred yards, though, with half a dozen coppers chasing me Benny Hill-style on foot, before a vicar, of all fucking people, who was cycling to his morning church service, had leapt from his environmentally friendly transport and rugby-tackled me from behind. That was it, then. I’d had enough. With even men of the cloth against me, I knew it was the end of the road.

But since then I’ve perked up. You know what they say: it ain’t over till it’s over. Believe it.

I leant over and picked up the book I was reading: How to Get Ahead in Business. You see, I was thinking of opening my own survival school, and after all that had happened there weren’t going to be many people better placed to teach survival than me. It was going to have to be from scratch, of course, now that the ransom money from the Holtz job had been lifted by the forces of law and order, but I knew it could be done.

There was a knock on the door and I looked up. It was Gallan again, looking quite spruced up by his standards, a smile on his face.

I tell you, I didn’t trust that bastard one inch.

Gallan

‘Hello, Max,’ I said, entering the room. I stopped at the end of the bed. ‘The doctors say you’re healing fast. Should be out of here in a few days.’

‘That’s right, and when I do, I don’t want you lot on my back. I’ve co-operated as much as possible and I’m not saying anything else, apart from I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about with all this kidnapping and killing lark. Is that clear?’

I smiled, used to Iversson’s clumsy attempts at putting me in my place. ‘Clear as a bell.’

‘Because I’ve got bigger fish to fry now.’ He showed me the book he was reading. How to Get Ahead in Business. Somehow I didn’t think Richard Branson would be quaking in his boots. ‘I’ve always been legit, and that’s how I intend to stay. I’ve held up my hands to that assault on those coppers who stopped me, but I was under duress at the time. So, I’m hoping to get bail, and to start again.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to happen, Max.’

Iversson’s expression hardened. It wasn’t a pretty sight. ‘Why the fuck not? I haven’t done anything. If it’s about that money, I had nothing-’

I held up my hand to quieten him. ‘It’s nothing to do with the money you were carrying.’ Looking surprised, he stopped speaking. ‘Max Iversson, I’m here to inform you that you are under arrest at the request of the German federal authorities who wish to question you with regard to the murder on the twenty-sixth of February 1993 of Elsa Kirsten Danziger.’

Iversson looked at me in utter disbelief, then seemed to slump in the bed. ‘I don’t believe this. You’ll be blaming me for John F. fucking Kennedy next.’

He really looked put out, and I might even have been tempted to believe him if I hadn’t already heard that the sample of DNA taken from him in the hospital a week earlier had been confirmed as matching that of the killer. He was one of the better liars I’d come across.

I turned slowly and walked away, thinking it was ironic that we would probably never solve the Matthews case, yet its investigation had almost single-handedly provided the clues that had successfully concluded so many others. As I thought about Neil Vamen languishing in a cell of his own design, it also proved my point that crime might have been a viable short-term business opportunity, but as a long-term career it was always the wrong move. And as the technological aids open to the police become more and more advanced, so even the crimes of the short-timers will come back to haunt them. Be sure your past will always find you out, as a preacher might say.

When I got back to the station, I went straight to the Matthews incident room, now the incident room for the investigation into the attempted murder of eighteen-year-old Barry Sevringham, knifed in the neck the previous night in a pub fight in King’s Cross. The world was already moving on, as were the criminals, never ones to sit around. Berrin was in there, as was WDC Boyd. Everyone else, I assumed, was out talking to witnesses and possible suspects. They both smiled at me as I walked in, and I thought that Boyd was looking good. She had red lipstick on, and it suited her. I hadn’t seen much of her these past couple of weeks and it struck me then that I’d missed her company. Maybe I’d see a bit more of her now we were working on the same case. I hoped so.

‘The DCI’d like to see you,’ said Berrin, motioning towards the office he’d been using for the Matthews inquiry.

‘Do you know what it’s about?’

They both said they didn’t, but I thought I saw the traces of a smile on Boyd’s red lips. I knocked on the door and went in.

‘John,’ said Knox, who was sitting behind the desk, ‘come in and sit down.’

I did as I was told. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ I asked.

‘Your work’s been excellent these past few weeks,’ he answered, and waited briefly for the obligatory thanks, which he got, before continuing. ‘Thanks in no small part to your efforts, and your persistence in the Matthews inquiry, it looks like we’ve got a number of results. The north London underworld’s in a lot of trouble as a result of the dismantling of the Holtzes, and it’s particularly good to be able to close the file on the Robert Jones case, and to give his family some sort of opportunity to move on. I’ve recommended to the superintendent that you be commended for your work on the Jones case, and I’ve also got a letter here from SO7 stating how much help your work’s been.’

‘Thank you, sir. It’s always nice to be appreciated.’

‘But that’s not what I asked you in here for.’

‘Oh?’

‘I want you to know that I’ve also recommended that you be considered for a DI post here at the station, and that the recommendation’s been accepted.’

I allowed myself a smile. ‘That’s excellent, sir. Thanks very much. I wasn’t aware there was actually a vacancy.’

‘Well, an unexpected one’s come up on this team,’ said Knox. ‘DI Capper’s asked for a transfer, and he’s moving on to another station.’

‘Really? I thought he was very happy here.’

Knox didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly debating with himself how much it was worth letting on. ‘Suffice to say some information came in from an anonymous source that didn’t cast him in a very positive light, and it seems that a number of officers in the station are aware of it. He didn’t think his position here was tenable and he’s moving to another division next week. He’s also dropping back down to DS level.’

So, there was justice in this world, and, more importantly, in the Metropolitan Police.

‘Between you and me,’ he added in a loud whisper, ‘it turns out he was something of a regular visitor to Heavenly Girls, which put him in a bit of a compromising position, and we can’t afford that. Better to get him out of the way rather than have the embarrassment of him remaining here with everyone knowing about it.’

Somehow I managed to keep the smile off my face. ‘It’s bad news losing such an experienced officer,’ I said worthily, remembering that it’s always best to play the game.

I wondered who it was who’d dobbed him in. It was either Jean Tanner or Berrin. Jean had told the two of us when the tape had been off that he’d been a long-standing and not particularly well-liked customer at Heavenly Girls (apparently he had a lot of difficulty getting it up, an unfortunate affliction for which he tended to blame the girls). I suspected that it might have been Berrin. Just a hunch, but it made sense. Jean was too much of a cold-blooded pro. Me, I would have kept the information to myself. You never know when it might have come in useful.

‘So, you’ll take up the post, then?’

Wild horses wouldn’t have stopped me. ‘Of course I will, sir. When’s it effective from?’

Knox smiled. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘You’re in charge of the Barry Sevringham case. Here’s what we’ve got so far.’

Iversson

I never meant to kill her, that’s all I can say. I’m going to be pleading not guilty by reason of temporary insanity, or whatever the defence is these days. There was no way I was in the right frame of mind when I bashed her head in that night. I’d been driven mad by her constant shagging of other men, and women, plus the fact that she didn’t care one fucking whit that I knew about it. And that Johnny Hexham reckoned he had girlfriend problems! He should have hung round with Elsa for a few days. She went through bodies like an overworked mortician. In the end, it just got too much, I snapped, and the rest is history. It was bad what I did, and I feel terrible about it, but I’m not the only villain in all this. She brought a lot of it on herself. And that Fenzer did smack her around a bit earlier on that night, I saw him do it. I heard that he often hit women, so he got what he deserved as well, didn’t he?

Anyway, who the fuck ever said life was fair? Not Max Iversson, that’s for sure. Never has been, never will be.