Abattoir Blues (24 page)

‘You OK?’ he asked Annie. She had been fidgety in the car and had phoned Doug Wilson on his mobile twice to check that Alex Preston was safe. She had told Banks on the way about her visit the previous evening, and about Alex’s phone call from Michael Lane.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, with a forced smile. ‘Ready to rock and roll.’

The lift doors opened at the reception area of Venture Properties, where an immaculately groomed receptionist, whose name tag read brenda, sat behind a semicircular desk under the red company logo on the wall. The area smelled faintly of nail varnish remover.

Brenda smiled her patent smile of greeting, tinged with a hint of suspicion she no doubt reserved for newcomers, and said, ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

Banks showed his warrant card. ‘We’re here to see Mr Norrington.’

Brenda seemed unimpressed by the official identification. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Yes,’ said Banks.

‘Please take a seat.’ She gestured towards a modular orange couch arranged around a glass table, on which was spread a selection of magazines: the
Economist
,
House & Home
, along with the
Financial Times
and a selection of the morning’s papers, all looking untouched.

Brenda busied herself on the telephone, her voice reduced to a distant whisper. When she hung up, she said, ‘Mr Norrington will see you in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?’

‘Coffee, please. Black, two sugars,’ said Annie.

Banks asked for water.

Brenda disappeared and came back seconds later with a cup and saucer and a plastic bottle of fizzy water. Before Annie had managed to finish her coffee, Brenda’s phone buzzed and she asked them to follow her.

Norrington’s office was at the end of the corridor. It was larger than the entire Eastvale squad room, and the far wall was one giant picture window. The sky was grey, so the venetian blinds were up. Unfortunately, the window didn’t look out over the city centre, but towards the south, a flat and dreary wasteland of other office buildings, arterial roads, factory yards and retail warehouse outlets. Banks could even see the sprawling shopping park at Crown Point. Beyond that, lanes of traffic sped on the M621 as it coiled through the run-down urban areas of Hunslet and Beeston. Perhaps the view was an inspiration to property developers, Banks thought, a spur to bigger and better things. To most, though, he imagined it would be depressing.

Norrington himself had the look of a man who was comfortable with his environment. As he stood up and came forward to greet them, Banks noticed he had hung his suit jacket on the back of his chair, had his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his arms and his tie loose at the collar, the way Banks liked to wear his when he had to wear one. His thinning grey hair was swept back and his nose slightly bulbous. His manner was open and polite. He even gave a little bow when Banks introduced Annie, and for a moment Banks thought he was going to kiss her hand. Instead, he offered more refreshments, which both Banks and Annie declined, then bade them sit. Their chairs were wide and comfortable, and faced the large window. At that angle, they could see only the sky, not the wastelands of south Leeds.

‘One of our colleagues rang you yesterday, I believe?’ Banks said.

‘She talked to Geoffrey Melrose, not to me,’ said Norrington. ‘He’s my partner, to all intents and purposes. I’m afraid he’s had to go to London on business today, but I can help you with anything you need.’

‘I hope so. My colleague said she got rather short shrift.’

‘Geoff’s a busy man. He told me it was something to do with the Drewick development.’

‘That’s right. The old airfield with the hangar. How long have you owned the property?’

‘About four years now. It was run-down for years, going cheap, so we bought it for the land. Ever since then we’ve been trying to get zoning laws and investors in line for a new shopping development. It’s a long haul, I can tell you.’

‘Do such things usually take so long?’

‘It depends. You certainly need patience in this business, though.’

‘While you’re negotiating all this, who takes care of the property?’

‘Again, it depends on the property.’

‘In this case.’

Norrington leaned back in his chair and started stretching a rubber band. ‘In this case, nobody, really. There seemed little point in employing a nightwatchman or a security company as there was nothing there to watch. The chain-link and gates were already in place. We put up all the required signs and padlocks. I suppose some schoolkids might have managed to sneak in through a hole in the fence, but even a nightwatchman probably couldn’t have prevented that. Kids get everywhere.’

‘Too true,’ Banks agreed. ‘And anyone can take a pair of bolt cutters and replace your chain and padlock with their own. Did you ever consider whether the premises were being used for criminal activity?’

‘Why would I? We have many properties awaiting development, and it’s never been an issue before.’ Norrington put his rubber band down and wagged his finger. ‘Now, I do hope you aren’t trying to lay the blame for anything like that at our feet. Is this a matter of liability?’

‘Well, as a legal issue, I suppose it might interest the lawyers and cost everyone else a fortune. But nobody’s blaming anyone. That’s not why we’re here.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

‘Of course we didn’t know anything about criminal activities. I’m shocked to hear that you think we did.’

‘Not only that, Mr Norrington,’ said Annie, ‘but the area is now also a crime scene, a possible murder scene, in fact. What do you think of that?’

‘I don’t know what to think. I find it very hard to believe, as a matter of fact. Besides, you can’t blame any of this on us.’

Banks stood up and walked over to the window. Norrington swivelled his chair so he could keep his eyes on him.

‘Believe me, it’s true,’ Annie went on. Norrington didn’t seem to know who to look at. He finally decided on Annie.

‘But what can I possibly do to help you?’ he asked. ‘I’ve already told you, we’ve been involved in negotiations to develop that property for years now. It’s not as if we stand guard over it or anything. Sometimes these things move very slowly.’

‘What’s the matter? Not managed to grease the right palms yet?’ said Banks, reclaiming his chair again. ‘Not found the right city councillors to enlist in the cause?’

Norrington reddened. ‘I resent that.’

‘Of course you do. But it happens in your business, doesn’t it?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Norrington went on, ‘that’s not the problem at all. Not that we’d resort to such a thing.’

‘Course not. What is the problem, then?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s investors. Lack thereof. To put it crudely, we’re still a bit short of the readies to make a start, even with the requisite planning permission, which we are on the verge of acquiring.’

‘I’m surprised you can’t get anyone to invest in the building of a major shopping centre where there isn’t any competition for miles around.’

‘It surprises me, too, but that’s the way it happens sometimes. Man plans. God laughs.’

‘I’ve had that feeling myself, often,’ said Banks. ‘Wouldn’t it help if you rented the place out for some private venture in the meantime? Perhaps that would bring in the cash you need? Help you keep your heads above water until it’s time to proceed?’

‘Too much hassle,’ said Norrington. ‘Then we
would
have to hire security and worry about it all the time. We’ll get the money. And by legitimate means.’ Norrington glanced from Banks to Annie and back. ‘What exactly is it that you want from me, Mr Banks? I do have things to do, you know. Important things.’

‘I’m sure you do. And we’ll try not to keep you much longer. For a start, I’d like to know if you have any idea who has been using the old airfield and hangar as a transfer point on a trafficking route.’

‘Trafficking? What do you mean? What trafficking?’

‘Stolen farm equipment and livestock. Maybe other things. People. Drugs. We don’t know the full extent of the operation yet. It’s an ideal location, though. Isolated, unguarded, close to the A1.’

‘I have no knowledge of any such activity.’ Norrington seemed shaken. He stood up, took his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. ‘Look, I think I’m going to have to ask our legal representatives to come in if our conversation continues in this vein.’

‘Why?’ asked Banks.

‘These insinuations you’re making.’

‘I’m not making any insinuations. Do you have something to hide?’

‘No, of course I don’t. It’s just . . . well, I don’t know what you’re after.’

Banks scratched his scar. ‘You know, I’m not always too sure myself, Mr Norrington. I often feel as if I’m just digging around until my shovel hits something. I tell you what. Why don’t you just take your jacket off, nice and informal like, then sit down, and we’ll carry on. OK?’

Norrington hesitated, then seemed to relax and did as Banks suggested, though the suspicious expression remained on his face. ‘All right,’ he said, spreading his hands. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

‘Good. Can you give us a list of the investors who’ve signed up for Drewick already?’

‘I’m afraid that’s privileged information. I can’t just go around giving out names. Some of these individuals might wish to remain anonymous. Surely you understand that?’

Banks leaned forward. ‘Mr Norrington, perhaps it’s us who ought to bring our legal representatives. In our case, it’s called the Crown Prosecution Service, and they’re very busy, but I’m sure we could persuade someone it’s in a good cause. Next to the Internal Revenue, bankers, town planners and lawyers themselves, property developers are pretty low down in the popularity stakes, you know.’

‘We do an important and necessary job.’

‘Just as we do,’ said Banks. ‘So let’s all do it. Accepting that you are an honest businessman, it doesn’t have to follow that all of your investors are. One of them might have had an idea for putting the property to good use while he waited for a return on his investment.’

Norrington ummed and aahed for a while longer, then rang through to his secretary and asked her to make a photocopy of the Drewick Shopping Centre investor list. ‘Just to show we’ve nothing to hide,’ he added. ‘Though I would appreciate your discretion in the matter.’

‘We’ll prove the very souls of discretion, don’t you worry.’ It would probably come to nothing, Banks knew, as anyone who was using the hangar for criminal purposes was hardly likely to be connected to the place on paper. But it all had to be checked: criminals get too clever and slip up, or they’re just plain stupid to start with.

The secretary knocked and entered with the photocopy, which Norrington directed her to give to Banks.        

‘Is there anything else?’ Norrington asked.

‘Have you ever visited the site yourself?’

‘Once. Years ago, when we first acquired the property.’

‘2009?’

‘Around then, yes.’

‘Do you always check out your firm’s acquisitions?’

‘I usually try to.’

‘Perhaps you could have your secretary make us a copy of the list of other properties your company is preparing for development before we leave, too?’

‘Wait a minute. I’ve already given you the list of investors, against my better judgement. I really don’t see why we should be expected to give you a list of our properties.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Again, it’s private information, privileged.’

‘Mr Norrington, your company owns a property on which a brutal murder has been committed, and which we believe to be a transfer point for stolen goods shipments. How do we know you aren’t using other properties you own for the same purposes? Absentee landlords or not, Venture Property Development can’t shirk responsibility entirely. Or the publicity that could come with it.’ Banks glanced at Annie. ‘I’m sure you can get a court order in an hour or less, DI Cabbot. I’ll wait here with Mr Norrington until you get back.’

Annie stood up. Banks held his breath as she walked to the door. There was no way she could return with a court order within a couple of hours, so he could only hope his bluff worked.

‘Wait. Wait,’ said Norrington, waving his hand as Annie grasped the door handle. ‘If it’ll get rid of you once and for all, fine. I’ve got work to do.’ Slowly he picked up the phone and gave the instructions. After he had done so, he went on, ‘I would like to inform you, however, that I don’t appreciate threats, and I will be talking to the company’s legal department immediately after you leave. Any further intrusions into our time and our business records will be a lot more difficult to carry out and will be done in the presence of legal representation. And remember: the names on that list are private property.’

Banks and Annie got up to leave. ‘Thanks, Mr Norrington, you’ve been a great help,’ Banks said over his shoulder. ‘You certainly sound as if you know the drill. No, don’t bother to see us out. We’ll pick up the list of properties from your secretary on our way.’

Chapter 9

The team gathered in the boardroom at the end of the day, as the last rays of sunlight struggled in vain to blaze a trail of glory through the thickening clouds. Gervaise, Banks, Annie, Gerry Masterson, Stefan, Jazz Singh and Winsome were present. Only Doug Wilson among the major team members was missing, and as soon as he had organised his replacements to keep watch over Alex and Ian Preston, his job would be done for the day. He had already reported no progress with the train companies. Banks had guessed it might lead to nothing, but it was an avenue that had to be explored. Someone had sent to the canteen for a pot of coffee and a plate of digestive biscuits. Banks was thinking a bottle of wine or a barrel of beer would not have gone amiss. His mouth watered when he remembered the old Maigret stories his father had introduced him to: Maigret was always sending out to the local bar for beer and sandwiches from the Brasserie Dauphine. No such luck here.

The overhead fluorescent lights were turned off and a couple of tasteful shaded lamps provided a soft ambient glow that everyone seemed to need after the long and frustrating day they’d had. Banks knew they needed a break in the case soon, and the meeting was being held to try and determine from which direction that lead might come. Tacked to the whiteboard next to a sketch of Morgan Spencer and a picture of Beddoes’ bright green Deutz-Fahr Agrotron were images of the penetrating bolt gun and the man Alex had described to the police sketch artists. There was no news from Vic Manson on the fingerprints yet, but Banks knew that Vic was a patient man, and sometimes these things took time to get right. He’d come up with something, even if they had to wait until tomorrow.