The Last Big Job (52 page)

Nor did he reveal Loz’s admissions about his own involvement
in Crane’s drug operations from the island as this would have
complicated matters. Henry had decided to tell the Spaniards about
this further down the line.

In the meantime, the debriefing of Loz would continue and
Henry and Danny decided to take the opportunity to visit Barney
Gillrow.

It was 10 a.m. as the two lovers, two cops, strolled
arm-in-arm along the Los Cristianos sea-front towards Playa de las
Americas. They had a noon meeting arranged with Loz, so had a
couple of free hours to put the frighteners up Gillrow. As they
strolled along, Danny pointed out the sights - such as the spot
where she was indecently assaulted on the beach by Loz. She laughed
about it now, though she could not warm to Loz who had shown no
remorse or offered an apology.

They dawdled along, actually relishing the approaches of the
timeshare touts who thought they were a married couple. Thoughts of
a difficult future were a long way from their minds. For the time
being, they were revelling in the present, both never happier in
this false, transient environment in which they were floating at
the moment, which seemed a million miles away from
reality.

‘
Ah well, here we go,’ Henry said outside the door to
Gillrow’s apartment. He rolled his shoulders and slicked back his
hair, then knocked.

Gillrow answered and was plainly shocked to see Danny standing
there. He squinted at Henry with a faint glimmer of
recognition.

‘
I’m Henry Christie, now a Detective Inspector. You might
remember me as a PC. You’ve already made the acquaintance of DS
Furness.’

‘
I have nothing further to say,’ Gillrow snapped.

Henry heaved a sigh and gave the ex-detective the hard stare
without saying anything. Gillrow held the look for a few moments,
remembering how many times he had given it to guilty felons
himself, then cracked. He swallowed. ‘Come in.’

He was alone in the apartment, his wife was out shopping. As
before, he motioned them towards the balcony for a discussion,
except this time no drinks were offered.

Henry said, ‘I’d like to go back to 1986, please.’

Lawrence Brayfield - Loz - was once again on the rooftop of
Uncle B’s English Bar and Disco, sitting underneath a sunshade. It
was a position to which he gravitated regularly these days. In the
cage at the far end of the flat roof, Nero lounged indolently in
the hot sun, rolling on his back, licking himself with his muscular
rasping tongue. The cage floor, uncleaned for four days, was a mess
of urine and faeces. Nero was beginning to show signs of neglect.
His stench - overpowering at the best of times - was
dreadful.

Loz was happy with the way things were panning out. He had
already received two grand of the promised initial three and was
certain he would get the final instalment later that day. By the
end of tomorrow he expected to be talking to the Witness Protection
Officer about his future: living somewhere in Southern England,
with a new identity and everything that went with it. There was no
doubt he would need all the protection the cops could offer because
Billy Crane - vindictive, violent, vengeful bastard that he was, a
man who never let a grudge die - would either want to kill him
personally or contract someone to do it for him. Loz knew his life
would be under threat for as long as Crane lived, but he was
prepared for it and had worked out, in his mind, that the risk was
worth taking. His eyes were fixed firmly on that two hundred
thousand pounds reward money.

But until the cops arrested Crane, everything had to go on as
normal. Crane had eyes and ears everywhere and if he smelled a rat,
he would bolt - and then Loz would very definitely have a problem.
He had to keep things ticking over - which included looking after
Nero.

Loz crossed to the cage and regarded the big cat. Then he
looked down at the hand Nero had chewed on. The cops had arranged
some proper medical treatment and it was improving, smelling less,
feeling more like a real hand. This, however, did not make Loz feel
any less animosity towards Nero. He still hated the beast with
venom.

His last act of betrayal towards Crane would be to feed Nero
with poisoned horsemeat, sit back with a long beer and enjoy
watching the creature writhe agonisingly to a slow death in its own
shit and piss.

The expression on Loz’s face, as he thought about this, was
pure evil.

‘
In your wildest dreams, Barney, could you ever have imagined
us not coming back to see you after the way you warned DS Furness
off?’

Gillrow stayed numb for a few moments, then said, ‘I don’t
know what you mean.’

‘
Let me put it this way,’ Henry said in a tone of voice that
would let Gillrow understand the message behind the words - i.e.
that he knew everything. ‘We know you tried to see Billy Crane
after Danny visited you, and we know that stupid henchman of his
tried to warn her off and at the same time indecently assaulted her
and tried to rape her.’

Gillrow’s head fell at this. ‘Oh, God,’ he uttered
desperately.

‘
We are in the process of dismantling Crane’s organisation,
ripping it apart bit by bit - which means going for an historical
perspective as well. If that means ripping you apart with it,
Barney, then I’ll be more than pleased to do it, so I think you
should consider long and hard about helping yourself here, because
no one else will- especially Billy Crane.’

The ex-detective stood up suddenly and walked away into the
lounge area, deep in troubled thought. He did not know it, but
Henry had very little on him at all, other than a piece of paper
from the financial analysts and the sketchy details Loz had
supplied. Gillrow returned and sat down wearily in a chair, his
expression defeated. Henry’s cold eyes told him in no uncertain
terms that he would not be let off the hook.

‘
What can you give me?’ Gillrow asked.

‘
In terms of promises?’ Henry asked. ‘Nothing - until I’m
satisfied you’ve told me every last detail. Then I’ll make
decisions and recommendations.’

Gillrow nodded. He had expected this answer. ‘I’ve been
dreading this day. I knew it would come.’ He looked at Danny. ‘I’m
sorry about what happened to you, DS Furness. I never imagined he
would try to sexually assault you.’ Gillrow rubbed his eyes
wearily. ‘Where do I start?’ Henry then knew he had him - a man
about to unburden himself, a wonderful thing for a detective to
behold.

‘
How about with Malcolm Fitch, Billy Crane and this?’ Henry
held up the sheet the financial analysts had prepared for him. ‘The
thirty thousand pounds in cash you put down as a deposit for this
apartment in 1986 and the seventy thousand you received two years
ago to payoff the loan. I’d like to hear about all of those
things.’

The briefing had been very unusual in that the Russian, Yuri
Ivankov, had been summoned from Gozo to Moscow, to a massive hotel
overlooking the Moscow River; here, Alexandr Drozdov lived and ran
his empire from a penthouse apartment, having ruthlessly driven out
the rightful owners. A taxi collected Ivankov at the airport and
took him to the hotel where he was met at reception and searched;
no one was allowed into Old Man Drozdov’s presence armed, other
than his immediate trusted bodyguards.

The penthouse was actually two large apartments knocked into
one. A huge, armoured-glass window, capable of withstanding a
missile attack, gave a superb view of Gorky Park, one which the
Russian did not have time to admire. He was rushed into Drozdov’s
presence straight away; the old man was sitting at a desk, typing
on a laptop - old fingers, new technology.

‘
Yuri,’ he said gravely, raising his head. ‘I have bad
news.’

Ivankov had no idea why he was there, only that it must be of
major importance to actually see Alexandr in person; he usually
received all instructions through third parties. The opening
comment from Drozdov made the killer wary. His skin seemed to
tighten on his body. Could it be that his end had come? If so, what
had he done to bring it about? Would he have the opportunity to
bargain for his life?

He looked slyly from side to side, noting that Drozdov was
flanked by two armed guards, standing either side, several steps
behind so as not to crowd him. There was also the bear-like
lieutenant, Serov, Drozdov’s most trusted aide, positioned behind
the Russian, maybe six feet away. The Russian could not see this
man but could sense and smell him. Maybe he already had a gun out,
prepared to kill on the old man’s nod.

In a fraction of as second, Ivankov had weighed up the odds.
They were not in his favour.

If he had been brought in here to be executed, then Serov had
to be Ivankov’s first target. Even though he had been searched, the
stiletto was still up his sleeve ... he would have to turn quickly,
drive the knife up through the man’s bearded chin into his brain;
at the same time he would have to spin him round for protection
from the other guards, seize the weapon from him and take the other
two out before shooting Drozdov himself. He had it all worked out.
He would not be killed without a fight.

‘
Nikolai has been murdered,’ Alexandr Drozdov said, startling
the Russian, who was speechless. He knew Nikolai was being groomed
for the next Mafia Tsar.

‘
How?’ he stuttered. ‘This is dreadful news. You have my
sincerest sympathy.’ He meant it.

Drozdov nodded a thanks. ‘The “how” is irrelevant, Yuri. That
is the past. It cannot be changed, but the future can become
inevitable. Please find his murderer and kill him brutally and
without mercy. Make him suffer.’

Ivankov said, ‘I will do that gladly. I will do that for
love.’

‘
Thank you.’ The old man’s spidery finger pointed to the bear
man. ‘Serov will furnish you with details ... and there is one
other thing. Yuri: Nikolai’s murderer stole twenty million pounds
from us. Before he dies, ensure he reveals the whereabouts of that
money.’ Ever the businessman. He waved the Russian away. ‘As I
said, Serov will give you details.’

Several days later Ivankov’s investigations, based on what he
had been told and what he had discovered for himself, led him to
Tenerife where he was sitting, sipping strong Turkish coffee on a
pavement cafe across the road from Uncle B’s English Bar and
Disco.

‘
I do not want my wife to be involved in any of this,’ Barney
Gillrow said firmly.

Neither Henry nor Danny responded. They were going to make no
guarantees.

Gillrow’s face tightened. ‘You’re a pair of
bastards.’

Henry raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘Get on
with it,’ he said.

There was a dictaphone on the table, whirring
quietly.

‘
You were right,’ Gillrow told Danny. ‘Malcolm Pitch
was
one of my
informants. I recruited him in the early eighties after I got him
convicted on a couple of conspiracy charges. He was nothing but a
shit-bag, really, on the periphery of big stuff. But he knew lots
and lots of people. I used him successfully on numerous
occasions.’

‘
Even though you didn’t keep any records,’ Danny pointed
out.

He shrugged. ‘No one did in those days.’

‘
And that made it right?’ She was incredulous.

‘
No.’ He leaned towards her with a sneer. ‘But it was the
system, the culture. Every fucker did it, even down to sharing
informants’ pay-outs.’

‘
Did you?’ Henry asked.

Gillrow considered the question. He was deep enough in the
mire as it was without having to admit to something else. ‘No - I
did not.’

Henry allowed himself a little inward smile. He knew there was
no chance of Gillrow blabbing out everything in this sweep. It was
doubtful whether he would ever reveal the whole picture of his
corruption - and Henry was under no illusions here: Gillrow had
been a very bent cop - so for the moment at least, he did not feel
a need to push the issue. Later, it would be a very different
matter.

‘
Tell us about Fitch and Crane.’

‘
Like I’ve already said, Fitch was on the periphery of things,
but not above trying his best to get deeply involved with some
pretty heavy people, amongst whom was Billy Crane. Fitch had been
grassing for me long before Crane came into the frame. I was really
pushing him to flash himself around the East Lancashire criminal
fraternity and he gave me some bloody good stuff, but some of it
was close to the edge too.’

‘
How do you mean?’ Danny asked.

‘
Fitch was a participating informant, for a start. He took
part in jobs and didn’t get prosecuted for them for one reason or
another - usually on a technicality that I dreamed up, or got some
evidence misplaced, whatever.’

Henry shook his head in disbelief. Handling participating
informants - PIs as they are known - is a minefield of legal
complexity. An informant can only be allowed to participate so far
in the commission of a crime - usually at the very early stages of
planning it - and then they have to be removed in a way which
doesn’t alert the other criminals involved. It sounded like Gillrow
had allowed Fitch to go all the way to the commission of crimes.
Very bad practice, to say the least. Henry knew it happened a lot
in the 1970s and 1980s - which is one of the reasons the rules were
tightened up.