‘Have you got a list anywhere of the employees of Contracts who served in Bosnia?’
He sighed. ‘I thought you might ask that. I haven’t, no.’
‘But presumably you could dig up the information?’
He sighed again. ‘It means going back over the old accounts for the company, but yes, the information can be dug up, as you put it. Though it would probably take a bit of time.’
‘I would greatly appreciate it, sir, if you could provide us with a complete list. It may well be very useful to our inquiry.’
‘I’ll see what I can come up with.’
I stood up, and Berrin followed suit. ‘Thank you very much for that, Mr Leppel,’ I said, putting out my hand, ‘and for your time.’
Leppel stepped forward and gave it a brief shake. ‘You’re certainly a lot less difficult to deal with than the last lot who paid me a visit.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘If you do get to speak to Tony, send him my regards, will you?’ he said as he led us out to the lifts.
I nodded, and said that I would. ‘Did you get on well with him, then?’
‘He was good company, and very professional. I like dealing with people like him.’
When we were outside, I looked at my watch. Twenty past five. The streets of the City of London were beginning to fill with the first wave of smartly dressed workers hurrying like ants in every direction, none looking as if they had a moment to spare.
‘Do you think this Tony Franks character could have something to do with Matthews’s death, then, Sarge?’ asked Berrin as we started walking towards Moorgate Tube.
‘He’s linked to the Holtzes, albeit fairly indirectly, and he’s linked, again indirectly, to the snake poison. It’s not a lot to go on, but it’s something. Did the name mean anything to you?’
Berrin shook his head. ‘No, never heard of him. Does it to you?’
‘It does, but I can’t think from where.’
‘Something’s going on at that Tiger Solutions, though, isn’t it?’
‘The name keeps coming up, that’s for sure, and it’s not a name you’re going to forget. We’re going to have to pay another visit to Joe Riggs, but I think maybe we should leave it for a day or two. I’d like to have something to pressure him with, and at the moment we haven’t got much.’
‘At least now we’re beginning to get somewhere, though.’ For the first time in a while, he sounded enthused.
When we got to Moorgate Tube it was shut by a security alert, and the traffic had near enough ground to a halt. I called Malik on my mobile but he wasn’t answering, so I left a message, asking him to call back urgently. I’d intended to go back to the station, but by the time the two of us had walked up to Old Street it was twenty to six and hardly worth it, so we went our separate ways.
But on the Underground, heading back home, sweating with the commuters, I couldn’t get the name Tony Franks out of my mind. It bugged me, so much so that I got off at Highbury and Islington and returned to work, thinking that I’d never be able to relax until I’d satisfied my curiosity.
As usual, the incident room was empty, which suited me just fine. I switched on my PC, got a coffee while it booted up, and logged on to our criminal database. I then typed in: Franks, Anthony.
One match.
I opened the file and a photograph of a good-looking, youngish man with short dark hair and a calm, almost mocking expression appeared. It was the same man in the photograph with Jackie Slap. According to the computer, he’d been arrested in December 1997 on suspicion of the importation of Class A drugs, but released without charge. He had no convictions, and did not appear to have been arrested on any further charges.
I looked at the mugshot for a long time, racking my brains, trying to remember where the hell I knew him from. I’d questioned him about something. Something not that recent, but also not that long ago. It had been a serious crime but Franks had not been a suspect. He’d answered the questions put to him helpfully and with the right level of concern. I remembered I’d found him a likeable character. He’d said he worked in security. He’d once been a bodyguard for Geri Halliwell.
And then it came to me, and I was puzzled because I wasn’t sure what the information meant. I’d questioned him at his home, and the reason was that Tony Franks had lived on the very same street on which thirteen-year-old paperboy Robert Jones had last been seen alive on a cold, dark February morning all those months ago.
Iversson
‘So you can’t tell me nothing about it?’ said Johnny, looking at me like he honestly thought I might suddenly change my mind.
‘Not at the moment.’ I pulled the cap low over my face, then climbed into the passenger side of the red Mercedes van that would be used to transport Krys Holtz the two miles from Heavenly Girls to the lock-up in Finchley Joe had rented the previous day where we’d be changing vehicles. Johnny got in the driver’s side and took the car out onto City Road.
‘I hope it’s nothing that’s going to get me in trouble, Max. I like a quiet life, you know.’
‘As do I, Johnny, which is something you should have thought about when your recommendation almost got me blown away.’
‘Give us a Scooby.’
‘A what?’
‘A Scooby Doo, clue. Just so I’ve got some idea. Is it something illegal?’
‘I’ve asked you to steal two vehicles, both of which are going to end up burnt out. What do you think?’
‘I think I’m fucking nervous.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Where are we heading, then?’
‘A pick-up in Muswell Hill.’ I gave him the address and the main road it was off. ‘You know how to get there?’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’ It was half ten and long dark. The streets were fairly quiet, it being a Monday night, and a light rain was falling. ‘So, I might not be needed after tonight, then?’
‘Not if all goes according to plan, but don’t bet on it. It might take a while.’
We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. Johnny continued to look nervous and uncomfortable but he drove without losing concentration and within fifteen minutes we’d pulled up outside Joe’s place, a flat in a slightly worn- out-looking redbrick townhouse. I rang up to him on the mobile and a couple of minutes later Joe, Tugger Lewis and Mike Kalinski came out of the door. Tugger was dressed in a suit while Joe and Kalinski wore similar boiler suits to the ones Johnny and I were wearing, and both were carrying holdalls. Tugger came round to my door while the other two went straight to the back of the van and climbed inside. I stepped out and let him in. ‘Johnny, Tugger. Tugger, Johnny. You two are going to be spending some time together. Johnny, do whatever Tugger says.’
‘Hold on, Max. I thought-’
‘I’m going in the back. Less attention that way.’
I gave Johnny the address of Heavenly Girls, shut the passenger door, and got in the back with Joe and Kalinski. Joe gave a double knock on the interior panel separating the back from the front, and Johnny pulled away from the kerb.
Ten minutes later, the van parked up and I heard Tugger getting out to feed the meter. I looked at my watch. It was five to eleven.
An hour passed, and we sat there in relative silence, occasionally hearing Johnny’s muffled voice jabbering on about something in the front, and the odd bored-sounding reply from Tugger. Traffic on the road seemed quiet. Joe had watched the place the previous night and Krys hadn’t shown. It was anyone’s guess whether he’d come again this evening, but if he did we were prepared.
I watched Kalinski as he sat staring up at the van’s ceiling, chainsmoking Rothmans. To be honest, I didn’t much like him. He was too flash; a typical robber really. When I’d met him the previous night, he’d been dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, with gold cufflinks on his shirtsleeves and a thick gold Rolex any self-respecting mugger would have killed him for. I don’t like people who think they’re bigshots, and Kalinski definitely rated himself as one. Joe had told me that he’d claimed to have earned more than a million quid down the years through armed
