‘Except it didn’t work out like that. Joe’s been rumbling on about his partner, Iversson — the naked bloke you nicked — for a long time, and even thinks that Iversson might have offed his missus — that’s Joe’s missus — years back. So, when it’s all set up, Joe makes sure that Iversson’s one of the ones escorting Fowler, because he wants Tony to take him out as well. Only problem is, Iversson was a bit tastier than Tony was prepared for, and Tony was the one who got shot.’
‘So Iversson didn’t have anything to do with the murder of Fowler?’
He looked at me. ‘No. He didn’t have a clue what was going on. The thing was, though, he was now a fucking complication. He knew what had happened, plus you lot were after him, so things could have got very dodgy if he’d been picked up.
‘We were still thinking what to do about him when he turns up at the Arcadia and ends up in the sack with Elaine Toms, who, as it happens, is one of Neil’s exes and a girl he’s got a real soft spot for. They were going to have Iversson killed round her flat, which was where he was staying after you lot started looking for him, but then Neil has a bit of an idea. A better way of dealing with him. Like I said earlier, Neil’s been looking to move in on Stefan for a while, but it was never going to be easy because Stefan didn’t move from that fucking house of his, and he’s guarded to the hilt. Plus, Neil doesn’t want to be seen to do anything that’ll make him look disloyal. Far better to get someone else to do it. So he gets Elaine to push Iversson into kidnapping Krys because he knows that’s the only way he’s going to get Stefan out into the open. Joe helps her set everything up, Krys gets lifted, and when Stefan turns up at the rendezvous with the ransom money, he gets popped by our people. And the beauty of it is that no one suspects Neil at all.’
‘What happened at the farmhouse?’ asked Knox. ‘We found Riggs’s body there, as well as a number of others, including Krys Holtz’s.’
Merriweather sighed. ‘That was Riggs’s fault. He was meant to sort out Krys and Iversson and leave their bodies there so that Iversson would get the blame for everything, but that fucker’s got a real knack for staying alive, and it was Riggs who got killed. When Riggs didn’t show up to say that it had all been sorted, we had to take our own evasive action. We thought Iversson would head for Elaine’s so I went round there, just in case she couldn’t handle things, and that’s where you found me. She tried to kill him, he attacked her, and I just got in the way.’
‘What about Shaun Matthews?’ I asked. ‘Who killed him if it was no one from your own organization?’
‘Christ knows,’ said Merriweather. ‘Who the fuck poisons anyone anyway? It’s a recipe for getting caught these days, what with all them technological advantages you lot have got.’
‘Our information strongly suggests that Matthews’s girlfriend of a number of months was also a mistress of Neil Vamen.’
‘Who’s that, then?’
‘Her name’s Jean Tanner.’
For the first time in the interview, Merriweather laughed, although there wasn’t much humour in it. ‘Oh yeah, you were on about her in the Seven Bells the other week, weren’t you? Nah, I wouldn’t put it quite like that. They went out for a little while — old Neil likes to have a few girlfriends — but it was all over way back.’
‘When?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno, four, five months ago? But she was a right weirdo. Used to work in Heavenly Girls, but even the punters stayed a bit clear of her. She was nice looking, and all right when you first met her, but, I dunno, it’s difficult to put your finger on, but something about her wasn’t quite right, know what I mean? I know old Neil was glad to get rid of her. As it happens, I think she was the first girl he’d ever been with who actually scared him — not that he’d ever admit it, of course.’
‘So, what about Craig McBride?’ I asked.
‘Craigy? They said he died of a smack overdose, didn’t they? Not that I ever saw him take any. Always thought he was more of a coke man myself. He died round her place, didn’t he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d helped him along.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘I dunno, maybe he was annoying her or something. The thing is with her, she was the sort you could imagine doing something like that, do you know what I mean? She was dodgy.’
‘And it takes one to know one, eh, Jack?’ said Knox.
‘Whatever.’
We all sat in silence for a while while Merriweather sucked up what was left of his latest cigarette.
‘So, do you think she could have killed Matthews, too?’ asked Knox eventually.
He shrugged again. ‘Fuck knows. That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?’
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-
