you ask me, it was because he spent more time licking envelopes than licking her. He’s that kind of person. Power is more important to him than romantic or sexual relationships. The youth thing is just part of his shtick. He actually used to be involved in church groups, youth clubs, that sort of thing. He was even a Boys’ Brigade leader at one time. Always did like paramilitary organizations and uniforms.”
“What happened?”
“He got kicked out for trying to recruit kids to the BNP. Anyway, a big part of his thing is the emphasis on the old British values and virtues: war games in the Pennines, crafts, camping, hiking, survival techniques, a healthy mind and healthy body. That sort of thing.”
“Baden-Powell with swastikas?”
“If you like. He even throws in a bit of environmentalist stuff to hook the greenies. You know – preserve the traditional English village against pollution, that sort of thing. Thing is, to him pollution isn’t only a matter of destroying the ozone layer and the rain forests or what have you, it includes most non-Aryan racial groups. Perhaps Nev’s only saving grace as a human being is that his overriding trait is greed.”
“What do you mean?”
Craig rubbed his cheek and frowned. “Just an observation of mine. Haven’t you sometimes thought that people’s vices are often the only things that make them interesting? As a pure neo-Nazi, Nev would simply be a bore. A sick and dangerous bore, perhaps, but a bore nonetheless. Predictable. It’s the other stuff that’s interesting, the stuff we didn’t expect.”
“Burgess mentioned drugs. Is that right?”
Craig nodded, finished his beer and slid the bottle aside. “Fancy walking?”
“Why not.”
They paid their bill and walked outside. There were still plenty of people on the streets, especially along Albert Cuypstraat, where they walked through the debris of that afternoon’s market – wilted lettuce leaves, a squashed tomato, chicken bones, a piece of cardboard that said “f4.50” on it. The smell of fish still infused the evening air. Now Banks knew why Sarphatipark had felt so familiar. He and Sandra
“Like I said,” Craig went on, “Nev got to trust me, take me into his confidence. I think he liked the fact that according to my criminal record, I didn’t mind doing anything as long as it was profitable. And it didn’t take me long to work out that Nev likes profit more than anything.”
“So it’s money with him, not politics?”
“Mmm, not entirely. Maybe it’s both at the same time, if he can get it that way. If not, then I’d say money comes out distinctly on top. Like I said, Nev’s a greedy bastard. Greedy for power and greedy for cash. First thing I found out when I got involved was that he was organizing some of his younger and thicker recruits into groups of thieves, turning their gains over to him, of course, for the good of the league.”
“And they did this?”
Craig snorted. “Sure they did. Let’s face it, most of these kids are pretty dense. Five or six of them would go into a shop, say, and as soon as-”
“Steaming?”
“You know about it?”
“I’ve heard the term. And I know it’s been a problem for West Yorkshire CID recently. Along with muggings at cash dispensers. I didn’t know Motcombe was behind it.”
“Some of it. I’m sure there are plenty of freelancers out there, too. But what Nev does is he takes these kids’ anger and channels it. He gives them someone to hate. He gives their rage some structure and provides them with real targets rather than nebulous ones. So they end up believing they’re committing theft, assault and vandalism for a good cause. Isn’t that what terrorism is basically all about, anyway? Add a few
“You make it sound easy.”
They turned right, toward the neo-Gothic mass of the Rijksmuseum, dark and solid against the night sky. Street-lights cast long shadows. A breeze stirred, wafting a smell of decay from the canal. Banks could hear music in the distance, see TV screens flickering through people’s curtains.
Craig shrugged. “It’s not as hard as you think, that’s the sad thing. Recruiting isn’t, anyway. Take rock concerts, for example. Invitation only. Makes people feel privileged and exclusive right off the bat. Then the white- power bands get the kids all worked up with their rhythm and energy, and someone like me moves in to bring the message home. And they target schools, particularly schools that have a large number of immigrant pupils. They hang around outside in the street and pass out leaflets, then they hold meetings in different venues. They also hang out in the coffee bars where some of the kids go on their way home. You know, start chatting, give them a sympathetic shoulder for their problems with Ali or Winston. They get a surprising number of converts that way.”
“Some of whom Motcombe organizes into gangs of thieves?”
“Some, yes. But not all.” He laughed. “One or two of the lads in the know have nicknamed him ‘Fagin.’”
Banks raised his eyebrows. “‘You’ve got to pick a pocket or two,’” he sang, a passable imitation of Ron Moody in
Craig smiled. “I’ll bet. Thing is, there’s a lot of money to be made, one way or another. Steaming and mugging are just part of the bigger picture. These right-wing political groups finance themselves in any number of ways. Some deal in arms and explosives, for example. Then there’s the rock angle. These bands record CDs. That means people produce, record, manufacture and distribute them. That can be big business. And where there’s rock, there’s drugs. There’s a lot of money to be made out of that.”
“Motcombe has an arrest for receiving, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. His one big mistake. A couple of his lads broke into a Curry’s and ran off with a few videos and stereos under their arms. They didn’t tell Nev where they’d got the stuff from. Anyway, since then, it’s been cash only. And he skims off the top, too. I’ve seen him stuff the notes into his own pocket.” Craig shook his head. “If there’s one thing worse than a Nazi, it’s a bent Nazi.”
“How does Jason Fox fit in? Was he one of the thieves?”
Craig paused and leaned on a bridge as they crossed to Hobbemakade, looking down at the reflections of the lights. Banks stood beside him and lit a cigarette. It was quiet now apart from a few cars and the whir of an occasional bicycle.
“No, Jason never went out steaming. Not his style. Too smart. Jason was a thinker. He was good at recruiting, at propaganda in general. The thing about Jason was, he was basically an honest kid. A straight, dedicated Nazi.”
“One of those boring fascists, without vices?”
Craig laughed. “Almost. Not exactly boring, though. In some ways he was naive in his sincerity, and that made him almost likable.
“I thought even Hitler’s most fanatical followers couldn’t get through that.”
Craig laughed. “True.”
“Have you any ideas as to why Jason was killed? Was he involved in this drug deal?”
They moved away from the bridge and headed down the street. Banks flicked his cigarette end in the water, immediately feeling guilty of pollution.
“No,” Craig said. “Not at all. Jason was violently antidrug. In fact, if you ask me, that’s where you might want to start looking for your motive. Because he certainly knew about it.”
V