The problem to be eliminated was a keen, young, soon-to-be promoted Detective Sergeant starting an investigation into the council. Dave knew that if anything happened to the detective they would look into the cases he was working on, or about to work on. Therefore his action had to be something which would get the DS of the way without direct comeback and the best way was to do this was for something to happen to someone close to him.
Along with the two Albanians, Dave had arranged for a little ‘accident’ which would distract the detective from starting the investigation. With him out of the way, the investigation could be handed over to Detective Inspector Howard Neave who was prepared to ensure the allegations were never proven and nothing would come of the matter.
It all went according to plan. DI Sheldon had a breakdown, they say. He left the police force and disappeared. Good riddance! Dave had thought triumphantly.
Chapter Fifteen
DAVE
During one of his meetings with Vladimir, the Russian boss, some weeks previously, Dave asked for advice on ways to launder the considerable amount of cash his illegal activities were now generating.
“Dave, my friend, we deal with a lot of people in the same situation, and I’ll give you the same advice: invest in property.”
As the two men chatted further, Dave remembered an article he’d seen in The Guardian about the government imposing caps on the amount of welfare benefits, forcing councils in London to rehouse people outside the capital.
The current maximum amount of housing benefit in London was set at £340 a week. The article stated that Camden Council in North London had started moving families out to places as far away as Birmingham and Bradford in a bid to save money. This was enabling private landlords to make a small fortune by offering sub-standard low cost housing.
Dave also recalled a recent conversation with Peter Hogan, head of the local Planning Committee. Peter had mentioned that the council in Trentbridge was drawing up plans to sell off the run-down Asbury Park council estate.
Dave thought that if he could buy it for a low price, he could make a lot of money from renting the houses out to London councils, and Peter Hogan would be in a unique position to help him. Maybe with a cash incentive some strings could be pulled. If not, he still had the explicit photos of Peter with Monique, one of Dave’s call girls, taken two years previously.
During his two-week break, Dave has decided this is what he is going to do, and he ponders over the finer details as he drives his black Mercedes AMG out of the airport car park and starts the two-hour journey back to Trentbridge.
Over the past few years, Dave has managed to wash enough cash to have £500,000 purporting to have come from legitimate businesses sitting in bank accounts, On top of this, he has one and a half million stashed away in cash and in foreign bank accounts, but with each week that goes by his illegal enterprises continue to bring in large quantities of cash which he needs to hide. A nice problem to have but nonetheless still a problem: you can’t exactly stash it under your bed. So where do you hide a growing mountain of tens of thousands of pounds in cash every month?
Chapter Sixteen
JAMES
I head down to breakfast at seven thirty am as I have a busy day ahead of me.
With advice and help from the Lotto organisation, I have a string of appointments with legal people and financial advisors this morning, to ensure my newfound fortune is safe, and I don’t go on a massive spending spree buying yachts and private aeroplanes, or blow my brains out from the excess brought about by sudden wealth of this scale.
At these meetings, we agree that I’ll put most of the money into short-term investment plans which will pay interest. I’ll have two bank accounts; one with Lloyds and the other with Coutts & Co who are the bankers for Her Majesty the Queen. If it’s good enough for royalty, then that’s fine by me. I’ve always respected the Royal Family. The Lotto people suggest I leave five million pounds in each of my current accounts.
By the time all the meetings and appointments are concluded, it is five twenty pm.
By five forty-five, I’m standing on Sidney Street where I’ve spent the previous ten months of my life begging for small change. The difference is, this time I’m not here sitting on the ground with my hat in front of me begging for pennies.
There’s someone I used to see go past around this time of day and I’m anxious to have a word with him, so I’m standing in a doorway I know well, smartly dressed rather than in the threadbare clothes I previously had to endure. My new shoes are shiny and comfortable. These ones will certainly not let in water as the previous ones did.
I watch all the people rushing home from work. Suddenly I see a person I recognise and I step forward. “Excuse me, miss. I’m very sorry to bother you, but in the past I’ve seen you walking along here with a young man who usually wears grey trousers and a tan jacket.”
She stops. Previously she would probably have rushed away, but now I look respectable, and the smile on my face helps. It should do, one of the appointments today was for an orthodontist who charged me £300 for a half hour session to make my teeth look healthy again.
“Oh, I think you mean, Martin. I’m sorry, but he was made redundant from our company last week. He doesn’t come this way anymore.”
“Can you tell me how I could get hold
