‘There’s always one organisation or another attempting to take control,’ Donaldson said. The team were seated in a conference room. ‘We’re aware that the new player is exerting force on the others.’
‘And killing those who resist?’ Larry asked.
‘That’s how they deal with the opposition. Either you’re with us, or you’re dead.’
‘Devlin O’Shaughnessy and Steve Walters,’ Isaac asked. ‘Are they known to you?’
‘They’ve been around for a while.’
‘Who’s behind the syndicate?’ Larry asked.
‘That’s what we’d like to know,’ Donaldson said.
‘It’s important.’
‘I realise that, but every time we get close to an answer, they go underground. We’ve come close on a couple of occasions, but nothing’s eventuated. A confirmed murder should make it easier to put them out of business.’
‘You've seen our reports?’ Isaac asked.
‘You’ve had more success than us,’ Donaldson acknowledged.
‘Apart from O’Shaughnessy and Walters, we’re only aware of a man in a blue suit. Any idea who he is?’
‘We’ve had surveillance on O’Shaughnessy’s landlord.’
‘The devout churchgoer?’ Larry asked.
‘That’s him.’
‘You’ve brought him in for questioning?’
‘We have nothing against him.’
‘Then why is he a suspect?’
‘Profiling. The man professes to be pious, yet during the week he’s in the company of O’Shaughnessy, and then on Sunday, he’s down the church asking for forgiveness.
‘O’Shaughnessy and Hughenden are together during the week?’ Isaac asked.
‘Hughenden’s not a drinker, so you wouldn’t see him down the pub, but apart from that the two men are very friendly.’
‘Gay?’ Wendy asked.
‘Hughenden may be, but not Devlin O’Shaughnessy. Every Friday night after the pub he visits one of the local whores.’
‘Apart from a suspicion, what else do you have?’
‘Not a lot really; more supposition than anything else. We know that Hughenden spent time in prison when he was a lot younger.’
‘What for?’
‘Passing forged cheques. Since then no convictions.’
‘He’s got money,’ Larry said.
‘Inheritance. Strictly above board, although he’s amassed a lot more since then.’
‘If he’s involved, there’s no apparent sign of drug money.’
‘Have you been in the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve seen the paintings on the walls?’
‘Some were very good.’
‘Some are extremely expensive. Some are even worth more than the house.’
‘Hughenden said that the furniture and the decorations were O’Shaughnessy’s.’
‘It’s possible some are, but the paintings are all Hughenden’s. We’ve checked out the purchases. He used a different name and paid cash. They’re better than money in the bank.’
‘In that case, we’d better bring him in,’ Isaac said.
‘I want to be present when you interview him,’ Donaldson said. ‘The bastard knows me.’
***
Three men met: Devlin O’Shaughnessy, Steve Walters, and Alex Hughenden. The location was outside London, another property owned by Hughenden; the address known only to those present.
‘We’re in trouble,’ Hughenden said. ‘The police are looking for you, and I’ve been summoned down to Challis Street Police Station.’
‘They’ve got nothing on you,’ O’Shaughnessy said.
‘Nothing they can prove, but I’ve got my reputation to protect.’
‘With the money you’re being paid, why should you care?’ Walters said sneeringly. It was evident he did not like the precise, elegantly dressed man.
‘That may be so, but I like it here. I don’t want to move to Thailand and hide out in Phuket with a woman young enough to be my daughter.’ It was clear that the dislike between the two men was mutual. Walters spoke poor English, whereas Hughenden was particular with his pronunciation.
Regardless of their mutual disdain, they needed each other. In fact, all three needed the other, as much as they needed the man who remained unknown, a voice at the end of the phone, a bank account generous in distributing its funds. Unknown to everyone except Hughenden.
Hughenden pondered what to do about the two heavies: one he liked, the other he did not.
The two men had become a liability, and although they had carried out their tasks successfully, they had become too well known in the community, and O’Shaughnessy’s friendship with him was known.
The man who Hughenden communicated with sat in another part of London. He listened in on the conversation, unknown to O’Shaughnessy and Walters.
Hughenden was playing his cards carefully, well aware that his life was in the hands of a man that he had met once. He knew that the man would protect him at all costs.
After all, hadn’t he taken the rough ideas and formed them into a credible drug trafficking organisation for the man, Hughenden thought.
He had to admit that without the man’s money, it would not have been successful. But Hughenden knew that he had been putting himself in the spotlight, incurring the interest of Inspector Len Donaldson of Serious and Organised Crime Command, but the police officer had nothing on him, nothing that could be proven.
Hughenden knew he had covered his tracks well, and, as far as the local community and his local church were concerned, he was a pious man who gave to charity, helped out with the church services. Walters did not understand what he had achieved, he knew that. But what was Walters? Just another thug with a passion for maiming people and then cutting them up.
Hughenden had to concede that the two men had done a good job dealing with those who had threatened the syndicate. Fuentes had been dealt with, he knew that, although his body would not be found. The murder of Dougal Stewart had sent the right warning, but after the trouble it had caused, he was not sure it had been worth it.
Alex Hughenden had believed it was necessary to frighten those who threatened their well-being and their bank accounts. Hughenden knew that the money in his account was exceedingly healthy, and the joy of buying masterpieces to adorn the walls of his property in Bayswater excited him. Not that anything else did, he had to admit.
