‘He could have told them who had shot him.’
‘Not him. It’s either keep quiet, or it’s the other kneecap or the concrete boots. Anyway, this guy with the gambling club. He’s skipped the country, not paid his staff or the lease on the premises he’d been using, not that they can do much about it. But our lender, he’s got connections, and he finds out where the man’s gone. Supposedly, he’s swanning around Dubai, a couple of Russian tarts in the back seat of the Mercedes with him. They come up to an intersection, outside of the city, in the desert, so I’ve been told. A couple of motorcycles pull up alongside, passengers on the pillion seats. They level a couple of Kalashnikovs into the car, killing the man, the two whores, and the driver. After that, the man’s hotel room is broken into, the safe is opened, and out pops the best part of seven hundred thousand in fresh notes, some in Euros, some in American dollars.’
‘Tough justice.’
‘Not to this man whose name you want. You sure you want to get mixed up with him? He’ll not have any issues with a nosy policeman.’
‘Your friend, the one with the divorce?’
‘The deal with the lender is, if you don’t take the loan, then no issues, just never tell anyone what you’ve witnessed. At least the man’s fair. Anyway, the man with the divorce comes back here. I lent him fifty thousand, not what he wanted. He’s got a small shop down the far end of Portobello Road. He’s making a living, and his kneecaps are safe, even found himself another woman. And he paid me back.’
‘The name of the lender?’
‘Gary Frost. He’s got a penthouse down in Greenwich. Ask around, you’ll find him. Don’t blame me if you get yourself shot.’
‘I won’t.’
‘And for the record, the merchandise in here is not stolen, not by me. It all belongs to those who are desperate. I give them money for it. It’s then on sale, and either someone else buys it, or they repurchase it.’
‘I’ll trust you,’ Larry said, not that he believed Eckersley, but the man had helped.
Chapter 22
Homicide had the name of someone with a dubious history, although with no criminal record. Of the two men who were always close to Gary Frost, one had served time for grievous bodily harm, the other was known to the local police in Greenwich as a man with a foul temper and likely to drink more than he should on a Saturday night, and then to take to brawling. The last time, according to a police sergeant that Larry had spoken to, it had taken three police officers to subdue the man. The next day, sober and in the cells at the station, he had been contrite and exceedingly agreeable. The sergeant reckoned he was the more dangerous of the two.
Gary Frost remained an enigma. He kept a low profile and was rarely seen out in public, and if he was, it was invariably in the back seat of a top of the range Mercedes.
Everyone in Homicide was focussed on the man who gave out money and violence in equal measure. The man with the busted kneecap that Eckersley had mentioned had been found. He had been doing it tough since his release from the hospital, and he limped badly, a crutch under one arm, but he was alive. Attempts to find out if others had not fared so well were proving unsuccessful. The gambling club owner who had made it out to Dubai, found himself a couple of Russian women, as well as a surfeit of bullets as he and the women had been gunned down, appeared to be just one of the colourful tales on the street, although Isaac and Larry weren’t so sure it was just a story. It may not have been Dubai but somewhere less desirable, and the Russian women, attractive and readily available in the city in the desert built on money and oil and not much else, could instead have been a couple of local slappers of no great beauty and not that young either.
The limping man with the destroyed kneecap wasn’t talking, nor was Ralph Lawrence, who kept to his story that he was inspecting a property he was interested in purchasing and he had slipped. Isaac and Larry had pressured the man, could see that he was nervous, wanted to speak, but wouldn’t.
Outside of the building where Frost’s penthouse was located, Larry stood, unsure of what to do next. It wasn’t the best of days, and the wind was biting. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to achieve, knowing full well that knocking on the door would not get him far, may even get him into trouble: police intimidation, upstanding citizen, no criminal convictions. That was the problem, Larry knew. The most accomplished criminals, those with the mental acumen, always ensured that someone else did the dirty work, leaving them clean.
‘I need you back at the station,’ Isaac said on the phone to Larry. ‘Leave Frost for the moment, we’ve got something to deal with.’
Larry made the trip back over the Thames to Challis Street, parked his car, noticing that the weather was better there than it had been over in Greenwich where it was more exposed.
In the office, all the key people were there. ‘What is it?’ Larry said as he sat down.
‘Ralph Lawrence is out of the hospital and back at his flat. If Frost was responsible for having the man beaten, then he’s not going to give up because of us. And Helmsley’s in Michael’s ear. We’re expecting fireworks. In fact,
