McBride looked like he was weighing his options. The tension in his muscles did not bode well. Even the tattoos on his arms were rippling.
‘Now, you could try and make a break for it. You’re a big man, you might even make it. But then we’ll have the drugs and we’ll put out a warrant for your arrest, and you’ll get caught, and then you’re in a position one hell of a lot worse than if you simply stay here and answer our questions. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘How do I know you won’t charge me anyway, whatever I say?’
‘I’ve just told you why. Now let’s do this interview somewhere a bit more comfortable. Your drugs den’ll do.’ McBride started to say something but I wasn’t listening. I turned and walked back towards the front room, with Berrin in tow.
We both sat down on the sofa and motioned for McBride to sit on a chair opposite. He did as he was told, his expression that of a man gutted to have been caught out in such a stupid way.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘How well did you know Shaun Matthews?’
He didn’t answer us for a couple of moments as he continued to weigh his options. I looked casually down over the side of the sofa to where the tin of gear, the individual wraps, the baking soda and the scales had been hastily stashed. It seemed to do the trick. ‘OK, I suppose.’
Berrin consulted his trusty notebook. ‘You worked the door at the Arcadia on sixteen separate occasions in the three months prior to Mr Matthews’s death. I expect it’s fair to say that he was there on most of those occasions, as he was the chief doorman.’
‘Yeah, I knew him quite well. He was all right. Fancied himself a bit, but all right.’
‘He was the main dealer in the place, wasn’t he?’ I said.
‘Look, I don’t want any of this getting back to me…’
Once again, I looked over the side of the sofa at the incriminating evidence. ‘I don’t really think you’ve got a lot of choice, Mr McBride. Not unless you don’t mind spending the next couple of years behind bars, wondering why you’re the only person left who still believes in that outdated concept of honour among thieves.’
‘OK, OK, yeah. He was the main dealer in the place. He ran it all on the floor.’
‘How did it work?’ asked Berrin.
‘Basically, all the doormen were dealers. Not big time, mind. But we were allowed to supply.’
‘By whom?’
‘The management.’
‘Roy Fowler, yeah?’
‘Yeah, him.’
‘Carry on,’ I told him.
‘We had the monopoly on the place. If anyone else was caught dealing in there, they got a serious kicking. What happened was that it was common knowledge among all the punters that the doormen were the people to go to when you wanted something. You couldn’t just keep going up to the entrance and asking for stuff, so if someone wanted to buy something they asked the doormen inside the building, you know, who were patrolling the dance floor and that. They didn’t usually carry anything on them, just in case it was undercover coppers, but if they were happy with the buyer, they’d give their order to Fowler or Matthews, or one of the other staff, and they’d go off and get the gear. The doorman doing the selling would pocket the cash and then, at the end of the night, everything would get divvied up. Fowler got eighty per cent of everything you sold, that was the going rate, you got the rest.’
‘And was business good?’ asked Berrin.
McBride nodded. ‘Not bad.’
‘How much would you make in a night?’
‘A couple of hundred on a good one.’
Berrin whistled through his lips. ‘That’s a lot of money, especially for the bloke taking the eighty per cent.’
‘Did all the doormen get an opportunity to make that much money?’
‘Yeah, we took it in turns to walk the club.’
I thought about this for a moment. If McBride was to be believed the club was turning over some serious drugs cash every night. I did the sums in my head. It was more than enough to kill for.
‘The Holtzes own the Arcadia, don’t they?’
McBride’s face experienced a passing shadow of fear. Quick, but noticeable. ‘It’s Roy Fowler, as far as I know.’
‘Who owns Elite A?’
‘Warren Case.’
I sighed. ‘You’re not really helping us very much, Mr McBride. I know that it’s Warren Case’s name on the company’s certificate of incorporation, but I want to know who really owns it. Who takes the profits.’
‘I honestly don’t know. I just work for them.’
Once again, my eyes drifted towards the drugs. ‘What is this stuff? Speed or coke?’
‘It’s speed.’
‘Looks like a fair amount of it.’
‘Drugs Squad’ll be interested,’ mused Berrin.
‘Very.’
McBride was sweating. It might have been a hot day but his nerves were unmistakable. He knew he had to talk but the prospect was scaring him. ‘Listen, I’ve told you the truth. I don’t know who owns it. A couple of times this geezer would turn up at Elite A and come in and talk to Case, and once I saw him leaving with this big holdall. I heard him say something to Case, you know just joking, saying that he must have done well that week.’
‘So it’s fair to
