‘I’ve heard about Krys.’
‘A real nasty piece of work, and in a way the others aren’t. Everyone connected with the Holtzes is violent, some in the extreme, but in the main it’s just business. I’m not saying that that justifies it, of course it doesn’t, but at least there’s a reason behind it. With Krys, it’s all about the enjoyment of inflicting pain. He’s the sort who likes pulling the legs off spiders – you know the type. In fact, in many ways he’s probably their loosest cannon, although such is the fear he inspires in people he’s never been convicted of a thing. No-one would ever testify against Krys Holtz.’
‘Do you think it’s feasible that Neil Vamen could be behind the murder of Shaun Matthews?’
‘Be realistic, John. What have you got? The word of a dead man.’
‘So, the name Jean Tanner doesn’t actually mean anything to you, then?’
He shook his head. ‘Not off the top of my head, no.’
I refused to give up. ‘I don’t see why McBride would have been bullshitting. He said it was well known that Neil Vamen played away from home. Would that be right?’
‘Well, it’s certainly well known that Vamen has mistresses, but, like everything else in his life, he likes to keep them as secret as possible. We put him under surveillance whenever resources allow, and we’ve photographed him with a number of women other than his wife, but as far as I’m aware we’ve only positively identified two, neither of whom goes by the name Jean Tanner. What I’ll do, though, is go through what we’ve got back at HQ and I’ll email over the information, including any photos we have of the women.’
‘I’m sure that whoever killed Matthews was also responsible for the murder of Craig McBride, although God knows why. To me, that level of organization suggests someone like Neil Vamen.’
‘But you haven’t got much of a motive.’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘Whatever did happen, it wouldn’t have been Vamen inflicting the fatal dose, although I suppose it’s possible he could be behind it. Remember this, though: he doesn’t do things that are going to bring attention on himself. In the end, unlike Krys, he’s first and foremost a businessman. A nasty one, admittedly, but still someone who’s not going to risk his position by committing rash crimes. And even if he had something to do with it, you’re going to have a sod of a time proving it.’
I nodded wearily, having already heard this several times. ‘I know, I know. No-one ever said it would be easy.’ I stabbed a couple of sautéed potatoes. ‘It would be useful if I could find Matthews’s boss, Roy Fowler, as well. Do you know anything about the ownership of this club, the Arcadia? I’m hearing that the Holtzes run it, but I’ve got nothing concrete.’
Malik shook his head. ‘Not specifically. The number of front companies they’ve got is incredible; it has to be when you’ve constantly got millions of pounds to launder. I’ll ask around within the team and see if they’ve heard anything, but don’t hold your breath.’
‘So you don’t have any informants within their organization, then?’
For the first time during the course of the conversation, Malik appeared cagey. ‘I’m afraid that’s classified information, John, as you’d appreciate.’
‘Well, if you do, I’d take it as a favour if you could ask the questions.’
Malik said he’d see what he could do. ‘I’m sorry if I’m not being too much help,’ he added with a sheepish smile.
‘It’s a lunch’s worth,’ I said, ‘and anyway, I came here more in hope than expectation. But if you can get me that info on Vamen’s associates and women, I’d appreciate it. It might even be worth buying you coffee for.’
Malik smiled. ‘Now that’s an offer I’ll take you up on.’
I ordered two coffees – a cappuccino for me, a black filter for him – and the conversation drifted on to other things, mainly what life was like back at the station. I told him I didn’t think he was missing much: Capper was still a talentless arsehole, Knox was still yearning for a detective superintendent role, the chief super was still an idiot. We had a few laughs about things, and found we got on pretty well, but soon Malik was looking at his watch and saying it was time to go.
We stood up at the same time, me a good four inches taller, and shook hands.
‘Good luck with the case, John,’ he told me, ‘but be careful as well. The Holtzes, and Neil Vamen in particular, are not people to mess about with. If it came to it, they’re not afraid to put a bullet in a copper.’
Which is just the sort of uplifting advice you need on a Wednesday afternoon.
* * *
Wednesday was Berrin’s first day back at work after his impromptu bout of summer flu, which was the reason I hadn’t allowed him to come on the lunch with Malik, but had instead got him reviewing witness statements. He wasn’t going to get a decent meal on the Met when he’d spent the last three days lolling about at home. The bastard looked quite brown, too, which made me suspicious. When I got back to the station that afternoon he was doing an interview
