‘I’m aware of that, sir, but you may have information that would be of use to us. It’ll only take up ten minutes of your time.’
‘I don’t see why I should help, DS Gallan, since the police have never done anything to help me. Most of the time I’m being harassed by members of Scotland Yard who appear to have bugger all better to do than try to ruin the reputations and livelihoods of perfectly respectable businessmen.’
I remembered Neil Vamen saying much the same thing. It made me wonder sometimes whether they did in fact actually believe it. ‘Any co-operation you give will be favourably viewed, sir, and as I said, it’ll only take up a very small amount of your time.’
‘What type of investigation is it?’
‘Murder.’
‘All right. I’ve got a meeting in the West End this afternoon but I’m free after that. Come to my office at five o’clock and I’ll see you then. I presume you know where to come?’
‘We do indeed, sir. Thank you very much.’
Leppel grunted something and hung up.
* * *
The offices of Secure Consultants were on the sixth floor of a grand-looking City building on a road off London Wall. I rang the bell next to a polished brass plaque with the company name and logo on it and Berrin and I were buzzed through the door without preamble. A lift opposite took us up to the sixth floor where we were met by Martin Leppel, a short but fit-looking individual with an aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and what looked like a regimental tie, and his thin, slightly weathered face was deeply suntanned. He nodded in greeting and we shook hands all round.
He led us through a glass door emblazoned with the company name, then through a small reception area which was unmanned (Leppel explained that his secretary had the day off) and into his spacious office that looked out on to the street. Photographs of various men in military uniforms, including a large one of Leppel in officer’s garb holding a regimental sword, adorned the walls. It set off the right image of a man with a very strong army background.
Leppel took a seat behind his imposing and spotless desk and motioned for the two of us to sit in chairs opposite. He didn’t offer us a drink. ‘So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.
‘We’re after some information regarding Contracts International’s involvement in the Bosnian conflict.’
‘Can I ask why you need this information?’
‘We’re investigating a murder and it might be that an employee or employees of the company working in Bosnia at that time could throw some light on an area we’re still a bit hazy on.’
‘Which is?’
‘I can’t tell you that, sir. Not at this time.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t in Bosnia. I’ve never been to any of the Yugoslav republics in my life.’
I could tell this wasn’t going to be easy. ‘But you managed the company, which is why we’re here today. Now, as I said to you on the phone, this shouldn’t take long.’
‘What is it you want to know?’
‘How long were Contracts International involved in Bosnia?’
‘We got our first contract in October 1993 when it became obvious that the West was going to stand by and watch the Muslim population suffer. It was to train regulars of the Armija BiH.’
‘The who?’ asked Berrin.
‘The Bosnian Muslim army. The contract was successful and we were awarded a number of others. We remained in situ until the Dayton Peace Agreement in December 1995.’
‘I heard suggestions that some of your operatives on the ground remained after this time.’
‘You heard wrong, then,’ said Leppel icily. ‘There were, aside from our employees, freelancers in the area providing a similar if somewhat inferior service to ours. They were the ones who stayed on after the ceasefire. As soon as Dayton came about, our contracts were terminated and we left.’
‘Could you tell me who funded the work your company did in Bosnia?’
‘Plenty of people have written that we were funded by all kinds of fanatics, but they’re wrong. However, I’m afraid I have always treated my client list, both at Contracts and at Secure Consultants, as confidential, so I’m not going to comment on that.’
I nodded. ‘Fair enough. Can you recall how many employees you had in Bosnia in total during the two or so years you were there?’
Leppel thought about it for a moment. It looked like he was making calculations. ‘I would say something like forty altogether, though it’s possible it could have been more. Bosnia was one of our biggest operations at Contracts.’
‘Now I know you weren’t there, Mr Leppel, but were you aware that any of your men had contacts with the so-called mujahidin, the Islamic fundamentalist fighters who were also in the region at the time?’
‘Yes, I know who they were, but as far as I’m aware, no, none of them did. You must remember that these fundamentalists hated all Westerners, whom they regarded and regard as infidels. Some of them have even been linked to Osama bin Laden, so they would never have socialized with our people, even if they were nominally on the same side. Might I ask where we’re going with these questions?’
‘We’re trying to build up a picture, sir, that’s all.’ I fished in my jacket pocket for the photo of Merriweather and the soldier. When I’d got it out, I unfolded it, stood up, and showed it to Leppel. ‘Do you recognize the man on the left?’ I asked.
He nodded slowly without looking at me. ‘Yes, I recognize him. His name’s Tony Franks.’
The name, like the face, had an immediate ring of familiarity, but still I was unable to pinpoint from where. ‘Do you recognize the man standing next to him?’
Again, he nodded. ‘His name’s Merriweather. I can’t remember the first name.’
‘Jack,’ said Berrin.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Jack.’
‘This photograph came from an
