acquaintance of DS Furness.’
‘ I have nothing further to say,’ Gillrow snapped.
Henry heaved a sigh and gave the ex-detective the hard stare without saying anything. Gillrow held the look for a few moments, remembering how many times he had given it to guilty felons himself, then cracked. He swallowed. ‘Come in.’
He was alone in the apartment, his wife was out shopping. As before, he motioned them towards the balcony for a discussion, except this time no drinks were offered.
Henry said, ‘I’d like to go back to 1986, please.’
Lawrence Brayfield — Loz — was once again on the rooftop of Uncle B’s English Bar and Disco, sitting underneath a sunshade. It was a position to which he gravitated regularly these days. In the cage at the far end of the flat roof, Nero lounged indolently in the hot sun, rolling on his back, licking himself with his muscular rasping tongue. The cage floor, uncleaned for four days, was a mess of urine and faeces. Nero was beginning to show signs of neglect. His stench — overpowering at the best of times — was dreadful.
Loz was happy with the way things were panning out. He had already received two grand of the promised initial three and was certain he would get the final instalment later that day. By the end of tomorrow he expected to be talking to the Witness Protection Officer about his future: living somewhere in Southern England, with a new identity and everything that went with it. There was no doubt he would need all the protection the cops could offer because Billy Crane — vindictive, violent, vengeful bastard that he was, a man who never let a grudge die — would either want to kill him personally or contract someone to do it for him. Loz knew his life would be under threat for as long as Crane lived, but he was prepared for it and had worked out, in his mind, that the risk was worth taking. His eyes were fixed firmly on that two hundred thousand pounds reward money.
But until the cops arrested Crane, everything had to go on as normal. Crane had eyes and ears everywhere and if he smelled a rat, he would bolt — and then Loz would very definitely have a problem. He had to keep things ticking over — which included looking after Nero.
Loz crossed to the cage and regarded the big cat. Then he looked down at the hand Nero had chewed on. The cops had arranged some proper medical treatment and it was improving, smelling less, feeling more like a real hand. This, however, did not make Loz feel any less animosity towards Nero. He still hated the beast with venom.
His last act of betrayal towards Crane would be to feed Nero with poisoned horsemeat, sit back with a long beer and enjoy watching the creature writhe agonisingly to a slow death in its own shit and piss.
The expression on Loz’s face, as he thought about this, was pure evil.
‘ In your wildest dreams, Barney, could you ever have imagined us not coming back to see you after the way you warned DS Furness off?’
Gillrow stayed numb for a few moments, then said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘ Let me put it this way,’ Henry said in a tone of voice that would let Gillrow understand the message behind the words — i.e. that he knew everything. ‘We know you tried to see Billy Crane after Danny visited you, and we know that stupid henchman of his tried to warn her off and at the same time indecently assaulted her and tried to rape her.’
Gillrow’s head fell at this. ‘Oh, God,’ he uttered desperately.
‘ We are in the process of dismantling Crane’s organisation, ripping it apart bit by bit — which means going for an historical perspective as well. If that means ripping you apart with it, Barney, then I’ll be more than pleased to do it, so I think you should consider long and hard about helping yourself here, because no one else will- especially Billy Crane.’
The ex-detective stood up suddenly and walked away into the lounge area, deep in troubled thought. He did not know it, but Henry had very little on him at all, other than a piece of paper from the financial analysts and the sketchy details Loz had supplied. Gillrow returned and sat down wearily in a chair, his expression defeated. Henry’s cold eyes told him in no uncertain terms that he would not be let off the hook.
‘ What can you give me?’ Gillrow asked.
‘ In terms of promises?’ Henry asked. ‘Nothing — until I’m satisfied you’ve told me every last detail. Then I’ll make decisions and recommendations.’
Gillrow nodded. He had expected this answer. ‘I’ve been dreading this day. I knew it would come.’ He looked at Danny. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you, DS Furness. I never imagined he would try to sexually assault you.’ Gillrow rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Where do I start?’ Henry then knew he had him — a man about to unburden himself, a wonderful thing for a detective to behold.
‘ How about with Malcolm Fitch, Billy Crane and this?’ Henry held up the sheet the financial analysts had prepared for him. ‘The thirty thousand pounds in cash you put down as a deposit for this apartment in 1986 and the seventy thousand you received two years ago to payoff the loan. I’d like to hear about all of those things.’
The briefing had been very unusual in that the Russian, Yuri Ivankov, had been summoned from Gozo to Moscow, to a massive hotel overlooking the Moscow River; here, Alexandr Drozdov lived and ran his empire from a penthouse apartment, having ruthlessly driven out the rightful owners. A taxi collected Ivankov at the airport and took him to the hotel where he was met at reception and searched; no one was allowed into Old Man Drozdov’s presence armed, other than his immediate trusted bodyguards.
The penthouse was actually two large apartments knocked into one. A huge, armoured-glass window, capable of withstanding a missile attack, gave a superb view of Gorky Park, one which the Russian did not have time to admire. He was rushed into Drozdov’s presence straight away; the old man was sitting at a desk, typing on a laptop — old fingers, new technology.
‘ Yuri,’ he said gravely, raising his head. ‘I have bad news.’
Ivankov had no idea why he was there, only that it must be of major importance to actually see Alexandr in person; he usually received all instructions through third parties. The opening comment from Drozdov made the killer wary. His skin seemed to tighten on his body. Could it be that his end had come? If so, what had he done to bring it about? Would he have the opportunity to bargain for his life?
He looked slyly from side to side, noting that Drozdov was flanked by two armed guards, standing either side, several steps behind so as not to crowd him. There was also the bear-like lieutenant, Serov, Drozdov’s most trusted aide, positioned behind the Russian, maybe six feet away. The Russian could not see this man but could sense and smell him. Maybe he already had a gun out, prepared to kill on the old man’s nod.
In a fraction of as second, Ivankov had weighed up the odds. They were not in his favour.
If he had been brought in here to be executed, then Serov had to be Ivankov’s first target. Even though he had been searched, the stiletto was still up his sleeve… he would have to turn quickly, drive the knife up through the man’s bearded chin into his brain; at the same time he would have to spin him round for protection from the other guards, seize the weapon from him and take the other two out before shooting Drozdov himself. He had it all worked out. He would not be killed without a fight.
‘ Nikolai has been murdered,’ Alexandr Drozdov said, startling the Russian, who was speechless. He knew Nikolai was being groomed for the next Mafia Tsar.
‘ How?’ he stuttered. ‘This is dreadful news. You have my sincerest sympathy.’ He meant it.
Drozdov nodded a thanks. ‘The “how” is irrelevant, Yuri. That is the past. It cannot be changed, but the future can become inevitable. Please find his murderer and kill him brutally and without mercy. Make him suffer.’
Ivankov said, ‘I will do that gladly. I will do that for love.’
‘ Thank you.’ The old man’s spidery finger pointed to the bear man. ‘Serov will furnish you with details… and there is one other thing. Yuri: Nikolai’s murderer stole twenty million pounds from us. Before he dies, ensure he reveals the whereabouts of that money.’ Ever the businessman. He waved the Russian away. ‘As I said, Serov will give you details.’
Several days later Ivankov’s investigations, based on what he had been told and what he had discovered for himself, led him to Tenerife where he was sitting, sipping strong Turkish coffee on a pavement cafe across the road from Uncle B’s English Bar and Disco.
