Peter Robinson - Strange Affair

“I can’t believe my brother was involved in this.”

“He wasn’t, as far as I know,” said Ganz. “From what Superintendent Burgess has told me, it is my guess that your brother and his girlfriend found out what was going on.”

“Through the Berger-Lennox Centre?”

“And through Dr. Lukas, yes.”

“What’s her part in all this?”

“She is trying to help the girls who get pregnant. That is all. She asks no questions. They are lucky they have someone like her, otherwise…”

“But what’s her connection?”

“That we do not know for sure. This investigation here is very new. Most of the work we have been doing has been in Bosnia, Romania and Serbia.”

“Was Carmen one of the girls she was trying to help? Carmen Petri?”

Ganz frowned. “I’m sorry, I do not know the name.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Petri, you say?”

“Something like that.”

“It sounds Romanian.”

“But you haven’t heard of her?”

“No.”

“Okay,” said Banks. “Go on.”

“Anyway,” Ganz continued. “No matter what Dr. Lukas does or does not know, there’s a pimp involved somewhere, and Lambert and Broda supply him with girls smuggled from eastern Europe. He probably keeps them in more than one house, depending on how many girls he owns. Perhaps there is even more than one pimp. I do not know. We have been waiting for Broda or Lambert to lead us there.”

“But they haven’t?”

“Not yet. We were worried they might be on to us. Lambert’s moving between the flat and the travel office, and he spends most weekends playing the local squire in his country manor.”

“Where’s that?” Banks asked.

“A village called Quainton, near Buckingham. That’s where he leads his exemplary life. Anyway, where there are pimps and smugglers you will usually find organized crime, too, and that is always dangerous.”

“The Russian Mafia?”

“Most likely.”

Banks told him what he had heard from Annie about the two men suspected of killing Jennifer and, perhaps, Roy.

Ganz nodded slowly. “Sounds like their style.”

“So what next?”

“We think these recent murders might bring things to a boil. Someone might make a mistake.”

“Are you here to warn me off?”

Ganz laughed. “Warn you off? Superintendent Burgess told me you would probably say something like that.”

“Oh? What else did he tell you?”

“That it would do no good. Some people we can warn off easily, but not you. He said you’re nobody’s man.”

“He’s right.”

Ganz waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, I don’t want to warn you off. I want to use you in a way I can’t use the police who are investigating the case. I want you to keep on doing right what you’re doing. I just want you to know that you’re involved in stirring up a wasps’ nest.”

“Go on.”

“I’m not saying that you’re not in danger – they may have killed you if you had been at the address your brother gave his girlfriend – but I think with all the trouble caused by the two murders they have already committed, they would think twice right now about killing a policeman. When you came down here they no doubt kept an eye on you, just for form’s sake, but they had other things to occupy them, and they knew your brother hadn’t had time to tell you anything, or you wouldn’t have been floundering around in the dark the way you were. They also tortured him before they killed him and he told them you knew nothing. He also told them where you lived, and they rang the men in the car. Fortunately, your brother gave them the wrong address. They sent the digital image on the mobile, too. Perhaps they didn’t know you had it, but they knew your brother didn’t. That’s just their style, a sick joke. Max Broda himself, most likely. If you hadn’t got it, whoever had the phone at the time would have. Even the police. It didn’t matter to them. It couldn’t be traced. It was stolen and they threw it away as soon as they had used it. After that, they let you know that they know where your parents live. That is also very much their style. And don’t worry, your parents are safe. It wasn’t something we could leave for the locals to deal with alone.”

“You have men there, too?”

“One. Armed. Anyway, now that you have actually been to see Gareth Lambert, and probably got him worried, things might be a bit different, I’m not sure.”

“You know I’ve seen Lambert?”

“Superintendent Burgess said he’d told you where to find him. I didn’t think you would just sit around and not act on that information. What did you think?”

“I didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him.”

“In that, you were right. From now on, we’ll try to watch your back as best we can, but for obvious reasons I can hardly show my hand. It is a shame you English police are unarmed.”

“I’m not too sure about that,” said Banks, thinking that there weren’t many times in his career when he had felt the need for a gun, though now might be one of them. “And by the way, do you have a license for that one you’re carrying?”

Ganz laughed. “I have your government’s permission, if that’s what you mean. Do you want one? I’m sure I can get one for you.”

“I’d probably shoot myself in the foot,” said Banks. “But thanks for the offer.”

“I almost forgot,” Ganz said. “Mr. Burgess told me to tell you he checked the number and the red Vectra was stolen from a multi-story car park in Putney. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Banks. It meant the car that had followed him from his parents’s house was stolen, as he had expected.

“What are you going to do now?”

Banks looked at his watch. “I’m going to have another glass of wine and think over what you’ve said.” Later, when it was open, Banks planned to visit the Albion Club on The Strand and see if he could find out more about Roy’s final hours, but he didn’t see any reason for telling Dieter Ganz that. If Interpol were keeping an eye on him, they’d find out soon enough, anyway.

Susan Browne arrived in Eastvale from Derby at four o’clock, just after Annie had left for the station, bearing the positive fruits of the very discreet DNA comparison, and more.

She told Templeton on their way to Roger Cropley’s house that DI Gifford had made inquiries at Cropley’s software firm in London and found that he regularly left late on Fridays and that he had left late on Friday, the twenty-third of April, as there had been an office party that evening to celebrate a lucrative new contract.

Cropley was clearly not thrilled to see the two detectives on his doorstop late that afternoon. He tried to shut the door, but Templeton got a foot in. “It’s better if you let us in,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll stay here while DS Browne goes for a search warrant.”

Cropley relaxed the pressure on the door and they entered, following him into the living room. “I don’t know why you won’t leave me alone,” he said. “I’ve told you time after time I know nothing about any murders.”

“You mean you’ve lied time after time,” said Templeton. “By the way, this is DS Browne. She’s come all the way from Derby just to talk to you. Say hello.”

Cropley said nothing, just stared at Susan Browne. She sat down and smoothed her skirt. “Mr. Cropley,” she said, “I’ll come right to the point. When DC Templeton here first came to me with his suspicions, I was skeptical. Now I’ve had time to think about things and make a few inquiries, I’m not too certain.”

“What inquiries?”

Susan slipped a folder out of her briefcase and opened it. “According to my information, you left your office in Holborn at about eight o’clock on Friday the twenty-third of April this year.”