Nick Oldham - The Last Big Job

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.

‘ I do not want my wife to be involved in any of this,’ Barney Gillrow said firmly.

Neither Henry nor Danny responded. They were going to make no guarantees.

Gillrow’s face tightened. ‘You’re a pair of bastards.’

Henry raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘Get on with it,’ he said.

There was a dictaphone on the table, whirring quietly.

‘ You were right,’ Gillrow told Danny. ‘Malcolm Pitch was one of my informants. I recruited him in the early eighties after I got him convicted on a couple of conspiracy charges. He was nothing but a shit-bag, really, on the periphery of big stuff. But he knew lots and lots of people. I used him successfully on numerous occasions.’

‘ Even though you didn’t keep any records,’ Danny pointed out.

He shrugged. ‘No one did in those days.’

‘ And that made it right?’ She was incredulous.

‘ No.’ He leaned towards her with a sneer. ‘But it was the system, the culture. Every fucker did it, even down to sharing informants’ pay-outs.’

‘ Did you?’ Henry asked.

Gillrow considered the question. He was deep enough in the mire as it was without having to admit to something else. ‘No — I did not.’

Henry allowed himself a little inward smile. He knew there was no chance of Gillrow blabbing out everything in this sweep. It was doubtful whether he would ever reveal the whole picture of his corruption — and Henry was under no illusions here: Gillrow had been a very bent cop — so for the moment at least, he did not feel a need to push the issue. Later, it would be a very different matter.

‘ Tell us about Fitch and Crane.’

‘ Like I’ve already said, Fitch was on the periphery of things, but not above trying his best to get deeply involved with some pretty heavy people, amongst whom was Billy Crane. Fitch had been grassing for me long before Crane came into the frame. I was really pushing him to flash himself around the East Lancashire criminal fraternity and he gave me some bloody good stuff, but some of it was close to the edge too.’

‘ How do you mean?’ Danny asked.

‘ Fitch was a participating informant, for a start. He took part in jobs and didn’t get prosecuted for them for one reason or another — usually on a technicality that I dreamed up, or got some evidence misplaced, whatever.’

Henry shook his head in disbelief. Handling participating informants — PIs as they are known — is a minefield of legal complexity. An informant can only be allowed to participate so far in the commission of a crime — usually at the very early stages of planning it — and then they have to be removed in a way which doesn’t alert the other criminals involved. It sounded like Gillrow had allowed Fitch to go all the way to the commission of crimes. Very bad practice, to say the least. Henry knew it happened a lot in the 1970s and 1980s — which is one of the reasons the rules were tightened up.