Peter Robinson - Many Rivers to Cross

‘So what are they up to, in addition to planning mega projects?’

‘A few things. As you probably know, sterling’s pretty low at the moment and the bottom’s falling out of the housing market.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, it creates an ideal opportunity for foreign buyers. High-end properties, especially. In the millions. Mostly London and the stockbroker belt, of course, but also places like Harrogate, some posher suburbs of Leeds. York. So on.’

‘It still doesn’t sound illegal.’

‘We think some of the buyers are using it as an opportunity for money laundering and that Blaydon is facilitating it for them.’

‘The new development, too?’

‘Hard to do without some foreign investment.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’ve also got pictures of him meeting with various people in various places. A few of the ones we’ve been able to identify so far are men connected with criminal enterprises, mostly originating in Albania and some of the other Balkan states.’

‘What enterprises would these be?’

‘Mostly drugs and guns. Possibly sex trafficking.’

Banks thought of Zelda. ‘I know someone who might be able to help you with any pictures you haven’t identified yet. She knows the sex traffic world inside out, and she’s a super-recogniser.’

‘I’ve heard of them. Never forget a face. How terrible to have to carry all that around with you. Everyone you’ve ever seen.’

‘Even the ugly ones,’ said Banks. ‘The point is, she could help you. She works with the NCA in London on a part-time basis, but she lives up Lyndgarth way.’

‘Fine. Fix something up. We’d be glad of the help. Facial recognition software can only get us so far. Anyway, to continue, we’re also convinced that Blaydon has access to inside information — not just politicians, but police, too — but we don’t know exactly who on the inside is on his payroll.’

‘But you know someone is?’

‘We’re pretty sure. He has an uncanny way of knowing when to lie low.’

‘That’s why you’re here, then, rather than me being over at County HQ?’

‘Partly. I wanted to meet somewhere more neutral.’

‘Someone at HQ you don’t trust?’

‘No one specifically. I just thought it made more sense to come over here and talk to you. There was the boy, too. It’s your case. I’m not saying these things are connected, but we’ve no idea yet what Blaydon might have been doing here last night, or who he might have had with him.’

‘What did he say?’

‘We haven’t talked to him yet. I thought maybe you...’

‘Where does he live?’

‘Big old manor house between Harrogate and Ripon. Tuscan-villa style. Fountains, statues, maze, the lot. Handy for the A1, but not so close that the noise disturbs his peace. Surrounded by woods and walls. Tranquil. The business offices are in Leeds, but Blaydon mostly works from home.’

‘What’s the rest of his history?’

‘The short version?’

‘That’ll do for now.’

‘He’s sixty-one years old. Started in the property business as a young lad working for an estate agent called Norman Peel, who showed him the ropes. They made a fortune throughout the eighties on Thatcher’s right-to-buy scheme, buying up council houses from the tenants who’d been living in them long enough to buy legally, offering an attractive profit margin. Then Blaydon and Peel tarted them up a bit and resold them, sometimes for a massive profit. Including some on your very own East Side Estate, as well as Hollyfield, I understand. After that, they moved on to other kinds of properties and other kinds of money-making.’

‘Criminal?’

‘Not at first. Not as far as we can make out. Of course, it’s often a thin line in his business. Blaydon eventually made enough money to buy a holiday home in Corfu shortly after the millennium, when such places were still affordable.’

‘That wasn’t long after the Balkan wars,’ Banks said. ‘What happened next?’

‘A few years later, Norman Peel died. Boating accident, apparently. They were business partners by then, and Blaydon took over the reins.’

‘Foul play?’

‘Oh, definitely suspected. Peel was far too honest and straight to fit in with Blaydon’s plans. It happened off Corfu, while Peel was a guest at Blaydon’s holiday home, and nobody could prove it was anything other than a tragic accident.’

‘So what criminal activities do you think he’s involved in these days?’

‘Some of it involves the development side. Big time. Company’s called Unicorn Investments International. Rather a fanciful sort of name for it, I’d say. He’s involved in shopping centres, housing estates like the Elmet Centre project — you name it. It’s a form of insider trading, but he seems to know when to snap up properties pretty cheaply, and suddenly their value is enhanced when a development is announced.’

‘One of his developments?’

‘Usually. But he sometimes works through others, stays at least at one remove. That’s where the Kerrigans come in. As you probably know, they’re club owners, not natural property developers, but they’re quite happy to front some of Blaydon’s more dodgy enterprises for a reasonable return.’

Timmy and Tommy Kerrigan were, on paper at least, owners of the old Bar None nightclub, now renamed The Vaults, just across the market square from where Banks and Joanna were sitting, along with an amusement arcade, also on the square. They were crooks and thugs, suspected of involvement in drug dealing and prostitution, but Banks and his team had never been able to find enough evidence to charge them with anything. Timmy was suspected of an unhealthy interest in teenage girls, whereas Tommy was gay and preferred young boys. Tommy also had a sadistic streak and a nasty temper, ready to explode into violence at a moment’s notice. Their temperamental similarity to the Kray twins had been remarked on more than once, to the extent that in some quarters they were referred to as Reggie and Ronnie, though never to their faces.

‘Blaydon uses them as middlemen on some deals. Glorified gofers on others. And as you no doubt know, they don’t mind getting their hands dirty.’

‘What else is Blaydon up to?’

‘Drugs, for starters. But he’s not a dealer. He doesn’t buy or sell them; he merely facilitates their redistribution. People use his properties for sale and storage. But even that’s not enough for him.’

‘Where does the sex trafficking come in?’

‘Again, it’s not something he’s personally involved in. At least we don’t think so. He keeps his distance. But he’s connected with pop-up brothels. When you think about it, Blaydon’s profession is ideal for that. All those properties standing vacant. Why not make a bit of money out of them? There was a place recently, one of Blaydon’s, an empty low-rise apartment building in Scarborough. Seaview Court. Some of the people who lived nearby reported hearing people yelling and seeing blokes hanging around at all hours, used condoms in the street and so on. It wasn’t a big deal, so the local constabulary didn’t rush to act, and by the time they did get around to checking it out, they’d closed shop and moved on. Like I said, he always manages to stay one step ahead of the law. Needless to say, he denied all knowledge.’

‘There’s another thing about these pop-up brothels,’ Banks said. ‘They often rely on trafficked girls, or boys, which means a network of far-reaching and often very nasty connections. As far as the drugs are concerned, Corfu isn’t far from Albania, if my geography serves me well. He could have made contacts with criminal gangs over there. I understand that the Albanian Mafia are running most of the cocaine trade over here these days. I don’t believe sex trafficking and pop-up brothels are beyond their reach, either.’ Banks again thought of Zelda, her history as a trafficked girl and her work in helping put names to the faces of trafficking suspects. She had given him some useful information a while ago about an old adversary — one who got away — called Phil Keane, turning up in London again. But no one had been able to find any trace of him since, and Zelda had had to lie low at work.