John Harvey - Good Bait

He paused for water.

‘Up until recently, most of our long-term home-grown dealers have been happy enough to take their supplies from the Albanians, the Bulgarians, whoever. Business being business. But for some of them, it stuck in their craw. And just lately they’ve been kicking back. Taking out some of the lower level guys, frightening them off, clawing their way back up the chain. Intercepting shipments that have been coming in by way of the Channel Tunnel, or, in one or two cases, offloaded off the coast. And then hitting where it hurts. Karen, we’ve talked a little about this. Raids on cannabis farms right across East Anglia and the South-East.’

‘For which,’ Karen said, ‘you think Gordon Dooley is responsible.’

‘Our information suggests Dooley is behind it, yes. The extent to which he plays an active part, we’re still not sure. As you know, he’s currently under surveillance. And, though we’ve no definite proof, nothing quite yet to get us knocking down doors, there’s good reason for supposing a South London gang centring round known villains like Mike Carter and possibly, just possibly, Terry Martin, is providing the muscle.’

‘The same gang,’ Burcher said, intervening, ‘of which Parsons and Johnson, our two bodies from Camden, were charter members.’

‘The same.’

‘So, Camden was an organised hit by Horak or someone close to him — East European, anyway, that’s what we’re thinking — a warning. The response to which was that bloody business out at Stansted.’

‘It points that way,’ Cormack said.

‘Tit for tat.’

‘Yes.’

‘Anything you can do, I can do better.’

For one bizarre moment, Karen thought the Detective Chief Inspector might be about to burst into song.

‘The earlier murder,’ Burcher said, ‘Andronic, the kid in the pond, you see, Karen, any connection?’

She took a moment to consider her answer.

‘I’m not sure, sir. We do have some information that he might have been involved in some occasional low-level dealing, but I can’t see him being visible enough to attract the attention of someone like Martin or Dooley. Although …’ She hesitated.

‘Go on.’

‘Terry Martin’s daughter had been seeing Andronic very much against his wishes.’

‘And for that,’ Alex Williams said, speaking for the first time, ‘he would have killed him?’

‘I think it’s possible, yes.’

‘Possible,’ Burcher said, ‘though I believe, despite the best efforts of you and your team, unproven.’

‘So far. Sir.’

Burcher let it pass.

‘These murders,’ Karen said, ‘Stansted, Camden, I’m assuming from what we’ve heard — the point of this meeting, really — you’ll be wanting my team to step away.’

Burcher cleared his throat. ‘Not necessarily so.’

‘But everything Warren’s just said, the nature of what’s happened, what lays behind it, this has to be a Project Team operation, surely? They’ve got the resources, the background. All we’ll do, muddy the waters. Get in the way to no good cause.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘We’ve plenty enough on our plates as it is.’

No one spoke. A slight scuffing of feet beneath the table. Uneasy glances.

‘As I say, not necessarily the way we see it,’ Burcher said. ‘Not at all. Everyone else here — Warren, Alex, Charles-’

‘Charlie.’

‘Right, Charlie. They’re all intent on the bigger picture, you’re correct about that, of course. Whereas you, your team, specific aims, objectives — homicide investigation, your field of expertise.’

Not what you said last time, you bastard, Karen thought; not what you implied.

‘So, we’d like you to push ahead on the Camden killing, Milescu, too, concentrate your energies there.…’

‘And these last two murders, Stansted …’

‘As and how they’re linked, yes. Liaising with Warren, of course.’

‘That’s a big stretch, without help.…’

‘Any request for extra bodies, extra hours — sympathetically met.’ Burcher lifted the papers in front of him and tapped the ends into place.

‘Alex, anything you want to add?’

‘Not at this stage, thank you.’

‘Charles?’

‘Charlie. Yes, just one thing. For some little time now, we’ve been taking an interest in the activities of a certain Anton Kosach. Businessman from the Ukraine. No links with Horak as far as we’ve been able to establish. Bit more establishment, more upmarket. Oil money to begin with. More recently mineral products, high-end motors, transportation. Owns a number of properties, a place in Surrey worth upwards of fifteen million amongst them. Numbers amongst his friends one or two with possible connections to people trafficking. As far as we’ve made out so far, these connections are purely social, but that’s by no means definite. And Kosach’s various enterprises put him in a good position to facilitate money laundering on quite a large scale. Again, nothing definite, nothing proved. But we’re watching. SIS also.’

A glance towards Alex Williams, who nodded agreement.

‘So,’ Frost concluded, ‘should Kosach’s name show up on anyone’s radar, I’d appreciate a heads-up forthwith. Alex, also.’

Burcher thanked him, thanked everyone, brought the meeting to a close. General movement, a scraping of chairs.

‘It’s been a while,’ Alex Williams said, falling into step beside Karen in the corridor outside.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘I’ll give you a call. Come over. Bit of a catch-up.’

‘Okay, fine. I’d like that,’ Karen said, without quite believing it would happen. Busy people, busy lives. Alex Williams, busier than most.

At the foot of the stairs they exchanged smiles and went their separate ways, Karen fast-dialling Mike Ramsden as she did so, setting up a meeting of their own, how to proceed from here.

Not quite able to settle, alert for sounds of an approaching car, strange voices, a vehicle turning into the lane, they had fallen, nevertheless, into something approaching a routine. Letitia was the more listless, the more likely to lapse into moods of depression, alleviated by her son’s almost omnipresent good humour.

Kiley had made contact with Anton’s brother, Taras, as requested; driven up from London and met him at an Ibis hotel, off the M6 north of Preston. Phoned Cordon to report.

Anton was under a lot of pressure, Taras had told him, seeking to explain his brother’s behaviour. Business, it does not always run well. He chose not to elaborate. And on top of that, this thing with Letitia and his son … much as he liked Letitia, Taras said, she was in the wrong. Taking a man’s son away from him, his flesh and blood.

Taras had gripped Kiley’s arm. ‘In our country, in Ukraine, it is most important bond. Family. Father and son. Holy, you understand? Here, in England, perhaps is different. But for us, for Anton … And what did she think, Letitia? She could run, hide forever? And you, you know where she is. Her and the boy.’

Kiley had shaken his head.

‘You must.’

‘Not exactly.’

‘This man with her …’

‘A man with her?’

‘This man, he is her lover?’

‘No.’

‘You are sure of this?’

Kiley nodded.

‘Then why?’

‘A friend.’

‘A fool.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You know where they are,’ Taras said again.

‘She wants to be certain nothing will happen to her,’ Kiley said. ‘If she returns. Her or the boy. She wants to know that Anton will sit down with her and talk, talk reasonably.’

‘Of course.’

‘A lawyer should be involved.’

‘No lawyers. He does not like lawyers.’

‘An accommodation needs to be reached. Equal access to the child.’