Simon Kernick - The Murder Exchange

‘He’s Stefan Holtz’s son, for fuck’s sake! What can we do?’

I shook my head. ‘Fuck that. I keep hearing about these Holtzes and how fucking invincible they are, but let me tell you something, no one’s invincible. I might be on the run but I’m not going to leave London with my tail between my legs. And I’m not going to move one more fucking foot until I get this sorted out.’

‘It won’t help anything.’

‘It’ll help me,’ I said, and got up and went to get the rest of the brandy from the kitchen. My blood was up; I needed something to get it back down again. I poured myself a glass, then took the bottle back to the bedroom and poured some more for Elaine. ‘You know something, I’ve never met Stefan Holtz or any of his extended family, never done a fucking thing to any of them, but these people seem to be doing everything in their power to fuck up my life.’

‘They fuck up a lot of people.’

‘There’s one way I can get back at them. And get revenge for what happened to you. I can off that arsewipe Krys.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I’m a trained soldier, Elaine. I’m perfectly capable of doing it. And it’ll make me feel one hell of a lot better.’

‘Then what happens? You’ll be on the run for ever.’

‘I’m on the run anyway, so what’s the difference? And I’ll have got them back, for me and for you. Krys’ll be dead, and his dad’ll have to live with the fact that he’s lost a son. And if I do it right, they’ll never know it was me.’

Something in her face hardened. ‘He’s not going to be that easy to kill, Max. Someone like him’s got a lot of enemies. He’s got bodyguards.’

I shrugged. The idea of killing bodyguards didn’t bother me either. I knew it could be done. I could also see that Elaine was now coming round to the idea. We both sat looking at each other for a few moments, each of us wondering how far we were really going to go.

‘I hate that bastard for what he’s just done to me,’ she said eventually, ‘but I don’t want to do anything that’s going to make things worse for you and for us. Do you know what I mean?’

But the thing was, I’d made up my mind. ‘He’s going to have to die, Elaine,’ I said simply.

She took a drag on her cigarette and eyed me closely through the bluish haze of smoke. Then, for the first time since returning that night, her gloom seemed to lift. ‘There’s a better way,’ she said.

Gallan

Berrin remained off sick on Monday. The flu, or whatever it was, had supposedly got worse. If the truth be told, he’d picked a good day to be absent. It was another stinking hot one and tempers in CID were frayed. Knox chaired the meeting of the Shaun Matthews murder squad, during which the events of the weekend, including the death of the possible witness McBride, were discussed, but there remained a feeling that everything had ground to a halt on the inquiry, and Knox was preoccupied by other events. A thirteen-year-old girl, just one year older than my daughter, had been dragged onto wasteground in broad daylight by a man in his thirties while walking home from the park, and violently sexually assaulted. The ordeal had lasted as long as half an hour and the attacker had also slashed her arm with a knife or a razor, even though she’d made no move to resist him. This was a particularly nasty type of crime, one that upset the public, and therefore one that upset the Brass. Which meant immediate pressure to get it solved. By nine-thirty that morning, there’d also been two missing persons reports, one of them a teenage schoolgirl, and Knox was being pushed from above to reorganize his resources. This meant cutting the size of the Matthews murder squad. With the case nine days old, and other business piling up all over the place, Knox reduced it to himself, Capper, DC Hunsdon, myself and Berrin (whenever he turned up for work again). However, due to further staff shortages within CID, I was informed that I was also going to have to work the other missing persons case, that of a fifty-three-year-old ex-con and former soldier named Eric Horne, who’d been missing since the previous Thursday.

At this point, the meeting became heated, and I’d pressed, with a lot less diplomacy than I usually exhibit in front of the boss, for far more serious efforts to be made in tracking down Jean Tanner since if she was alive she at least might be able to help. I also brought up the Neil Vamen angle, undeterred by how it had all gone the previous day, and suggested that he too might have had some involvement. ‘And surely, if we’ve got the opportunity, we want to put someone like him behind bars?’

Knox attempted to answer my concerns as thoroughly as possible, explaining that he would speak to his counterpart on the McBride case straight away, and get what details he could, although he added that the hunt for Miss Tanner was not our responsibility since McBride had not died on our patch. We would, said Knox, continue to look at the possibility of Neil Vamen’s own possible motives, but he suggested that, with the death of the one person who’d mentioned his name in connection with the case, it was going to be extremely difficult to prove any involvement on his part, if indeed there’d been any. I think I must have pulled a face because Knox shot me one of his trademark dirty looks reserved only for people who really pissed him off, but I was past caring. In my opinion, the whole thing was becoming a whitewash. If the Matthews case had been a straightforward one, like most murders, and hadn’t had any connections to the complicated morass of organized crime, then Knox would have been a lot more interested. Instead, he’d clearly decided that it was more hassle than it was worth, that the chances of a conviction were too negligible to waste time on. These days it was all about performance league tables. Something like this, particularly when the corpse belonged to a lowlife like Shaun Matthews, was always going to be put on the back-burner if there were other, easier crimes coming along that could be solved. That was the long and the short of it.

The meeting broke up at ten past ten and Knox, after doling out orders to various individuals and trying to solve a couple of minor grievances, one involving Boyd and Capper and an alleged sexist comment, called me into his office. Neither of us was in the best of moods and the sweltering heat in the office did little to help matters. Knox had two desk fans blasting away but all they did was push the hot air around the confines of the room.

‘Look, John, I know you’re pissed off because you don’t think things are moving as quickly as you’d like on this case, but you know how things are.’ I didn’t say anything. ‘I’m going to speak to DCI Peppard, DI Burley’s boss, later this morning to see what information we can get from them. If they pick up Jean Tanner, I’ll make sure we get the opportunity to question her about Matthews, and see what she may or may not know. We’ll also chase them to find out how McBride died and whether they’ve got any leads on who may have killed him.’

‘DI Burley wasn’t exactly helpful, sir.’

‘He can be very brash, I admit.’

‘He treated me like a criminal. We’re meant to be on the same side.’

Knox’s face reddened. He had the look of a man who’s been given the job of counsellor without actually wanting it. ‘It’s not like that. Burley’s territorial. He doesn’t like people, even fellow officers, muscling in on his patch.’

‘I was hardly muscling in. I was actually trying to help him.’

‘I’m sure you were, it’s just that that’s not how he interprets it. He’s not very good sometimes around younger officers. I think he thinks they’re upstarts.’ He gave a reassuring and vaguely patronizing smile as he said this — not that I thought there was anything particularly amusing about it. I continued to look at him stony-faced.