Mo Hayder - Hanging Hill

‘It’s funny.’ Zhang rubbed his head, perplexed. ‘To meet the guy you’d think he was the kindest person on the planet.’

‘OK,’ Zoë said slowly. ‘I’m getting the drift now. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say I bet he persuaded them to do porn movies too.’

‘Very good. Very good. You should charge for that.’

‘Thank you. And for my second trick, he wasn’t actually making the movies, was he? Doing the nuts-and-bolts lighting and camera work? He was just providing the flesh.’

‘We don’t know. We think so. It’s one of the areas we haven’t put a line under yet.’

‘Well, let me help you put a line there. Let me make a guess and say that’s how he links to my man Goldrab. Who probably, at a guess, did provide all the technical stuff. David Goldrab? Ring any bells? Gold-rab. British citizen, had a lucrative market in the nineties bringing porn in from Kosovo. It was cheaper to make it out there, of course.’

‘Goldrab?’ Zhang glanced up at Watling questioningly. ‘Ma’am? Didn’t that name come up somewhere?’ He pulled a file towards him and shuffled through the papers. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen it.’

Watling pulled one of the other files across. ‘Was it in the…? No. It was one of those payments, wasn’t it? One of the companies.’

‘Ding-dong.’ Zhang shot a finger at her. ‘That’s it.’ He put down the file and snatched up another, moving through the pages at lightning speed, muttering names under his breath. At last he came to a Companies House certificate. He pulled it out. ‘There you go. DGE Enterprises. The director and company secretary? Mr David Goldrab. Registered address in London – but that’s probably an accountant, or a solicitor maybe.’

‘What sort of company is it? Purveyors of the finest-quality filth? By Appointment to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II?’

‘Nope. Containers. Food containers to the catering industry. And in 2008 Dominic Mooney bought twenty thousand units of Kilner jam jars from DGE.’

Zoë raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, that’s a lot of jam. He must run a fruit farm.’

‘From his city house in Finchley?’

The three of them looked at each other.

‘So,’ Zhang smiled, ‘who’s going to be the first to say it?’

‘Bagsy me.’ Zoë put her hand up. ‘Blackmail. Years ago Goldrab was making porn in Kosovo and Mooney was supplying the girls – using the ones his unit was supposed to be protecting. The relationship breaks down and years later, long after they’ve been in Kosovo, it occurs to Goldrab that blackmailing an old friend is a legit way to turn a dime.’

‘That’s what Mooney’s payments are – to his dodgy “catering” company.’

Zoë nodded. If Goldrab had been blackmailing Mooney he’d be a very happy person indeed for Goldrab to be dead. He could only win from a situation like that. She looked from Watling to Zhang and back again. ‘What’s Mooney like? I mean apart from what he did in Kosovo. Is he meaty in other arenas? What’s he capable of? Is he capable of murder?’

Watling gave a dry laugh. ‘ Very capable. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not from what our investigations are showing – we’re seeing links to at least two missing persons, here and in Kosovo.’

‘And the name Lorne Wood hasn’t cropped up, has it?’

Watling raised her eyebrows. ‘No – I mean, I know the name. It’s the murder you’re dealing with in Bath, isn’t it? Surprisingly, at SIB we do take an interest in what the provincial police are doing, even if that interest isn’t reciprocated. But Lorne hasn’t featured with Mooney. Not at all. Why do you ask?’

‘Where was he a week last Saturday? The seventh of May? The day Lorne died?’

‘London.’

‘You sure?’

‘One hundred per cent. I can assure you he’s got nothing to do with Lorne Wood’s death.’

‘But he is a killer.’

Watling sucked a breath in through her teeth. ‘Let’s get this straight – yes, he’s a killer, but not that sort. If Mooney wants to off someone it’ll be a cold, calculating business contract, not a sex killing. Lorne Wood? Never. Goldrab? Maybe. But he certainly wouldn’t be getting his own hands dirty. He’d contract it out.’

‘Contract it? Then there’d be a record of payment.’ Zoë stood and leaned over Zhang to look at the file. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got Mooney’s bank statements there?’

He closed the folder, turned away slightly in his chair, crossing his leg and raising his shoulder protectively so she couldn’t see it.

‘There’s nothing in there,’ said Watling. Trust me. We’d know. If there had been a payment recently it wouldn’t be paper-based – he’d use hard currency so there’s no trace. My guess? He’d use Krugerrands – he had links to that RAF currency scam years ago, remember? The humble Kruger was a very hot ticket in those days.’

‘What sort of person would he hire?’

‘Usually ex-military. At the moment the market’s flooded with ex-IRA boys – they’ll drop someone for ten K. But it’s not Mooney’s style. They’re loose cannons, too unreliable, too flappy with the old gums in the pub afterwards. He’d pay more and get someone he could trust.’

Zoë put her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, and stared at the files, thinking about this. A hired gun. If Goldrab really had been offed by Mooney, and she could find out whom he had paid to do it, the whole thing might start to unravel. If there was a connection between Goldrab, Mooney and Lorne that SIB hadn’t uncovered it would pop out in no time. If not, at the very worst she’d be sure Goldrab was really gone.

‘And where is Mooney at the moment?’

‘He’s on holiday with his wife – soon to be his ex-wife when this thing breaks.’

‘Anywhere I could go and visit him?’

Zhang snorted. ‘Yeah – hang on a minute. I’ll just write the address down.’

‘What I mean,’ Zoë said slowly, ‘is how do we work it from here? Who backs off? Who scratches whose back? I mean, I’ve got primacy on Goldrab, which means I’ve got a right to investigate his connection to Mooney.’

‘And we’ve got primacy on what Mooney did in Kosovo. And the bulk of the evidence.’ Watling shook her head. ‘Please – we’ve spent years on this, Zoë. Years. You can’t calculate the man hours. Everything’s in place – just teetering like that.’ She held up a hand and seesawed it, like a car on a clifftop. ‘Mooney’s arrest’s scheduled for next week. But he’s a flight risk – if he gets even a whiff of this there’s any number of ways he can disappear out of the country. His secretary’s already getting windy from your phone calls because you said the CID word, didn’t you? Forgive me but you’ve already jeopardized the case. One more cock-up now and we’re going to lose the whole thing. No.’ She placed two hands on the desk. As if she’d made up her mind and it was all over. ‘We’ll take on Goldrab’s disappearance, share our SPA disclosure files when it’s all tied up. You get the results without the work. Goldrab can’t be that important to you, can he?’

‘Yes. He can.’

‘Why?’

‘For all the usual reasons,’ she said sweetly. ‘Like when I close the case and my superintendent hangs out the bunting for me. When every plain-clothed officer in Bath lines up and sings, “We love you, Zoë,” as I walk through the briefing room. When bluebirds come in and tidy my desk every morning.’

‘Any of the glory we can spare we’ll pass on to you. You have my word. You’ll get your bunting, Zoë. You will. Bluebirds and whatever.’

She nodded and smiled. If they were in the movies, the way Zhang said, this would be the point at which she’d argue, refuse to have the case wrested from her. Why did they always do it like that? she thought. What did people have against just nodding, making a promise, then getting the hell on with whatever they’d intended doing in the first place? In her experience it saved a lot of trouble.