afterwards. He's a typical criminal really. Not very bright, and fairly predictable.'
'Fair enough,' I said, then asked him a few more questions and arranged to fax over the e-fit of our suspect for comparison, before ringing off.
Malik had come over and was leaning against my desk. 'What have you got?' he asked.
'A lead, but I'm not sure where it's going to take us.' I told him briefly what I'd heard while he listened in silence.
He looked pleased. 'Well, let's have a look at him. Bring his details up on the system and see how well he matches the efit.'
I logged on to the PNC database, fed in the relevant details Daly had given me and, after a few seconds, the black and white mugshot of a young man with a thin, pallid face, defiant eyes and unkempt, greasy black hair stared back at me. At first glance it looked as if he was snarling at the camera, but on closer inspection I could see that he had a harelip. A wispy, untidy moustache did little to conceal it.
'Nice-looking lad.'-Malik
chuckled.
'It's amazing,' I said. 'He couldn't be anything but a criminal. Whoever said you should never judge a book by its cover should come here and take a look at this guy.'
'But is he our man?'
'I don't remember the e-fit of the suspect being this ugly.'
Malik stepped across to his desk, picked up a hardcopy of the suspect e-fit and put it up next to Fanner on the screen. It wasn't exactly a close match, but the hair colour, age and facial features were similar, although the hairstyle (if you could call Fanner's dishevelled mop a style) was markedly different. The e-fit suspect's hair was curlier and shorter.
We both stared at the two pictures for a moment. 'Inconclusive,' said Malik eventually. 'It says here that Fanner's
five feet nine inches, which fits within the witness's height range, but it's difficult to tell.'
'If they are one and the same then she was being very flattering in her description.'
'We don't know how good her eyesight is. Are you and Tina going to check this lead out?'
'I can't get hold of her at the moment. I know she's got a lot on. How about you coming with me?
'I've got a lot on myself.'
'Come on. We could do with some quality time together.'
'The last time I spent quality time with you was Heathrow last week, and five people ended up shot.'
'Well, it can only be an improvement, then.' I stood up. 'Let's grab a bite first. I'm starving.'
'All right,' he said, putting the hardcopy back on his desk. 'It's a good enough lead to warrant some effort, I suppose.'
We took a bit of a stroll and went to a pub called the Dragon which served good food all day, according to the sign outside the door. I bought Malik an orange juice and, trusting him not to give me any trouble over it, a pint of Greene Man for myself. We also ordered our food, going Dutch this time (I don't get paid enough to be too generous), then found ourselves a table by the door. I plumped for the lasagne, with a green salad; Malik, the home-made steak and kidney pie with veg and mash.
'So,' he said, watching me take a healthy mouthful of beer, 'have you got an address for Fanner?'
I nodded. 'If he's no longer there, he'll be in breach of his probation. I've got the victim's, Ragdale's, address on there too. Perhaps she could throw some light on whether or not he's a hitman on the side.'
'If he is, he's not a very good one.'
'That's my concern, because I'm sure our man is. But three weeks ago Fanner was in possession of that gun. So at the very least he can point us in the right direction.'
Malik nodded. Tell me something,' he said, sitting back in his seat and giving me a smile. 'Are you and Tina Boyd an item?'
His question caught me completely off guard, which I suppose it was designed to, and I made the mistake of hesitating for a second. 'No, course not,' I said lamely. 'What makes you say
that?' 'There's something in the way you look at each other. It's very
subtle, but it's there for definite. Either you're an item, or you definitely fancy her like mad. It's one or the other.' He sipped his orange knowingly.
'I fancy her,' I said with a smile. 'But as far as I know, the feeling's not mutual.'
'It is, I think.'
'Christ, who are you? Dr Ruth? Our relationship is purely platonic, I promise you. I always keep my working relationships above board, it's a long-standing habit of mine.' I felt bad lying to him, because we got on well and I'd come to count on him as a friend in the time since we'd met on the Holtz case, but I knew it would be more than my life's worth for Tina to find out I'd let the cat out of the bag.
'It's a pity,' he said. 'I think you'd make a good couple. You look right together.'
Thank you, Cupid.'
'I'm serious. You do. Maybe you should think about it. A relationship'd do you good.'
'What do you mean?'
He was about to answer and give me another piece of domestic advice when his mobile rang. He pulled it out and started talking, getting up from the table at the same time and walking out the door. I watched him go, taking another drink of my beer and
thinking that usually I didn't like being lectured by anyone, particularly colleagues, but with Malik I was prepared to make an exception. Mainly because I could tell he genuinely meant what he said, and was motivated by all the right reasons. In fact, I'd wanted to come right out and tell him that Tina and I were together and were very happy too, because I knew it would please him, but the moment was gone, and maybe that was for the best. I wasn't sure I liked the comment that a relationship would do me good, though. Especially as I was in one.
'Anything interesting?' I asked him when he came back a couple of minutes later.
He sat down and put the phone away. 'Your friend and mine, Mr Jack Merriweather. Apparently, he wants conjugal visits.'
Jack Merriweather. Now there was someone I hadn't thought about in a while. Thanks to Malik's and my efforts, he was currently behind bars in London's maximum-security Belmarsh prison, and was to be the main prosecution witness in the upcoming trial of a number of associates of the Holtz crime family, including its most senior surviving member, Neil Vamen. Merriweather had been a Holtz man through and through, and had only escaped a very long prison sentence because he'd agreed to testify against his old friends and bosses.
'He wants conjugal visits? Who from?'
'His mistress, apparently. A hatchet-faced blonde called Cheryl who's older than he is and about as attractive as our man Fanner.'
'Christ, that's saying something.'
'Believe me, it's true. Apparently, he's been seeing her for years, and she hasn't been put off by his latest predicament.'
'He's not going to get visits just like that, is he? That really would damage what's left of my faith in the criminal justice system.'
Malik shook his head. 'Apart from anything else, it'd be too much of a security risk.'
'What do you mean?'
He leant forward, lowering his voice. 'Between you and me, Merriweather's no longer in Belmarsh. He's in a safe house. Has been for the past two weeks. Ever since someone tried to kill
him.'
'So Vamen hasn't thrown in the towel just yet?'
'Did you think he would? Men like him are survivors, John. They don't give up until they're underground. Vamen wants Merriweather out of the way, and he's going to keep trying until he's succeeded.'
'Is Merriweather all right?'
He nodded. 'He was lucky, though. It was a very near miss. A paedophile on the same segregation wing attacked him with a sharpened lamb chop bone, of all things. Tried to jam it in his neck while they were out in the exercise yard. He managed to slash him but Merriweather's quite handy with his fists and he managed to fight the guy off until the warders broke it up.'
'A lamb chop?' That was certainly a new one.
'If the attacker had got a clean shot, and some power behind it, it could easily have killed him. It was solid bone.'
'It's not exactly hi-tech. Was it definitely an organized hit?'
The assailant's not saying anything, but it was a completely unprovoked attack, and there was no history at all between the two of them. And that's not the end of it. While Merriweather was recovering in the prison hospital someone put ground glass in his food. Luckily for him his appetite had been affected by what had happened, and the stuff they were feeding him wasn't exactly gourmet, so he only had a couple of bites. He didn't like the taste, said there was something wrong with it, and spat the stuff out. That's when someone put two and two together and
checked it. They found enough in there to have ripped his insides to shreds. And it was professionally ground down as well, almost into dust. He could have eaten a fair bit without realizing what was wrong. Whoever was behind it took a lot of trouble getting it ready.'
I sighed, concerned by what I was hearing. You think that when you've nicked someone and built a decent case against them, then that's pretty much that. But in reality all we had against Vamen was the testimony of Jack Merriweather and those handful of witnesses prepared to follow his example and point their fingers at him for past crimes. If Merriweather was silenced, then so would they be, you could bank on it. And without them there was nothing like enough evidence to secure a conviction.
'So, he's not got any second thoughts about testifying?'
'He's doing fine now we've got him out of Belmarsh and into a nice little pad in the country. He's moaning that he wants every creature comfort going, and even Cheryl to come and play happy families, but he's holding up, and that's the main thing. This is classified information, though, John. Only a handful of people know about it, and even fewer are aware of the location. Don't mention any of it to anyone. Not even Tina.'
'I won't. I promise.'
A plump girl carrying two plates of steaming food came out from behind the bar and shouted out our number. I lifted my hand to acknowledge her and she came over and dumped them down in front of us.
We ate largely in silence, both of us hungry, but as I finished, a thought suddenly struck me. 'Do you think what's happening with Merriweather's got anything to do with our case?' I pushed my empty plate to one side. 'I mean, there's what Tina found out about Stegs Jenner and his possible involvement with the
Holtzes. If he was somehow involved in the leaking of the Heathrow op . . .'
Malik didn't look convinced. There's no evidence against Jenner, nothing at all, and he seems to be co-operating fully. Plus, as Flanagan points out, there is the problem of motive.'
I nodded slowly, thinking. I'd been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. 'But there could be a motive if we assume that Stegs is still working for the Holtzes, or at least for Neil
Vamen.'
Malik's eyes narrowed. 'Explain.'
'Well, say, Stegs uses O'Brien to set up the robbery at the airport hotel, knowing full well the robbers'll get caught, thus implicating their boss, Nicholas Tyndall, and causing him no end of trouble that
would be a very nice outcome for Neil Vamen, wouldn't it? A potentially very serious rival in the shit, which is effectively what's happened, and if he can get rid of Merriweather at the same time, a chance to be back out on the streets and in complete charge of his old manor.'
Malik thought about it for a few moments, taking the odd pensive sip of his orange juice, which seemed to be lasting an unfeasibly long time. Tart of it fits, but there are still unanswered questions,' he said eventually. 'Such as, why would Stegs put himself in such a dangerous position, which he undoubtedly did, for someone like Vamen? Also, we're assuming that Vamen's positive he's going to get out of jail, otherwise why would he bother trying to set up Tyndall? And why put his old friends, the Colombians, out of business?'
I finished my pint and placed the glass carefully on the table. 'Something's going down, though, Asif. I'm sure of it.'
19
Fiona Ragdale was pale and skinny, with bottle-blonde hair showing dark roots. She looked older than the twenty-three years she claimed to be, and tired too, but then she did have a hyperactive three-year-old boy jumping all over her. 'Leave it, Jack,' she said, swatting him away with an arm that was dotted with bruises. 'I'm talking to these men. Go and play with your train set.'
She turned back to us as Jack ran off towards the other side of the room. 'I ain't seen him since that night,' she said. 'And I hope I never see him again. Not after what he did to us.'
We were sitting opposite her in the lounge of her cramped tenth-floor flat on the Warwick estate, a collection of monolithic 1960s council-owned tower blocks overlooking the A40 flyover, just west of Paddington station. Malik and I were hunched together on the tiny semi-collapsed sofa, trying desperately to stay upright, while she was hunched forward in a matching chair that looked like it had been savaged by a dog. The room itself was tidy but cold, and it badly needed a new coat of paint. The
hole in the ceiling where Fanner had fired the all-important round was still clearly visible, surrounded by long spider's-web cracks in the plaster.
Malik made a manful attempt to lean forward in his rapidly sinking seat. 'He hasn't attempted to make contact at all since?'
She shook her head. 'No. I thought he would. Usually when he threatens something, he comes back to finish it off. Maybe he reckoned he'd gone too far, what with the gun an' all.'
'Gun!' shouted Jack happily, coming back over and standing in front of Malik and me. 'Gun! Gun! Gun!' I gave him a brief smile and he continued his running round the room. I thought it was tough on the little kid, being cooped up high above the ground when he should have been outside playing.
'I'm not working the streets no more, all that stuffs behind me. And I'm clean too. I ain't touched a thing since January.' She looked us both in the eye as she said this, and there was an unmistakable pride in her voice. That's why he was so pissed off with me.'
'You're doing the right thing,' I told her, hoping she'd be able to keep it up.
Malik pulled the e-fit of our suspect from his jacket and passed it over to her. 'Can you tell us if Mr Fanner looks anything like this?'
She checked the picture out for a couple of seconds, then her face lit up with a surprisingly pleasant smile. 'Nah, it don't look nothing like him. This bloke might not be real but he's a lot better looking. And his hair's shorter.'
I asked her if she was sure.
'Ain't you got a photo of Pretty Boy?'
'Who?'
'Fanner. That's his street name. Pretty Boy. I think someone was taking the piss.'
'I think you're right. Yes, I have seen a photo of him. I was just double-checking.'