Skinner's Trail (25 page)

Sixty

‘W
hat do I think? I think you fancy your chances with Mamselle Veronica, that's what I bloody think!'

Pujol smiled, replacing his beer on the Café Navili's marble-topped table. 'You know what I mean. Did you believe her?'

`Implicitly. Every word she said was true, or at least she believed it was. That girl has never told a lie in her life. There, does that satisfy you?'

`Si. I am glad to hear you say it.'

`Think of it. What purpose would there be in getting her involved? Wide-eyed, totally honest, totally innocent. Her job, as she says, is to keep everybody happy — and who could be better at it? She's perfect. And, yes, for what it's worth, I think you might have scored there.'

Pujol grinned even more broadly. 'Do you think she will keep her word not to say anything to Vaudan about our visit?'

`I hope so. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that he doesn't ask her a direct question. I wouldn't like that to be her first lie. With any luck at all, though, Vaudan still thinks that his thing with the brick worked, and that I'm off the pitch. I'm bloody sure Garcia would do as he was told, and report mission accomplished. He'd better. He's got his testicles in a sling as it
is. If he crosses me on this one, he'll have them for paperweights!'

Skinner reached into the left breast pocket of his shirt, and produced two folded sheets of fax paper.
‘B
ut enough of him. I've got serious news on the Ainscow front. Take a look at this. You should be able to understand Edinburgh police jargon!' He handed over Mackie's fax.

Pujol scanned it quickly, then reread the second Section, his eyes widening.

`But this is incredible. You are watching this man Cocozza, and all this happens.'

`Yeah. We clock these three big dealers, then Ainscow walks slap bang into the middle of it. Arturo, if I'm reading this right, we haven't just got our link between Ainscow and Vaudan through those cheques. We know why they've been building up their cash mountain over the years. It's a bankroll for one of the biggest drugs buys ever made in Europe, enough to keep four cities high for years, and to make some people very
,
very rich. This is a classic deal. A straightforward supply chain leading from manufacturer to customer. Those three hooligans in the sauna, and Cocozza who'd like to be one of
them, they’re
the retailers. Ainscow, he and Vaudan, they're the wholesalers. And somewhere, if they haven't done it already, they're going to touch base with the manufacturers. And I don't need to tell you what the product is.'

Skinner's eyes gleamed with excitement. 'If I can find out from the man in Amsterdam where that money is, and keep a track of it, wherever it goes, then follow what it buys to its destination, then there's a chance that we can wrap up the whole supply chain in one go. And that would be some outcome, from a minor property fraud.

I wish I was going to
Amsterdam first tomorrow. Fuck it, I wish I was going today!' `Can't you change your plans?'

Skinner shook his head. 'No, Brian'll have lined it all up by now. But what I can and will do, once I've seen the girl, is get to that bank in Amsterdam as fast as I can, even if the local law has to drive us.'

`Will you come back here?'

Skinner shook his head. 'No, I think this investigation's moving back towards my patch. You've still got to tie Inch's accident, and Alberni's dodgy suicide, to Vaudan, if you can. But me, I'm off down another trail!'

Sixty-one

It was a very smart hotel located in the heart of Hamburg's main business district, with the well-polished look of private ownership rather than the glitz of a major chain. Its furnishings were opulent, and its staff had the air of people who knew that they were there not simply to serve, but to care.

Skinner and Mackie sat in the coffee shop and waited for Hilda Braun to join them. A German detective, who had met them at the airport, sat alongside. However, they had already discovered that his interpretative skills would not be needed. Not unexpectedly for a big-city hotel receptionist, the woman turned out to be multilingual.

They rose as she approached. She fitted the shorthand description which Skinner had been given. Busty, and with a crest of soft, well-groomed red hair, she came to the table still wearing her receptionist smile, but with curiosity and concern showing in her eyes.

The three men continued standing as she reached the table. The German moved round and drew out for her the fourth chair. As she sat down, he poured her coffee from a large chrome Thermos pot.

`Thank you for joining us, Miss Braun,' said Skinner. 'Let me explain why we are here. My colleague here on my left and I are involved in an international investigation of what could
be a very big crime indeed. This gentleman,' he nodded to his
right, 'is from the police in Hamburg. He is helping us today.'

'I see. And why do you need to talk to me?' Her smile had gone. Only the concern remained.

`In the course of our investigation, we are watching a number of people. A couple of days ago, one of them made a trip to Hamburg: a very short trip. He flew here, he met with you, and then he flew away again. His name is Serge Lucan. We'd like you to tell us what you talked about.'

The girl took a sip of coffee. Skinner noticed that her hand was trembling slightly. She sat silent for a few seconds, as if considering her reply. Then she looked up and across at Skinner.

`I have a boyfriend,' she began hesitantly. 'His name is Hansi. We have known each other for many years. We are both from Bremerhaven, quite near here. Hansi was . . . had a little trouble a few years ago. When it was over, he decided that there was no future for him in Germany, and we agreed that he should go somewhere else to try to make a new start. We agreed that when he was established I would join him. Hansi was a sailor, on inshore boats mostly, so he decided to go to the south of France to look for work crewing on private yachts. He was only there for a few weeks when he called me to say that he had found a job with a man named Vaudan, as a crewman on yacht and cruiser charters around the Mediterranean. The pay was good, and he said that Vaudan had told him that there might be opportunities later for other work, with even better money. That was a few months ago. He has written regularly, but I have not seen him since then.'

She took another sip of coffee. The tremor was still there. The man you are talking about — Lucan. He called me one
morning earlier this week. From the airport, he said. He said that he too worked for Monsieur Vaudan, and that he had a message for me from Hansi. I told him to come to the hotel. We met here. He said that Hansi had asked him to come. He gave me a letter from him, and he gave me twenty thousand Deutschmarks.

`Hansi's letter said that he had been given an even better job by Vaudan as a crewman on a big yacht which some man from the Middle East had chartered, but that the cruise was not just the Mediterranean; it was around the world, and could take up to two years. He said that the man from the Middle East was paying the crew directly, and that the money was crazy. Hansi asked me if I would bank some of it for him, and use any I needed for myself. He said that, as well as the twenty thousand, every six months while he was away I would receive another fifteen thousand. It would come through Monsieur Vaudan, by bank draft. Hansi asked me to give this man Lucan a note confirming that I had received the money. So I did. He said that I could write to him through Vaudan's office in Monaco.'

She took a third sip of coffee. Her hand was now steady. `That's all there was. Lucan finished his coffee and his strudel, and left. Does that help you?'

Skinner nodded. 'Yes, it helps me a lot. Do you still have Hansi's letter?'

She held up her handbag. 'Yes, in here.'

And what did you do with the money?'

'I opened a bank account the same day. Now, what is this about, please?'

Skinner held up a hand. 'I'll tell you, Miss Braun, but first I want you to give me Hansi's letter. My German colleague here will give you a receipt if you wish one.'

She looked at him with a touch of fear in her eyes, seeming to clutch her bag tighter than before.

`Miss Braun, you haven't told us Hansi's surname. So I'll tell you: it's Gruber. I've met him. In a prison in Barcelona. He's being held there in connection with the death of a man in Spain. I expect that he will be charged with murder. The money that he is being paid is to keep him quiet while he's inside. But I don't imagine they'll pay it for too long. It'll be cheaper to arrange for him to have an accident in jail, or to commit suicide in his cell. I know Vaudan, too. He's very good at arranging accidents and suicides.'

Hilda Braun seemed to sag back in her chair. Tears ran down her face. She held a hand to her mouth, shaking her head slightly as if to deny the truth of what Skinner was saying.

`I'm sorry to have to hit you with this, but there was no way I could edge up to it. Look, do you want to help Hansi?'

She nodded.

`Well, there might be a chance. But ,I want you to give me that letter, and to write me another one.'

Sixty-two

The
oriental girl spread herself against the window, beckoning to Skinner and Mackie as they walked past. Her tiny bra and G-string were almost the same yellowish colour as her skin. Mackie, in spite of himself, looked towards her. The beckoning grew even more insistent.

`Want me to wait for you, Brian?' Skinner asked with a grin.

The slim detective shook himself theatrically and forced himself to move on. 'Christ, sir, are they all like that?'

`From what I remember, most of them just sit there in their Marks & Spencer bras and knickers, looking bored. That lass must have been working on her sales technique.'

`I once had a girlfriend,' said Mackie, 'who had one of those big Garfield cats stuck halfway up her bedroom window. That's what that one there reminds me of, pressed against the glass like that'

`You'd be a lot safer shaggin' Garfield than her,' Skinner muttered grimly.

`You been to Amsterdam often, boss?' Mackie asked.

`Once,' said Skinner. 'About fifteen years ago. I'd been a good boy or something, and my boss fixed it for me to be liaison man with the local police on a football trip. The local lads gave me the grand tour of the canal district. And before you ask, the answer's "Mind your own business".' He grinned
at a sudden memory. 'Actually, to tell the truth, there was this Dutch lady detective in their squad. I really fancied her, so the last thing I was going to do was let her see me taking any interest in the women in the windows!'

`How did you do there, then?' asked Mackie, amused by this sudden burst of frankness from his boss.

Skinner smiled again. 'The answer's still "Mind your own business". It was a long time ago. Don't know what I'd do if I met her here today, though.'

They walked on down the narrow street, which at the end opened out into the first of the notorious canals of Europe's legal red-light capital.

The German police helicopter which had flown them from Hamburg to Schiphol had made excellent time. Mackie, having ascertained that there would be no language difficulty at the Nederland Property Investment Bank, had declined the offer of an official reception. Instead they had taken the short taxi trip from the airport to central Amsterdam, where their driver had been disinclined to drive through the narrow canal
-
side streets, and had dropped them off to walk the remaining half mile to their destination. Even in mid-afternoon, the city's most famous industry was in full swing. As Skinner had recalled, the canals were lined with window after window of bored prostitutes, largely ignoring their potential clientele. Some were smoking, others renewing their heavy make-up. One or two were knitting. Eventually they left the canals behind and turned into another narrow street, where every business establishment was either a bar or a sex-shop.

Mackie stared at the implements on sale and shook his head. 'What in Christ's name would anyone want with one of
those?' His Calvinist upbringing asserted itself. 'I can't be doing with all that. I don't know if I've ever told you, sir, but my lifetime hobby is model railways. Everywhere I go I like to buy a set for my collection.'

Skinner's shoulders shook with sudden laughter. 'You could probably do that here, too, Brian. Only thing is, the engine would be a funny shape!'

Less than a minute later, they emerged from their seedy surroundings into the wide pedestrianised courtyard towards which they had been heading. Skinner looked around and saw, on a building on the far side, a large brass plat
e bearing the letters `NP
IB'. He tapped Mackie on the shoulder and led him across the paved central area, between tubs of multicoloured flowers. He opened the high, heavy, half-glazed door. The name of the bank was spelled out in gold leaf on the opaque glass panel. Inside, a stern, tweed-clad receptionist-secretary was stationed in the centre of the walnut-panelled entrance hall, barring the progress of visitors. Her eyebrows were pencilled on, and her grey-flecked black hair was pulled back in a bun. She reminded Skinner of a memorably intimidating primary school teacher of his childhood.

Mackie introduced Skinner and himself. 'We are here to see Mr van Troost,' he added.

Wait here, please,' said the forbidding woman. She withdrew through a door at the end of the hall. A few seconds later it opened once more, and her head and shoulders reappeared. 'Come this way,' she ordered. The two detectives obeyed without a word. She led them into a room panelled in the same style as the hall, with a desk in matching wood behind which sat a trim man with a narrow face and a long nose, crested by gold-framed spectacles. He wore a grey suit
made of a shiny fabric, and a white shirt with a 'fresh from the wrapper' look.

Van Troost did not rise as they approached, nor did he smile. The secretary-guardian
beckoned them to two uncomfortable wooden chairs, then retreated from the room.

`So,' said van Troost without preamble. 'What is the purpose of this mysterious visit?' His clipped tones seemed laden with hostility. 'You said that your enquiries relate to a fraud investigation, but not more than that. I must tell you that, as Director of this bank, I recoil from the very mention of the word fraud. Our reputation in Europe is impeccable.'

`I don't doubt that for a second, sir,' said Skinner, `and no one is impugning it. We know that the transactions which we want to discuss are quite legitimate — on your part at least. We are looking into a certain loan, and most probably a second, which we believe you have made against the security of some properties in Spain. We know of one loan of around seven hundred and fifty thousand US dollars, arranged by or on behalf of a French national named Vaudan, possibly in association with a UK national named Ainscow. The loan of which we are sure is secured against a number of shop properties in the Spanish province of Girona. The second, if it exists, will be covered by a residential portfolio in the same area.'

Van Troost knitted his fingers together, and stared across the desk at Skinner over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.

`Suppose I knew of such loans. Why should I break the trust of my clients by telling you about them?'

Skinner smiled. 'To help us with our inquiries, of course.'
‘b
ut if I do not choose to do so?' said Van Troost evenly, looking Skinner straight in the eye.

The big policeman's smile did not waver for a second as he returned the banker's stare. 'Mr van Troost, you will tell me, please believe that, if not on this visit, then on the next. I have the power to ensure that you do. That is not a threat; it is a simple statement of fact.'

Van Troost looked at him for several seconds more, as if weighing his words. Eventually he unclasped his hands and leaned back in his chair. 'I believe you, sir. You are not a man to say such a thing without meaning it, or being able to bring it about. Very well. There are two loans. Each is for seven hundred and fifty thousand US dollars. One is to Nicolas Vaudan and the other is to Paul Ainscow. They are secured in the way you described.'

When were they negotiated?'

Van Troost thought for a second. 'Arrangements were completed around six weeks ago. We took some care over verification of title to the security. It was impeccable in every case.'

`What are the terms?'

The loans are repayable in full within one year, although Monsieur Vaudan did say that he expected them to be cleared within six months. Interest is at two per cent over base rate per annum. Very generous of us, I believe. Of course, if the loans are not repaid as agreed, the rate will increase retrospectively to ten per cent over base.'

Skinner smiled. 'Can't expect you to be too generous.' Van Troost grinned in turn and nodded.

`Have the loans been drawn down?'

`Yes, that was done two weeks ago, on joint instructions. All of the money was transferred to a numbered account in a bank in Monaco: an obscure private concern named Sneyder et

Fils.' Van Troost leaned forward once more. That is all I can tell you. The loans were granted in good faith, against sound security which we now hold. I have no idea what the money was for. If every bank such as ours asked the purpose of loans such as these, we, would do little business. There must be a place for trust in this world, no?'

Skinner nodded. 'Of course there must. You've been a great help to us. I will make sure that is known here. If I can give you some advice in return, this is it. Don't let the deeds to your security out of your sight. You may need them.'