The Crime Trade (37 page)

gone along to the meeting out of curiosity. It had, he said, been the last he'd seen of both men. As for his visit to Vamen's solicitor, the reason for this, apparently, was to let Carroll know that Stegs was on to him and his client, and that he was going to make them pay for almost getting him killed at Heathrow.
An unlikely story, but somehow it left me thinking, not for the first time, that some parts of this case will forever be shrouded in mystery. Sadly, that's often the way it goes. Endings in the real world are never usually neat.
One interesting little question that was answered, though, was how Murk had got into the building where he'd murdered O'Brien. We'd assumed that Kitty MacNamara had let him in, but the truth, or the most likely version of it anyway, turned out to be far more interesting. Apparently, he'd had a brief affair in the weeks leading up to the shooting with the married woman living in one of the ground-floor flats. She'd been away on holiday with her husband and young son while the investigation had been going on, but on returning had heard about what had happened, seen Murk's photograph, and approached us discreetly to say that she thought he might have copied her key and used it to gain entrance. The affair, she'd said, had been ended abruptly by him a week before the killings, and she'd been so nervous that he might break in during her absence that she'd left her jewellery in the hands of her mother. Whatever else you said about Murk, he'd been professional to the end.
During the course of this tale, more than one person has alluded to the cunning of Mr Stegs Jenner and whether or not what he was telling us was true (and most of us thought it was far too coincidental to be the truth), but he was sticking to his version of events and, as a result, he was eventually released from police custody without charge. Since then, his wife has sued for
divorce, and the last I heard he was dividing his time between London and Spain.
Neil Vamen suffered badly as a result of his attempt to tip the scales of justice in his favour. The Law Society began an investigation into claims that his solicitor, Melvyn Carroll, was acting as his mouthpiece and had had a part in setting up the safe-house attack on Merriweather, and the investigation is still going on. Merriweather himself was moved to another safe house, reputed to be within the British naval base in Gibraltar, where he is guarded round the clock by armed marines and where the chances of anything happening to him range from somewhere between slim and none, but veering towards the latter. As for Vamen himself, such was the public outcry at news that a supposed crime lord could strike so blatantly at those ranged against him that the prime minister himself made a statement claiming that such lawlessness could not, and would not, be tolerated. He sounded like he meant it as well.
Vamen's trial has been put back yet again and he faces new charges as a result of the testimony of twenty-one-year-old Francis Taylor, the only survivor of the three-man assassination team. It's believed that Taylor is going to implicate Melvyn Carroll and Vamen directly. Perhaps this time Vamen might finally get the comeuppance he so richly deserves.
Tina recovered from her injuries quickly and was out of hospital within the week, and back at work within the month. Two weeks after that, we went on safari to Kenya, spending five days in the Masai Mara before flying on to Mahe in the Seychelles where we stayed for another week, soaking up the equatorial sunshine in surroundings that seemed to melt away all the stress and pressures of the daily grind. I even got to take my advanced diving course. The whole trip broke the bank, of course, and for a long time afterwards we were both paying off the debts accrued, but it was worth it. Sometimes you've just got to let go.
In late July, a few weeks after we'd got back from the trip, the two of us (now officially an item at the station) went for a barbecue at the Malik household on a fine, sunny Sunday. Malik's two daughters were eight and five, and Tina played with them like a natural. I even got the idea that she might be getting broody, and funnily enough, it wasn't such a bad thought. An expensive one, perhaps, but not a bad one. We toasted our combined successes on the O'Brien case, and the fact that we were all still here to talk about it, and in the evening, when the kids had gone to bed, Malik raised his glass, and said, To the future.' Tina and I, and Malik's wife Kaz, repeated the toast, and I remember that, at that precise moment, I was the happiest I'd been in a long, long time.
To the future. When we left that night, I felt a renewed sense of optimism. Which was ironic really, because I'd never see Asif Malik alive again.
But that's another story. For this one at least, the book was closed.
Afterwards, part two
The sea front at the resort of Fuengirola on Spain's Costa del Sol is filled with English pubs, and restaurants that offer all-day full English breakfasts. If you want Spanish culture, or even Spanish people, you've come to the wrong place. If you want to blend into a crowd of fellow pasty Englishmen, then it's definitely the right one.
Stegs Jenner took a seat at one of the tables outside a particularly shabby-looking English-style pub, an establishment he remembered being there, and with roughly the same decor, including the tattered San Miguel canopy, when he'd come to Fuengirola on his first lads' holiday in 1990. Other than him, the seating area was empty, which was one of the reasons he chosen the place. The food there was apparently renowned for being appalling.
A waiter covered in tattoos who looked like he'd just got out of Wormwood Scrubs, and probably had done, came over wit his pen and paper.
'Two pints of San Miguel,' Stegs told him from behind his sunglasses, and the waiter skulked off again, without writing it
down.
A minute later, Nicholas Tyndall slipped under the canopy, looking very suave indeed in a canary-yellow short-sleeved shirt and linen trousers, and took a seat opposite Stegs. He was carrying a black Adidas sports bag, which he placed on the seat between them.
Tyndall smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. 'Lovely day for it again,' he said, relaxing in his seat. Stegs noticed that he was wearing Armani sunglasses. Very nice. You had to give Tyndall top marks for style.
'Always is down here,' said Stegs.
'You need a suntan, my man. You look too . . . English.'
Stegs smiled back. 'I've ordered you a pint of San Miguel. Hope you don't mind.'
'Not at all. It's the only drink to drink down here.'
'To be honest, I didn't expect to see you here. I thought one of your minions would have delivered the goods.'
The beers arrived, and Stegs went for his wallet. Tyndall, however, put a hand up to stop him, and swiftly produced a twenty-euro note that he gave to the waiter. 'Keep the change.'
The waiter grinned. 'Cheers, mate. Just shout when you want another.'
I wanted to thank you personally,' Tyndall said when he'd gone. 'You've done a lot for me these past few months, and I appreciate it.'
'That's what the money's for.'
Yeah, but let's just say you went above and beyond the call of duty. You risked your neck on that hotel thing, and I don't for§et a thing like that. Know what I mean?'
'It's nice to be appreciated. Thanks.'
'No, thank you. Your efforts have put two of my biggest rivals out of business. Vamen's not going to be out now until he's pushing a hundred, and that headcase Strangleman's well out of my hair. You've done well. There's even a little bonus in there for you.'
'You're too kind.'
'I hope we can work together in the future.'
'I don't know how much use I'll be to you now I've left the Force.'
'You've got guts, Stegs. That's always of use to me.'
'We'll see.'
'What's happening with the missus? Back with her yet?'
Stegs shook his head, and took a sip from his pint. 'Nah, I'm enjoying the single life for the moment, and very nice it is too. I can sleep through the nights now.'
'Off the speed?'
'Just about.'
'You should be. Very nasty stuff. Cigarette?' He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights.
Stegs took one and let Tyndall light it for him.
'Tell me something,' Stegs said, after he'd taken a drag. 'What the fuck were you doing using Trevor Murk for the O'Brien job? Didn't you know he was a snout of mine?'
'Course I didn't. And anyway, I didn't think he'd get caught.'
'I'm amazed you trusted someone as slack as him to carry it off.'
Tyndall smiled again, this time not showing his teeth. 'Appearances can be deceptive, my friend. Mr Murk was one of the best hitters in south-east England. Very reliable and competitively priced. He must have done ten people down the years. and that's just the ones I've heard about. Look how quickly took out the Dutch bloke after you phoned me. I get a call from you, I put in a call to him, and that's it - an hour later, the target's dead. Very professional.'
'Except he got tagged.'
Tyndall shrugged. That just saved me paying him. Anyway, it's not been a problem to you, has it?'
Stegs shook his head. 'No, I've sorted it. I'm in the clear now.'
'Good. So, what are you going to do with yourself now, then?'
'This and that. I'm thinking of becoming a private eye.' He'd ditched the idea of a security consultancy now. Too boring.
'Well, if ever I want somebody found, I'll give you a call.'
'You do that.'
They finished their beers without saying much else. There wasn't really a lot to say. Finally, Tyndall stood up, winked at Stegs and said he'd see him soon. Stegs nodded, picked up the black holdall and started walking in the other direction, a richer man now than he had been five minutes before, and thinking that he really ought to be feeling guilty for all the crimes he'd committed but not quite being able to make himself. It was the story of his life. In the end, he couldn't help thinking how clever he'd been. He'd been at it for years, of course, providing the odd piece of information to the Holtz crime family, ever since he'd crossed paths with one of their operatives on an op back in the late nineties, and had even told them about his SO7 partner, Jeff Benson, infiltrating their ranks. He'd always liked old Jeff as well, and almost certainly wouldn't have grassed him up if it hadn't been for the fact that he couldn't risk him finding out from someone in the organization about Stegs's own involvement with them. The problem, though, the one which had led to all this, was that Vamen and co. had treated him shabbily. He'd saved their skins by giving them Benson and they'd paid him a Pittance: five measly grand for rescuing a multimillion-pound
business empire. He'd tried to get more but Vamen had told him
that it was all the info was worth, and that had been the end of it. There'd been nothing that Stegs could do, but he hadn't forgotten either, and the bitterness had festered in him for a long long time.
However, with the break-up of the Holtzes and the arrest of Vamen he'd been able to let it go, comforting himself with the knowledge that they'd finally all got what they deserved.
Until, that was, he'd been called upon by Islington CID to set up Slim Robbie O'Brien, which was when it had become clear that maybe Vamen wasn't quite as bolloxed as Stegs had believed. The O'Brien set-up had been successful (the former Holtz man having never met him before and therefore unable to pinpoint him as a copper), but then one evening, at a meeting with Stegs and Vokes, Slim Robbie had told them, laughing, after one drink too many that there was no way Vamen was ever going to get convicted. 'He'll get to Merriweather,' he'd said. 'You wait and see. He's got contacts everywhere. He'll even take out that bastard Tyndall, too. Don't ever underestimate Neil Vamen.'
From that moment on, the die had been cast. Stegs had started getting the germ of an idea, an idea for some serious and permanent payback for the man with the contacts everywhere. All his life, people had thought they could put one over on Stegs Jenner. All his life, they'd underestimated him. The missus, his old man, the bosses. And, of course, Neil Vamen. It was time for the tables to be turned.
First of all, he'd approached Slim Robbie and told him that he'd done business himself with the Holtzes before and that perhaps they could work together to help get Vamen free and at the same time use the Colombian bust to set up Tyndall. Slim Robbie had been cautious at first (after all, he'd already been stung once) but, like all true criminals, he couldn't resist the chance to get back in the game.
So Stegs had got him to approach Strangleman Grant - a man Slim Robbie knew from the past - to tell him about a deal he knew going down between a group of Colombians with coke, and local buyers with large sums of cash. For a share of the booty, Robbie offered to give him the time and place of the transaction so that Strangleman could rob the participants, and the Jamaican had gone for it, just like they both knew he would.
The next stage had been to get Vamen involved. Using his solicitor, Melvyn Carroll, as a go-between, Stegs had told the former crime boss that he was in a position to set up Tyndall, and had given him the basic details, quickly gaining his support as well as a fee of ten grand for his troubles, to be paid when the robbery and subsequent arrests had taken place. To whet Vamen's appetite still further, Stegs had told him that he might, with some effort, be able to get hold of the location of Jack Merriweather, if he was removed from prison to a safe house. He felt sure that the new boss of SO11, Noel Flanagan, would have that sort of information and might be susceptible to some sort of blackmail.
And then there'd been the coup de grace.
As the date for Operation Surgical Strike neared, and things fell into place, Stegs had made an approach to Nicholas Tyndall, telling him that Strangleman Grant was planning to rob a drugs deal along with several of his men behind his boss's back, and that the, deal was a police set-up. Stegs had again been careful how much detail he'd given out but had told Tyndall he knew roughly when it was going to take place, and had explained that Slim Robbie O'Brien and Neil Vamen were also behind it, hoping to use Strangleman to set up their boss.
Tyndall had been furious, but grateful to Stegs for his help. Knowing that there wasn't much he could do to stop the robbery taking place and, keen to be rid of a loose cannon like
Strangleman who'd evidently long-outlived his usefulness, he'd arranged to be out of the country in the week in which it was to happen. He'd also been keen for revenge on Slim Robbie and, on Stegs's helpful suggestion, had agreed to have him murdered on the day of the robbery. As far as Stegs had been concerned, Slim Robbie was going to have to die anyway, since he was the obvious source of the leak and was the only person who could testify to his own involvement. It had been a pity about the granny having to buy it as well, but that was Trevor Murk for you - a callous hound to the last.