Blood Money (17 page)

“Sure, we'll be ok.” Steve says assuredly. “No worries.”

“Oh, and John…Jenkins said you should stay away from work for at least a fortnight, and that was an order by the way. Keep it together and I'll drop by and see you later tomorrow. If you need anything -just call. If you remember any new details -make sure you write them down.” Deeply saddened by the whole situation, Bill nevertheless has to get himself off home. “Ok, I'll be going now; but you make sure you take good care of each other. Okay?”

With Bill gone, the flat is depressingly quiet. Steve looks long and hard at John, examining his pale complexion, bloodshot eyes and his crumpled clothes. “You do know you look like shit, don't you?”

“Thanks for that…” John pauses before adding “She didn't suffer long. It was all over in seconds. The amount of blood she lost…it all happened so quickly.”

“Come on John. Never mind the scotch. What I really fancy is a pint of the black stuff and some fresh air. How about we go down ‘The Pins'?”

“You know, that's not such a bad idea. I could do with getting out of this place.”

*

In the bathroom, John Gibson splashes some cold water over his face before running his wet fingers though his hair and dabbing his cheeks dry on a towel. A haggard, tired-looking face stares back at him from the mirror. ‘The boy's not wrong…I do look like shit.'

Going back into his bedroom, John puts on a fresh shirt before forlornly following Steve out of the flat.

As they walk down Severn Sisters road, Rebecca's big brother tries to find out more about what's been going on. “What's all this stuff about Mustard being killed? I've not heard anything about any of that. You're going to have to bring me up to speed.”

Before he talks about the cat, John first elaborates on Alexis Vasilakos, the powerful financial maverick that she'd been tracking for so many months. A man who makes impossible trades and operates within the City of London like it were his own personal kingdom. Then he gets to the details about the break-in on Wednesday during which their cat had been butchered, and how it looked like someone had been trying to give Rebecca a warning to back-off. Steve is initially sceptical, as John's claims seem to border on paranoia.

Thinking at first that it had surely been just some random act of violence, by the time John's finished with his explanations Steve's no longer so sceptical and he too has begun to believe that Alexis Vasilakos and his henchman Eddie Slater are deeply involved in his sister's death.

*

The pub ‘The Twelve Pins' is named after a mountain range in Galway on the west coast of Ireland.

On the inside, the walls are covered in Irish paraphernalia and they specialise in serving a good drop of the ‘black stuff' along with steaming bowls of gorgeously crispy chips. It's a big ‘U' shaped pub with two large-screen TV's for watching sport. And in these parts of north London there's only one sport to watch and only one team to follow.

Loads of locals pack into the place on match days to watch the Gunners and if you step outside you're close enough to hear the roar from the crowd down at the Emirates. But the thing John likes most about The Pins is the fact that ‘City-types' never come in here, it's just a regular pub full of regular people.

John tries to get the subject off Rebecca for at least a few minutes. “So how's the steel-fabrication business then Steve?”

“Not great. There's only one client on the order books at the moment, and nothing else is in the pipeline. We're not even getting asked to quote for work. It's seems inevitable I'm going to be laid off, and because I've only been doing the job a few months I'm bound to be one of the first ones to be made redundant. This recession…nobody wants to spend any money and even the well-off are keeping their wallets tightly shut. It's crazy! I'm a skilled metal-worker for goodness sake! I just don't know what the future holds for me anymore.” The small talk doesn't last long, and neither do the pints.

Steve asks the obvious question. “Why is she dead? Why her? Why now…? She was only 28!”

“She died because she believed in playing by the rules, in fairness, decency, honesty and truth. She died because she wouldn't back down. All she was trying to do was protect people from being swindled by insider-dealing wanker-bankers. She died because of arseholes who don't give a shit about anyone but themselves and who're only concerned about how much money they're making. Unscrupulous scumbags who employ psychotically deranged bodyguards.”

“Slow down John…I need to catch up a bit here…-Vasilakos is breaking the rules, I can accept that because I know my sister was smart enough and good enough at her job to believe she had the evidence. But what do you really know about this Eddie Slater to suddenly start calling him psychotic? Do you really think he was the one who murdered Rebecca, and who killed Mustard for that matter? He might be a tough guy, but that's par for the course if your job is to be someone's bodyguard. How can you be sure he's got it in him to be Rebecca's killer?”

“Fair point. I don't know too much about him yet, but I'll do the necessary digging to make sure that I do. Until then, I'll let me tell you what I do know. I've met him, and more importantly I've been with him and Alexis simultaneously and I've seen how they interact together.”

“You're telling me you've met the man you suspect of killing Rebecca?
When was this?”

“It was only a couple of days ago, yeah, Tuesday, that's right. Me and Bill were assigned to go to the headquarters of Kronos to interview Alexis and his bodyguard Eddie Slater. It was to do with a separate incident. Their car, their armoured car, had been shot at in a failed attempt to either assassinate or kidnap Vasilakos. So, Bill and I got to meet them both. Now, let me tell you a little bit about Eddie. -He's a proper tough guy, built like a tank and with a game-face to intimidate anyone. If he squared up to a UFC fighter, I promise you, the other guy would shit his pants.”

John takes a long drink from his pint whilst Steve silently considers what John has said so far.

“There's other stuff too. Alexis is being driven around in a top of the range armoured car, and it looks like he needs it as well because he has some seriously tooled-up enemies. So there's no doubt in my mind that Eddie Slater must be a top professional. To get out of that scrape down Birchin Lane proves it I reckon. He's got the enemies to need the best protection money can buy and it figures that when you're as rich as Vasilakos you don't go and hire some rank amateur to be your bodyguard. Think about this…if Alexis has no scruples, then what sort of man do you think he'd employ to protect him? Only a truly fucked-up man could conceive of killing Rebecca like that, and yeah, I believe Eddie Slater might very well fit that profile.”

Once he's got the next round in, Steve explores the matter yet further. “So Rebecca's doing her thing at work, and finds that Kronos is producing highly suspicious trading results week-in, week-out, yeah?”

“That's right.”

“Well, if you believe the cat getting killed and the break-in were a warning for her to back-off then what you're actually saying is that Alexis had some way of knowing what Rebecca had been doing at work. Because if that is what you're saying then that's where it all starts sounding a bit far-fetched to me.”

“Hmmm, it's certainly not an everyday situation I'll grant you, but the thing that puzzles me is…” John Gibson pauses to think for a few moments, about something that should have occurred to him a lot earlier. “Oh my God…”

“What?” Steve is still waiting for an answer several seconds later. “Hey John! What have you just realised?”

“I can't believe the bloody nerve of the man, he must be some fucking piece of work! It's unbelievable that anyone would have the sheer audacity.”

“John, do I have to beat it out of you? –What are you talking about?”

Despite there being no one anywhere near them, John pulls his chair closer and begins talking in a hushed voice “Right. For starters, the only explanation for how Alexis could find out if the FSA were taking a close interest in his affairs is if he's got someone at the FSA in his pocket. How else would he know that he needed to intimidate Rebecca into dropping her interest in Kronos? Maybe he's got more than one snitch on the inside, who knows? Either he's paying for information or he's blackmailing someone.”

“If that's the case, he truly is a manipulative little bastard!”

“It's a sensible conclusion once you look at all the facts. But something else has just dawned on me, and this bit is much worse.”

“Go on.”

“If Mustard getting stabbed was a warning to Rebecca to back-off, but she still ended up getting killed the following day, then Alexis must have known she'd decided she wouldn't back down. But…she hadn't been back to work, you see?”

“No I don't see? So what?”

“Becc's and I had talked about Kronos at a hotel in Islington. Just some random place I picked to stay at following the break-in. And we stayed in our room the whole time. The only other place we talked about Kronos was back at the flat once the alarm guy and the locksmith chap had finished. We were alone, and I agreed to help her investigate Kronos only if she promised to stop talking to people at work about it, -like I say because I suspected Kronos might have a paid informant working within the FSA.

The killer waiting outside must have known somehow that Becc's and I were going to take the matter into our own hands. It's like he was able to hear what we were talking about even though he was out in his van.”

“Are you saying he'd bugged your flat?” John and Steve look at each other in silence for a few moments

“You know what, I was just about to say that…it seems like a crazy thing to suggest, but once again it's actually the only conclusion that makes any sense of this. And he could have easily done it when he broke-in two days ago. If we're right, then the bug is still in there. And for all I know he's still able to listen-in on anything that's being said inside the apartment.”

For five minutes, neither of the men talk. They stare into their drinks and become lost in the events of the day. The silence is only broken when Steve groans longingly “I do wish Rebecca was here with us, we've had some really good laughs in this pub together.”

“Yeah, we have, haven't we?”

“Do you remember the time we were playing pool and she hit the cue ball right off the table and it smashed that man's pint. He was furious wasn't he?” Steve reminisces, chuckling at the memory. “And that time when we were really pissed and we were doing horse impressions and she ended-up being brilliant at them. That was so funny!”

Steve might have found something to smile about but John is feeling more and more like a lot of the blame for Rebecca's death lies squarely on his shoulders. “Some policeman I am. I was right there and I couldn't protect her. I was right there and I didn't notice what was happening. I didn't even get the van's licence plate. How pathetic is that? They should fire me when I go back to work for being so shit at my job.”

“John, it's ok. You've done nothing wrong. You didn't kill her and you certainly shouldn't be blaming yourself. If you'd have been right by her side at that moment, then he would have only picked some other time and place to kill her.”

“You know, you might be right there.”

“So be honest, what are the chances of the police getting sufficient evidence to convict someone of Rebecca's murder?”

“That's a very good question, but it's not looking good on that score. When he broke into the flat he was careful enough not to leave any evidence, so I'm half expecting he's been just as professional in killing Rebecca.

If (as I suspect) they find nothing, then all we can hope for is that Alexis and Eddie find themselves in a situation sometime soon that they aren't in total control of, and where they make some kind of a mistake that'll be their undoing. And when that day comes, they'll get what's coming to them, you can be sure of that.”

“I do hope so. And if there's anything I can ever do to help, you just say the word. Yeah?”

“I'll remember that Steve…I'll remember that.”

Whilst Alexis's weekend in Monaco is about to be filled with hedonistic pampering, John Gibson will be spending his grieving for his murdered fiancée alone in his Finsbury Park apartment.

On Friday night he'd lain in bed unable to get to sleep even though he'd been both tired and emotionally drained. Rebecca had been his companion…without her it's like he's suddenly become a completely different person. A major part of his life has been cut-away, leaving him empty and lost.

He owes it to Rebecca to find out who killed her and why, so his police-trained brain has been trying to connect all of the details leading up to her murder.

She'd spoken determinedly about her confidence in Alexis being guilty of insider dealing. And he'd got her to stop talking about Kronos to anyone but himself by promising to work together in secret to bring Vasilakos down (though how they were going to achieve this he hadn't the faintest idea). Then outside, minutes later, she'd been slain. The killer must have had nerves of steel kill Rebecca in broad daylight, with a potential witness just yards away, facing in the other direction.

Why go to the trouble of breaking into someone's flat to leave a warning if you were going to kill them anyway? You just wouldn't…surely you'd only resort to such extreme measures if you were sure the person wasn't going to back-down, and the only way Eddie could have known that was if he'd have bugged the flat. From that point on it was just a matter of him taking the earliest available opportunity to kill her. There is no other explanation.

So convinced is he that his flat has been bugged that he'd spent much of Friday creeping around in silence, searching for the hidden listening device he knew to be there. He tried the obvious places at first, under the pine table and chairs, around the light fittings and under the sofa. He'd taken a screwdriver to the electrical equipment and then in desperation he'd even looked behind the wall sockets and light switches. Emptying the cupboards and drawers in the lounge as quietly as he could he examined every object before silently putting them back. Then he checked through the kitchen units in a similar methodical manner. He even pulled away the kick-boards to check underneath them.

Under and around the bathroom washbasin and toilet came up negative, and apart from spiders and cobwebs there was nothing behind the acrylic bath panel either. He'd gone to bed Friday night feeling thoroughly frustrated, tired and confused. If only he could find a bug in the flat then he would know that he wasn't going mad. If it existed…if he could just see it with his own eyes…then that would prove conclusive.

*

Gentle light breaking through a gap in the curtains signals Saturday morning has arrived. As soon as he wakes, John's brain begins to churn it all over yet again. This thing is driving him crazy! Why go to the trouble of warning someone, only to immediately kill them? -The flat has to be bugged! How else could someone sitting outside some 60 or so meters away know that the warning hadn't worked?

In his T-shirt and boxer shorts, John shuffles bare-footed and bleary eyed into the kitchen and makes himself a mug of strong black coffee. Taking it into the lounge he slowly looks around the room before sitting down on the sofa. The leather makes a squelching noise as he sinks into its oversized cushions. Today needs something of a different approach. Who knows, perhaps it's worth trying a technique like role-playing Eddie Slater in the act of breaking into the flat? If he can just get inside the head of the intruder and see the problem from his viewpoint he might have a better chance of pin-pointing where the device might be hidden.

Though it seems a little silly, he can't come up with a better idea, so deciding there's no time like the present he commits himself to the task. Putting his coffee mug down on the table he rises to his feet and walks over to the front door to begin imagining that he's just got inside the flat and has turned the alarm off. Standing in the hallway John closes his eyes and thinks.

‘I want to hear what the FSA girl might say in the aftermath of finding that her cat has been killed…

The bedroom? Probably not. The hallway, maybe, it's certainly central. But she might use the phone to discuss it with a friend and the phone is in the lounge. She'd also want to sit down if she was going to have a long conversation, whether on the phone or not, so again the lounge. The lounge it is then.'

John moves into the centre of the lounge and once more closes his eyes whilst he tries to think like the intruder.

‘Haven't got long. I've done this before. I know what I'm doing. Don't want it moved, don't want it damaged, don't want it found. Don't want it buried inside something that will muffle it, I need to be able to hear her conversation clearly. Probably not near anything electrical as that might actually cause some kind of interference, probably away from any metal too I guess. I haven't got long, need to be in and out.'

John opens his eyes and then scans around the room, turning slowly in a clockwise direction, scrutinising every object he sees.

Though he'd already checked it yesterday, John begins by lifting the heavy sofa onto its back and starts running his hands all around the underside. Perhaps he hadn't been thorough enough the first time? Just to be sure he takes all of the cushions out of their leather casings and slips his hand down the crevices running along the length of its back. He finds nothing.

Next he gets down on all fours and begins examining the edges of the carpet in the lounge, lifting it up all along the skirting-board to see if something has been squeezed down the edge. As he gets round to the far side his head brushes-up against the curtains. Something hard inside the light-weight drape knocks against his temple. Still on his hands and knees, he ignores the edge of the carpet for a moment and runs both his hands along the bottom of the material. Within seconds he finds a small lump the size of a key. Lifting it up he can feel that the object is hard, though not particularly heavy. In moments he finds the discretely glued seam that runs a few inches along the bottom edge.

Biting-down hard onto his tongue, John desperately attempts to maintain his silence in the face of a raging wave of white-hot anger that has just hit him like a thundering tsunami. Knowing that his very life may depend upon his ability to stay quiet he waits for several minutes before he starts feeling like he's back in control of his emotions.

Rising to his feet, Gibson walks over to the kitchen to fetch a pair of scissors, then, ignoring the glued-up seam along the bottom he cuts several inches above the lump to expose a cavity between the patterned material at the front and the plain lining at the back. Having opened-up a pocket in the corner, he slowly looks down at the small electronic device.

Comprised of a variety of miniature components mounted onto a tiny printed circuit board, it incorporates a slim 1” diameter watch battery and there's a tiny black disk at the other end that could well be the microphone itself.

The find brings with it a mixture of emotions: anger, relief, fear and resolve.

He'd almost started to believe he was experiencing some sort of stress-induced delusion. But here, unequivocally and unashamedly, he has the proof to convince himself of who killed Rebecca and why. He quickly weighs-up the evidence in his mind.

Finding the bug still won't be sufficient for a criminal case to be made. Even if he gets CSI to check it out, he's sure they'd find nothing of significance to link it to a suspect. There'd still be no DNA, no footprints, no fingerprints and no eye witnesses to serve as irrefutable and damning evidence against Alexis and Eddie. It would just end up being his word against theirs.

Overcome by curiosity, one question dominates all others. So is anyone still listening to the bug?

Fetching a small digital multi-meter from his toolbox, John puts it's rotary dial to the correct setting (low voltage dc) and he touches the contacts across the slim coin-battery. Getting only a very low reading of 0.3 Volts, he has reasonable grounds to believe the device has insufficient power to still be functioning.

How could he ever have doubted what Rebecca had been trying to tell him? Kronos are clearly gathering information on anyone they suspect as being a threat to their operations. If they are prepared to bug a private home, they'd certainly have no qualms about paying people for information whether they be in the Financial Services Authority or the Police Service. Collusion between newspaper hacks and the police is well known to occur, so it's quite possible that even one of his own colleagues had been lured into accepting cash in exchange for police information on matters relating to Kronos.

Deciding here and now that he can't trust anyone, John realises he's going to need to tread very, very carefully if he's to avoid winding-up dead. In fact, if Eddie should decide to kill him, John would be practically powerless to prevent it. ‘Tread careful John. Tread very, very careful.'