The Body in the River (19 page)

Through a cloud of foul-smelling smoke he said,
‘
The
‘
otel is just a few kilometres away.
’

From the rear seat, Middlemiss said,
‘
Are you from Martinique, Jean, or is this an overseas posting?
’

‘
I was born in Paris, I volunteered to come here.
’

‘
Where did you learn your English?
’

‘
I studied in Montreal for a while; I learned to speak your language there.
’

Brookes interrupted impatiently, eager to get back to the purpose of their visit,
‘
Did you get the photograph of the fugitive we sent?
’

‘
Yes, but it is not of the best quality.
’

Brookes handed him an 8 x 10 frontal shot of Fleming.
‘
You are aware he is travelling on a false passport; he may have others.
’

Petit nodded.
‘
I have colleagues questioning the taxi drivers who work the airport. By the time you wake I should have news of where he was taken. I do not think he will stay on the island.
’

‘
No, but how will he travel from here?
’

‘
Probably not by air. We have many ships that trade throughout the islands. But he will not be difficult to trace; you must trust me.
’

Petit drove them to the Karibea Squash Hotel in Fort-de-France, the island
’
s small capital. He left them at reception, saying that he would meet them in the hotel restaurant later that morning and have his colleagues continue the search in the meantime.

As soon as the Frenchman had left them at reception and they had booked in, Brookes said to his two companions,

‘
Right, get some sleep, we
’
ll meet in the dining room at eight for breakfast.
’

There was only one night porter, who carried Rose
’
s suitcase. The two men carried their own luggage. Brookes
’
room was on the third floor.

Opening the door, he walked in and turned on the light.

He was surprised by the luxury that confronted him. Having read the briefing note on the island on the short flight from London to Paris, he had imagined some rundown old colonial-style place with bad plumbing. What he found was a huge bed surrounded by plush fittings and expensive furniture. The room was air-conditioned and pleasantly cool after the sultry heat outside. He wondered at the Met Police
’
s generosity in booking this place for them.

Surprisingly, he was not especially tired. Finding ice in the room
’
s mini-fridge, he poured himself a stiff whiskey from the bottle he
’
d bought at the duty-free shop in Paris. He opened the sliding glass doors that led to a balcony overlooking the ocean and sat on a comfortable recliner, thinking and sipping his drink.

He tried to put himself in Fleming
’
s shoes. Pursued by both the police and the drug dealers, where would he hide? Certainly not Jamaica, that was far too dangerous. No, he would find somewhere else where neither the police nor the criminals were likely to find him. But where? Probably somewhere he was familiar with and where he would feel safe; maybe somewhere he
’
d visited before.

Then it hit Brookes: Fleming
’
s bank statements. He remembered seeing debits shown as card transactions which stated the place they had been issued.

He quickly went back into his room and opened his laptop computer on which he had a copy of the murder file. He looked at copies of the bank statements found at Fleming
’
s flat. The man had travelled widely in the past twelve months and there were several hotel bills. He found what he was looking for: it was a payment to a Hotel Paradiso, Matamoros in Mexico.

Taking a map of the Caribbean from his briefcase, he quickly found the place. It was a small port close to the US border. Of course! That was it; knowing he would be followed, he wouldn
’
t go straight to his destination. He
’
d want to lead his pursuers astray. But once he was in Mexico he could easily cross the border into The United States and disappear.

Going back out to the balcony, Brookes sat down and took another swig of whiskey. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that his theory was right. But the man couldn
’
t go anywhere without money; the key to catching him was the fortune stashed away in a Cayman Island bank. If Brookes could deprive him of that, the man would be stymied.

How could they force the man to make a personal appearance on Grand Cayman? That was a British colony, therefore British soil, and arresting him there would do away with the need for extradition proceedings.

Finishing his whiskey, he got up and went into his room. He would try to get some sleep and see what the morning brought.

*

‘
Bad money drives out good.
’

Gresham
’
s Law

Back in London, D.I. Richard Mann had been burning the midnight oil. First he
’
d researched money laundering. The term came into being in the 1930
’
s in America in a totally unrelated way. According to Wikipedia, US coins in circulation quickly became grubby passing from hand to hand. The US Treasury had the brilliant idea of removing them from circulation occasionally and cleaning them. Mann laughed out loud when he read the reason for this; it was to prevent the coins soiling ladies
’
white gloves when handling them. The scheme didn
’
t last long.

Today, the term had an altogether different meaning. Successful criminals accumulated a great deal of wealth; too much to keep under the mattress. 'too much to keep under the mattress. And so, they had to find a way of investing their funds in a legitimate business, thereby explaining their existence to the taxman and "laundering" them.'Mann next turned his attention to the UK law on the confiscation of the proceeds of crime. There were several acts of parliament concerning the practice but the one he zeroed in on was The Proceeds of Crime Act, 2002. The lawyers glorified in terms such as
‘
obtaining as pecuniary advantage
’
. But in layman
’
s terms, the act said that money or goods obtained as a result of crime were liable to confiscation on the conviction of a criminal.

Money laundering was a crime and Fleming had accumulated over two million pounds sterling from laundering the profits resulting from Silver
’
s many criminal enterprises. This was just his cut; the other ninety-odd percent was taken by Silver and his henchmen. Surely Fleming
’
s fortune, therefore, was liable to confiscation. But only after his conviction; the court
’
s hands were tied until he was found guilty.

The next question Mann gave thought to was,
Was there a way round this?

He next looked at the financial service industry in the Cayman Islands. He was surprised to find that, despite having a population of fewer than 55,000, there were 279 banks registered there. Between them, they held an estimated one point five trillion US dollars worth of customers
’
money. Almost all of this was from elsewhere. It was no surprise that banking generated 55% of the Cayman
’
s tax income and the local government was wary of any action that might diminish this.

But a phrase had stuck in Mann
’
s mind in a report from the IMF (International Monetary Fund). It read:
“
The overall compliance culture within Cayman (banks) is very strong, including compliance culture related to AMI (anti-money laundering) obligations
”
.

As Mann read through the mass of information he
’
d unearthed, the germ of an idea began to form in his mind. The islands were still British; no longer called colonies as that term was now politically unacceptable, they were nevertheless British possessions. Administered by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London, the islands had a governor appointed by the Queen, and he had the power of veto over the islands
’
tiny legislative body. So the islands were subject to British law. The British government had declared war on crime. Surely Cayman banks could be persuaded to co-operate in any scheme aimed at fighting the criminals?

He quickly cobbled together a report and submitted it to Commander Aitcheson early the following morning. Half an hour later, he was summoned to Aitcheson
’
s office.

Waving him to a chair, Aitcheson said,
‘
Is what you
’
re suggesting legal?
’

Mann pulled a face.
‘
Well, I don
’
t think it
’
s exactly
illegal
, sir.
’

Aitcheson smiled.
‘
I hope you
’
re right.
’
He rubbed his chin.
‘
It might just work; leave it with me.
’

Over the next few hours, a great deal of consultation took place between various government departments. Finally a decision was made and the Foreign Minister sent an urgent dispatch to the governor of The Cayman Islands, Richard Deal. MC. Colonel Grenadier Guards (retired). In addition, a long phone call was made by a section leader in the Secret Intelligence Service (Formerly known as MI6) to his man in The Caymans.

This in turn led to the CEO of a bank in George Town on the Island of Grand Cayman being summoned to the governor
’
s office. The SIS man sat in on the meeting but kept very much in the background and was not introduced.

When told what was required of him, the banker protested vigorously.

Deal replied diplomatically,
‘
Your bank has a reputation for good practice
and
requires a licence to operate here in The Caymans; it would be most unfortunate if something were to occur to jeopardise either of those, don
’
t you think?
’

The banker left with his tail between his legs and his sworn promise to co-operate fully and keep the whole matter a secret.

*

Elsewhere in London, another meeting was taking place, but this one had a totally different flavour.

Above The Venus Club in the heart of the East End, three men sat around a table in a room. At the head of the table sat Raymond Silver, a huge figure of a man who had the look of an ex-boxer. Just turned fifty, his full head of hair was more grey than brown and neatly trimmed. His rough, well worn face had a healthy tan, as he was not loathe to visit his properties in far-flung places; in fact he
’
d recently returned from a week in the house on Mustique. His stocky frame was clothed in a grey suit and white shirt that was of a quality that marked him as a very rich man. He wore two gold rings, one on the third finger of each hand, and a slim wristwatch on a leather strap that was worth a small fortune.

To Silver
’
s left sat Ian McBride, his accountant. Of a similar age, he wore a dark business suit, collar, and tie. His eyes were hidden behind thick-lensed, tinted glasses. Opposite him sat William Smith. Ten years younger than his companions, he too was a huge man. Tall and powerfully built, he bore the scars of the many street fights he
’
d fought in his youth. These days he left the scrapping to his group of enforcers and only got involved in the more serious messages the gang sent to those who fell foul of the bossman.

Silver spoke, his voice soft but full of the idiom of London
’
s East End.
‘
So, Fleming has run for the hills. How much of my property is at risk?
’

McBride replied,
‘
Technically none; you
’
ve got the deeds to all the properties in your bank.
’

‘
Never mind the
‘
technically
’
, what can the British police do about the places?
’

‘
Nothing, Ray, I promise you. We
’
ll have to make new arrangements about the income but they can
’
t touch the properties. The deeds are registered in the countries the properties are in.
’