The Murder Exchange (25 page)

'It certainly sounds plausible,' said Capper,
nodding.

I wasn't sure. Given that there was no evidence
whatsoever to suggest that Iversson and Matthews
knew each other, Knox's theory relied one hell of a
lot on suppositions.

'What about McBride?' I asked. 'Where does he
fit into it? And what about the Holtzes?'

'I don't know is the short answer,' he said, which
at least was honest. 'McBride may well be
something completely different. And, as for the
Holtzes, I just can't believe that they'd use an
obviously traceable and extremely rare poison to
get rid of a business rival.'

'Fair enough/ I said, because he had a point. I
still didn't go with it particularly, but it was hard to
argue with the logic. A poisoning did seem a very
odd way for a gangster to operate.

'Anyway, the most important thing is we find
Max Iversson and see what he's got to say for himself.
His details are going to have to be distributed
to other forces, along with that photo of him we've
got.' He looked at Hunsdon. 'Paul, you get that
sorted out, OK?' Hunsdon nodded. 'Crimewatch is
going out next Wednesday and I want a photo of
Iversson on it for the rogues gallery. That ought to
get some response. Plus, I'm organizing a search
warrant for Fowler's place.' He looked at Capper.

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'Phil/ you and Paul turn it over and see what you
can find. At the same time, start really digging up
on Fowler's background, generate some clues. I
know he's the key to it.'

Next, Knox turned to Benin and me. 'John, something's
going on down at this Tiger Solutions
company, or whatever they're called. It may be
coincidence but that missing person, Eric Home,
worked for them and he still hasn't turned up, has

he?'

'Not that I'm aware of, sir, no. I spoke to his ex
missus briefly yesterday and he hadn't then. She
seems pretty worried.'

'I don't know how we missed the fact that he and
Iversson worked for the same outfit. Anyway, you
uivJ Dave go back, grill the people there,
particularly Iversson's partner, and get some
answers. Something very dodgy's been going on,
and I want to find out what it is.'

Which were my sentiments exactly. I hoped
Knox's theory was right, because if it wasn't we
were left with dozens of pieces to a jigsaw that
seemed to be getting more complicated with each
passing day.

229
1

Introducing Krys Holtz

Krys Holtz was a man who knew that a show of
weakness, any show of weakness, inevitably
destroyed a man's authority. You had to be strong.
You had to break the bastard in front of
you and shut out every last fucking scream for
mercy he made, however loud it was. After all, if a
bloke didn't do Krys any wrong, then the bloke had
nothing to fear. It was only cunts who took major
fucking liberties who found themselves paying the
price, and the price was always justified. They
could yell and squeal and beg as much as they fucking
wanted. They could piss their pants, even shit
in them (and some of the bastards did, too), but it
was never going to make a blind bit of fucking
difference, because if he let the geezer go, gave him a
pat on the head and told him not to be naughty again,
then they'd be lining up to put one over on him, and
that was never going to happen. No fucking way.

'First things first. Admit to me you took that
fucking money. Because I know you fucking did so
there ain't no fucking point in pretending that you
didn't. Is there?'

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The 'you' in this instance was Mr Warren Case,
proprietor of Elite A Security and supplier of door
staff to the Arcadia nightclub, who was, at that
moment in time, tied to a filthy old bed in Krys's
cavernous workshop. He was naked and spread
eagled, his hands and feet tightly bound, and very
very frightened, which was hardly surprising given
the fact that he'd been part of the Holtz organization
for getting close to ten years and therefore
knew exactly what Krys was like.

'Please, Krys,' he whimpered, 'I didn't do
nothing, honest.'

Krys laughed. So did the three other men
gathered round the bed: Big Mick, Fitz and Slim
Robbie. 'I tell you, boys,' said Krys, shaking his
Sv.d, 'this cunt's taking me for a fucking fool. Have
I got "gullible cunt" written on my fucking forehead
or something?'

'No, boss,' said Fitz somewhat unnecessarily.

'Oh God, God ... Please, please ...' Case might
have been a big man with a reputation to match but
his words were spewing out so fast that no-one
could really understand what he was saying. Not
that anyone was listening. It had gone way too far
for that.

'Why don't you torture him, Krys?' suggested
Slim Robbie helpfully, looking down at Case's
sweating, panic-stricken features.

'Good idea, Rob, I think I might just do that. It'll
save us all a lot of time and will, in this case, be particularly
fucking enjoyable.'

Case tried to struggle with his bonds but he
was too well secured for anything more than the

231
smallest of movements. 'Krys, please, I
swear I
didn't fucking do anything. Honest. On my kids'
lives ...'

Krys looked mildly put out by this. 'On your
kids' lives? That's a mean fucking thing to say,
Warren, especially as I know you're as guilty as sin.
I can't understand why you don't just come fucking
clean and admit it. I mean, we're going to get it out
of you sooner or later. Why don't you save us all the
trouble?'

But Case continued to protest his innocence in
forced, desperate tones, which really peeved Krys.
It reminded him of that time with Jon Kalinski.
Right up until the bitter end, that bastard had
sworn he'd never nicked a penny off Krys, when in
reality he'd had him over for close to two hundred
grand in cash and diamonds. And for a long time
Krys had believed him, too - the smooth-talking
cunt - but in the end he'd had the last laugh,
making him watch while he'd gone to work on his
girlfriend, telling him to be patient, because it
would be his turn next. Come to think of it, Kalinski
had shat himself as well. Terrible smell it had been.
Runny, too. Some people have got no self-respect.

It was time, Krys decided, to drop the Mr Nice
Guy act with Case and take more radical measures.
He picked up a dirty apron from the chair beside
him and made a great show of putting it on, ignoring
Case's whines. When that was done, he walked
up to his tool rack where a vast array of implements
covered almost the entire length of one dank, grimy
wall. He stopped, inspected what was on offer
for a few moments, then selected his Bosch 3960K

232

I
battery-operated drill, a fine piece of German
workmanship if ever there was one, and vastly
superior to the equivalent Black & Decker. It had
been a birthday present from his dear old mum and
was something he only liked to use on special
occasions. Removing it from its handy carry-case,
he spent some time selecting a suitable drill bit,
opting eventually for a nice thin three mill. After
all, he didn't want any accidental fatalities. Not
before he'd found out what he wanted to know.
After that, he'd have to see.

He fitted the bit and turned the drill on, enjoying
the rewed-up shriek it made as it shifted between the
two gears. He turned it on and off several times in
rapid succession, and once again the naked

> C'

prisoner struggled on the bed, tears of frustration
and bowel-churning fear streaming down his face.

'It ain't looking good, is it, Warren? This is
Teutonic toolmaking at its finest. Vorsprung durch
technik, and all that. This cunt goes through
concrete like it ain't even there, and with hardly an
ounce of pressure. Not like its cheaper, more substandard
rivals. So, think how easily it'll go through
human flesh. Your flesh.' As he spoke, he
approached the bed until he was standing right
above it, looking down at Case's fear-engraved
face.

'Please, Krys, I swear. I have never, never, never
fucked you over. I've never skimmed you, I've
never taken nothing that wasn't my due. Honest.
Please, for my kids' sakes. Don't hurt me.'

'Admit you did it, Warren. That's all you've got
to do. Just fucking admit to me that you took my

233
fucking money, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you
go.' He switched the drill on again.

'But Krys, I didn't, I didn't. I promise--'

Krys shoved the drill into his face, ripping a
vicious hole right through the cheek. Blood
splattered angrily across his features and the dirt
encrusted mattress, and flecks of it splashed onto
Krys's apron. He held the drill in there for a few
moments while it made a nice mess, careful not to
push too hard and damage the tongue, then pulled
it out, taking a lump of meat with it. He switched it
off, removed the lump, and chucked it back at Case.
That's yours/ he said evenly.

Case coughed and choked as his mouth filled
with blood. He managed to turn his head and spit
most of it onto the pillow. Then he sicked up some
pinkish fluid.

'Ooh, that's horrible,' said Fitz, attempting to
wrinkle his flattened nose.

Krys grinned. 'Fuck that, I'm only just warming
up.' He turned to Big Mick and told him to turn the
radio up a few notches. 'I think we've got a
screamer here.' A couple of seconds later, the sound
of Take on Me' by veteran eighties rockers a-ha
jingled catchily over the airwaves.

Case stopped vomiting and looked towards Krys
with wide, pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to
say something, perhaps to make a confession, but
Krys would not be denied his prize. The cunt had
held out, he'd had his chance and refused to take it,
and now he was going to pay the price, there was
no getting away from that. No fucking way.

He pounced on the bed, half-screaming,

234
half-laughing, and shoved the drill into his prone
victim's left knee. There was a moment's stubborn
resistance, as he worked to create a decent opening,
but then he was into his stride and the bit was
coursing through bone like the Nazis through
Poland, triumphant in its efficiency. Krys was
forced to look away as the debris flew off in every
direction, the screams of Case so loud that they all
but drowned out the vocals of one-time Norwegian
heart-throb Morton Harket, but then old Morton
had never had the most forceful of voices.

Finally, the bit was through and cutting into the
mattress beneath. Krys pulled it out, a crackle of
almost sexual excitement surging from his groin to
hia neck. He paused for a moment to relish the feeling,
then fell upon the other kneecap like a wolf
upon freshly killed prey, lost in the noise and the
blood.

By the time he'd finished this one, Case had
passed out and a-ha had been replaced by trendy
American rockers Mercury Rev. Krys thought that
he preferred the Norwegians, mainly because the
song reminded him of his youth. He was sure he'd
once fucked a girl to the sound of 'Take on Me'.
Take her on, he fucking had. And won.

'Wake him up/ said Krys, looking down at the
blood as it dripped onto the bed. Fitz put some
smelling salts under Case's nose. At first they
didn't seem to do too much, but then Case started
coughing and dribbling, and his eyes opened. 'Oh
God,' he managed to say, then shut them again.
Krys wiped the drill bit with a handkerchief and
noticed that some blood had got onto his jeans,

235
which annoyed him still more. This cunt, Case,
hadn't yet paid enough. It was hardly Krys's fault if
he was such a fucking nancy boy that he fainted
rather than took his punishment.

He walked back round the other side of the bed,
switched the drill on again, then shoved it into
Case's other cheek, this time pushing hard and
twisting it around a bit before retrieval. Case didn't
scream at all this time, he just turned his head from
side to side, alternately coughing and moaning.

'So, did you nick my money then, Warren?'
Nothing. Case didn't even open his eyes. Instead,
he vomited again. Krys's face darkened. 'I said, did
you nick my drugs?' Then, louder: 'Did you nick
my fucking money, you fucking cheap dirty lying
cunt? Well, did you? I'm fucking talking to you, you piece of shit, fucking answer me!'

And then the rage came surging up like a wave in
a storm and, with his face carved into a terminally
unforgiving sneer, Krys Holtz pushed the drill into
Case's left eye, at just the moment when the
weather girl came on to say that heavy rain was on
the way.

Some time afterwards, while they were standing
drinking beers and wondering whether to call a
doctor for Case or patch what was left of him up
themselves, Slim Robbie made an interesting point.
'What if he was telling the truth all along, and he
hadn't ripped you off?'

Krys shrugged. 'Fuck it. I never liked the bald
cunt anyway.'

236
Thursday, ten days ago

Gallan

This is beginning to become worryingly regular/
qaid Joe Riggs with a slight smile as he led us into
Tifjer'b cramped offices and took us into a back
room where the window above the street was wide
open and a desk fan tried in vain to disperse the
intense heat. Quarter to eleven and it was already
excruciatingly hot, the last hurrah of the heatwave
before the expected storms came in.

Riggs went out and brought in another chair for
Berrin, then sat behind the small, untidy desk
facing us. Unlike the other day, he didn't ask if we
wanted anything to drink. 'Before last week, I'd
never had a visit from the police in my life and, as
you're no doubt aware, I've got no criminal record.
Now three times in five days.' He didn't sound particularly
worried, just mildly curious as to why
we'd come again.

The name of your company and individuals
who work for it just keep coming up in our
inquiries,' I told him, a smile of my own playing