A Dark Place to Die (23 page)

'Yeah, not bad.'

Koop puts down his cup. Tiny leans forward and places a coaster under it.

'Teak,' he says. 'It marks.'

Koop lifts an apologetic hand. 'You know why I'm here, Tiny?'

'I did hear something, Mr Koopman. Very sorry about your lad.'

'He wasn't really "my lad", Tiny. Not like you think. But thanks anyway.'

Tiny looks at Koop. 'Always sad when something happens to family.'

Koop knows that Tiny divorced his first wife eight years ago and now lives with a twenty-two-year-old Thai girl. He has no children.

'Yes, too true, Tiny. Which brings me to the reason for my visit.'

'Anything, Mr Koopman. You name it.'

'Keith Kite.'

Tiny Prior's cup rattles in its saucer. 'Ah,' he says. 'I should have said, "Anything, except that," Mr Koopman.'

'You don't know anything about Kite?'

'That's not the problem, Mr Koopman, as you well know. I can't talk about that subject.'

'But he must do a lot of business through here, right?'

Tiny shakes his head. 'I can't say anything.'

Koop switches tack. 'OK, let's leave Kite out of it. What have you heard about Australia?'

'Big island a long way away.'

'Very funny, Tiny. Australia?'

'It's hard to track everything from here to the final destination, Mr Koopman. Just because a manifest says Indonesia, for example, it don't mean that shipment ends up in Indonesia, right? It could be an onward movement from there.'

'Not this,' says Koop. 'This is something going from here to Australia.'

He's taking a long shot. There's nothing solid connecting Kite with a large shipment, but Koop knows there is one, somewhere. He's looking for a glimmer from Tiny.

'There's lots going to Oz, Mr Koopman.' Tiny's voice has taken on a slight whining tone. It's time to up the squeeze level.

'You still skimming off the Norris Greens, Tiny?' Koop stares across the tea cups at Prior. 'Did they ever find out it was you who lightened the load on that Rotterdam run?'

Koop is talking about a case that came up three years
before he retired. Another murder which led him and the MIT team back to the docks. During the case Koop discovered that Tiny Prior was being paid to grease the delivery lines for 'furniture' being shipped to the Netherlands. What he wasn't being paid for was skimming a little – he was, after all,
Tiny
Prior – off the real delivery; chemicals used in the manufacture of ecstasy. The Norris Greens took a hit when MIT passed the information along to the Organised Crime Squad. Koop kept Tiny's role to himself. Something for a rainy day. Which has just arrived.

Tiny's pasty face turns even whiter. 'Don't joke, Mr Koopman.'

Koop stands up and leans over Prior. 'Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Tiny? Now give me something I can use, or I'll let the Norris Greens know it was you. And I might be tempted to bring Keith Kite in on this one too.'

'I can't.' Prior is shaking his head. 'They'll fucking kill me!'

Koop drops his voice. 'No-one will know, Tiny. Just me and you. And you don't have to outright tell me. Just a pointer will do. Anything.'

Tiny licks his lips. 'Alright. But it's nothing, really. And that's all you're getting, Mr Koopman.'

'Fire away, Tiny.'

Tiny Prior puts down his cup. 'You didn't hear this from me, right? You want to be looking at Halewood.'

'Halewood? What is this,
Give Us A Clue?'
Koop jabs Tiny in the chest. 'Halewood? What does that mean?'

Tiny Prior's face alters and Koop knows instantly that's all he's going to get from the Emperor of the Docks. 'That's it. Do what you want, Mr Koopman. You asked for something and I gave it yer. Now fuck off and leave me alone!'

Koop stands up, his head brushing the steel roof of the cab.

'Alright, Tiny. No need to get offensive.' Koop finishes his tea and replaces the cup in the saucer with a rattle. He looks out of the window and along the river towards Speke.

Halewood lies ten miles south-east of Liverpool and means one thing and one thing only.

Cars.

The troubled Jaguar factory at Halewood produces the X-Type Jag, mainly for export. If Tiny Prior has pointed him at Halewood he's telling him that this business has something to do with cars. Koop knows that if Keith Kite is involved it's unlikely that the deal is about cars and cars alone. But it could mean that the cars are being used as a cover for something else.

It doesn't take long for Koop to run into a brick wall.

Without access to the force computers there's no way to get into the delivery manifests.

Koop calls Keane and meets him in town.

'I thought I told you to leave it alone?'

'Told?' Koop arches his eyebrows. 'Are you serious, Frank?'

'I was, yes.'

Koop waves the comment away. He doesn't have time to get into a pissing contest.

'Never mind all that.' Koop tells him about the information he's got from Tiny. Naturally he leaves Tiny's name out.

'That's it?' says Keane. 'An anonymous tip about Jaguars? What am I supposed to do with that?'

'You're supposed to be a fucking copper, Frank. Or have
you forgotten that since I've been away? Christ almighty, I'm handing you a solid lead on this case. Think what we'd have done with it when I was here. We'd have been onto the thing like a dog on a rabbit.'

'You're not here any more, Koop. That's the point. Things have changed.'

'You mean
you've
changed.'

'And what if I have? What the fuck business is it of yours?'

'It's my son who was killed, Frank. I'd say that makes it my business, wouldn't you?'

Keane glares at Koop. 'Don't come that crap, Koop. Stevie was no son of yours – not in a way that means anything. So don't get all high and mighty with me.'

Koop tries to calm his breathing. He doesn't want an assault charge. And he isn't at all sure that Keane wouldn't go right ahead and kick his arse back to Australia anyway.

'Look, I've given you the information. You must have known when you gave me Stevie's file that I'd be digging around. Well, I've done some digging and I've brought you a bone. A small one, I'll give you that, but it
is
a fucking bone. Can you at least look into it?'

Keane lets out a long breath.

'Okay. Okay, Koop. I'll see what we can do. But things have really changed since Perch came in.'

'This is still a police force, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is, Koop. A force that you're no longer part of. And I'm regretting giving you that file. I told you before. It was a mistake. You coming back was a mistake. Go home.'

Keane walks away without another word.

Home?

Koop isn't sure he knows where that is any more.

38

'You're getting paranoid, Jimmy. Relax. Eckhardt's just some old fart. He's got nothing solid.'

'Relax? Easy for you to say, brother.' Jimmy rubs his fingers against his chin. He and Tony Link are at the Q1 apartment, Ella having been sent out with a wad to do some shopping.

'What do you want?' she'd asked.

'Me? I don't want fucking anything. Just go shopping. Buy something.'

Ella had shrugged and taken the money, leaving the two men drinking in the apartment.

She doesn't like Tony or Stefan coming round. Jimmy might pay for the place, but this is her home and Stefan Meeks in particular is an out-and-out creep.

Jimmy shared her with Stefan one time and since then he looks at her as if he wants to hurt her. He's careful to smile and joke, but he can't hide what's in his eyes. Tony, too, is less respectful than Ella would like. Despite their clothes and their cars and the money, they are not classy.

She's glad to leave even if she can see storm clouds
gathering outside the windows. If she parks at Pac Fair she needn't get wet.

Jimmy Gelagotis drums his fingers on the arm of his chair but says nothing. Tony Link risks a glimpse at his watch.

'You busy?' says Jimmy.

'I got a few things to do. You know how it is.'

Gelagotis nods. He does understand all about the need for keeping your eye on the details. It's how he's grown his businesses, the legit as well as the criminal. Tony is right. Except now Jimmy wants him and everyone else to focus their full attention on the shipment. This whole thing is beginning to leak like a busted bucket. First Stevie. Now this Eckhardt turning up out of the blue.

Details. Details.

'The cars?'

Tony Link lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. 'They're golden, Jimmy. Stefan's all over 'em.'

'They moved them?'

'We've been over this, Jimmy. Yes, they've been moved. They're all at the lock-up in Beenleigh. Just like we discussed. Stefan took care of it all.'

Jimmy looks at Tony Link. One of those Greek looks.

'You trust him?'

'Who?'

'Stefan. You trust him?'

Jimmy sits up in his chair.

'Fuck, yes I trust him!' says Link. 'He's a solid bloke. I can't believe you asked me that, Jimmy. Stefan's one of our own.'

Jimmy Gelagotis doesn't flinch. He nods absently. 'He's a Pom too. Did you know?'

Link shrugs. 'Yeah? So what? Being a Pom makes him suss?'

'The Poms sent the shipment.' Jimmy isn't asking a question but Link replies as if he is.

'Stefan's good, Jimmy. This isn't the time to be worrying about your own.'

Jimmy looks out of the window. Thinking: you're wrong, Tony. This is exactly the time to be worrying about the people around you. And about the details.

'I want to move the cars again. Get them somewhere safer. And get the stuff moving, get it sold.' Jimmy talks quickly, decisively. 'And I want to see it for myself. All of it. All the merchandise. Now.' He gets up from his chair and grabs his car keys from the table.

Link waits a beat before following Gelagotis from the apartment. The two stand at the express lift side by side. Tony glances at the man next to him, the man he's been in business with for the past four years.

He hopes to fuck that Stefan hasn't started moving the stuff already. If he has, they'll have to kill Jimmy earlier than planned.

39

The ticket is at the front desk when Koop gets back to the hotel at five. Anfield Road End, lower level, kick-off at eight. There's no note and Koop stares at the ticket for a while.

'Who left this?' Koop asks the receptionist. She shakes her head. 'Sorry, Mr Koopman, I don't know. I could ask around, see if whoever was on the last shift knows?'

Koop waves a hand. 'That's OK, it's no big deal.' A moment's reflection and he knows that he'll be using the ticket. It's a development Koop would be foolish to pass up. Chasing the delivery boy won't help. Besides, it's almost five years since he's been to the match.

Two hours later, Koop is cutting through the cobbled back alleys up from Everton Valley. He's one of thousands heading to the brightly lit shrine which looms above the terraced streets. The lights from the stadium make silhouettes of the crowd and flicker on the glass shards concreted into the back walls of the tiny houses. Home-made burglar alarms. Some residents have chosen the belt-and-braces approach of razor wire and/or a rottweiler. There are no houses without some sort of violent deterrent. Koop
knows they're wise. Anfield is a tough neighbourhood. He's arrested a significant number of scallies around here.

Closer to the ground and Koop feels a surge of pride. He always did prefer the night games. At the back of the Kop the pre-match crowd scarf down burgers, chips, hot dogs. Beer too from the microscopic corner pubs, packed to overflowing and already in full song. A sign of the times: amidst the burger bars and dodgy souvenir stalls is a proper coffee stand, complete with steaming espresso machine. Lattes and cappuccinos in the lee of the Kop. Who'd have thought it?

Koop walks around to the opposite end. At the corner of Anfield Road he catches the eye of one of the mounted police who does a double take. 'DCI Koopman!' says the copper, a twenty-year veteran. 'I thought you'd gone overseas? Canada, right?'

'Australia.' He shakes the outstretched hand but cuts the reminiscences short. He's already getting the odd look from more than a few of the crowd and has no desire to raise his profile any higher. Leaving the horses behind, Koop finds the turnstile and squeezes through.

He's in his seat ten minutes before kick-off. On his right is a young family. Dad and two excited lads of about eight and ten. The father nods affably as Koop sits, but it's clear this is not who left the ticket at the hotel. The aisle seat to his left remains empty through the ritualistic singing. The Liverpool anthem works its customary magic and Koop feels a tingle down his spine at the sound of forty thousand voices in unison. Fucking hell; what a moment.

It's five minutes into the game before Koop feels someone slip into the empty seat and he looks round.

'Hello, Menno,' says Carl. 'Any score?'

It's one-nil to the Reds at halftime, but Menno Koopman has barely registered the details. By some tacit understanding, he and Carl have exchanged just a few words during the first half, and then only concerning the game, both of them grateful for the spectacle in front of them. That's why Carl chose here, Koop thinks, and why he waited until the whistle to take his seat.

'It's good to see you, Menno,' says Carl. The two of them are standing, shaking some feeling into their feet. 'Really.'

Koop is rocked by the warmth in his brother's voice. He feels a flood of shame at the way he's been. Or not been, to be more accurate.

'You're looking good,' says Koop. And he's right, Carl Koopman
is
looking good. Considering. Older, obviously, and with a residual wariness about him that any copper would recognise as that of someone who's spent time locked up, but fit and healthy. He's dressed conservatively but well. There's no sign to the untrained eye that Carl is anything but a reasonably prosperous middle-aged man in good shape.

'I hadn't realised,' says Koop. 'About Bowden, I mean.'

Carl raises an eyebrow.

'That you'd . . . been released.'