Dead or Alive (30 page)

Formosa shook his head and glared into the torch light Strathmore was shining in his eyes. His head was slow in clearing. Strathmore said nothing. He just looked down at this piece of shit who was now at his mercy and he was sorely tempted to just bludgeon him to death there and then. Formosa spoke.

‘Who the fuck are you?'

‘Where are my children?' Strathmore's voice was low, and saturated with rage.

‘What?'

‘You've got ten seconds to live. I want to know where my children are.'

Formosa regained some of his senses. ‘If you kill me you won't see them again.'

‘Well, I think you've already killed them you scumbag. I'll give you ten seconds then I'll do what I've been aching to do since you took them. Once you're out of the picture we'll find them without your help. Nine … eight … seven … six … five …'

Formosa knew this man wasn't bluffing.

‘OK … OK … I'll tell you.'

‘Four … three … two …'

‘Do you want to know or not?'

‘I'm not sure I'll believe you. Better that I kill you and question the scumbags who work for you. There's one lying in an alley back there. I bet he'll tell me.' He raised the bar. Formosa could just see him on the edge of the torchlight.

‘OK. You can talk to them right now if you like!'

‘Get them,' said Strathmore.

The chance of talking to his children was a chance he couldn't miss. Formosa fumbled in his pocket for his phone. It lit up as he turned it on and went to the contacts page. The van door opened and a man reached inside, grabbed hold of Strathmore and dragged him out. Formosa was shouting. ‘Kill the bastard! I want him dead!'

The man was doing his best to obey his boss's orders as he rained blows down on Strathmore who was waving his steel bar around trying to hit his adversary who took one damaging blow then snatched it out of Strathmore's hand and began to beat him with it. A loud whining noise came from behind, accompanied by a flashing blue light. Formosa cursed as two uniforms jumped out of a police car and ran to where Strathmore was lying on the ground. His attacker was running away. One of the officers gave chase but fell to the ground as the flailing arm of the fleeing man, still holding the bar, hit him in the face. The other officer was leaning over Strathmore. Formosa made to get out of the van. The officer looked up and called out.

‘You, stay where you are!'

He got to his feet and handcuffed Formosa to the door handle. Formosa was protesting loudly. ‘He's the one you should be arresting. He attacked me in the back of this fucking van!'

‘I've no doubt we'll sort it out down at the station, sir. First I need to get an ambulance for this man who you say's been attacking you. He looks in a bad way to me.' He shone his torch on Formosa's face. ‘Has he injured you, sir? I can't see anything. Who's the man who ran away? Was he helping you to fight this man off, sir?'

‘I've got no idea.'

‘Well, I think he was bleeding so I've no doubt he'll have left some DNA around. If he's known to us we'll soon track him down. Could I have your name, sir?'

‘No, you can't have my fucking name.'

‘His name's Formosa,' said Strathmore from the ground. ‘Vincent Formosa. He abducted my children. I was just asking him where they are.'

‘He says you attacked him, sir.'

‘Does he look as if he's been attacked? It's me who's been attacked.'

‘I'll get you an ambulance, sir.'

‘Thank you. He needs locking up.'

Foxy Fowler, who had recovered sufficiently to make his way to the car park, was listening to all this from a safe distance. He walked away, quickly, having a good idea where he could meet up with the colleague who had just helped their boss. The woman who had called the police, after seeing Foxy Fowler knocked out, was climbing into a taxi, relieved to get away from this place of violence.

‘Where have you brought me?' Strathmore asked Cope, who was standing by his bedside.

‘You're in Leeds Infirmary.'

‘Am I in trouble?'

‘That's to be decided. If Mr Formosa decides to press charges.'

‘Press charges for what? He wasn't injured.'

‘He had a head injury.'

‘Did he? Well, I might have tapped him on the head to get his attention.'

‘It required four stitches.'

‘Four? I've had twenty-four. I was attacked by one of his knuckle-draggers. I was just asking him what he'd done with my children. Am I not entitled to ask him that?'

It was a question Cope had no answer for. He simply said, ‘Do you want us to contact your wife, Mr Strathmore?'

‘My wife is in St James's. She took an overdose of sleeping tablets last night, not for the first time, either. I was lying awake beside her, thankful that she was getting some sleep at last, then I noticed something odd about her. She was stopping breathing for long periods, then starting again. I tried to wake her up but I couldn't. She was completely out of it. I switched the light on and saw the zopiclone tablets on her bedside table.'

‘What are they?' asked Cope.

‘Sleeping tablets, she'd only just been prescribed them. She was supposed to take one at the most. I looked in the packet and it was empty. She'd taken the lot – twenty-eight. I rang for an ambulance.'

‘How is she, Mr Strathmore?'

‘She's going to be all right. They gave her an antidote that worked, thank God. She didn't want to kill herself. It's just that being awake was too much for her. If I hadn't been awake, she'd have died. I know Formosa's got my children. We all know he's got my children, but you lot are so useless I thought I'd ask him myself. If that thug hadn't turned up I'd have them back by now.'

‘How's that?'

‘Because I'd persuaded him to tell me where they were.'

‘You mean you threatened him.'

‘I did, yes. As a matter of fact, if he didn't tell me I fully intended killing him because with him gone I thought his death might make it more likely for the rest of his mob to hand over my children.'

‘You would have gone to prison for that.'

‘Maybe, maybe not. Who cares, so long as I get my children back?'

S
ep suspected he wasn't the type of man who would be welcome in an estate agent's office. His reception bore out his suspicion.

‘Can I help you?'

The questioner was a frosty-faced young woman standing behind a counter. She was dressed in a dark business suit and she had a false tan. Sep saw no reason to alienate her.

‘Ay, I hope so, lassie. I hope so. I wish te speak wi' Mr Derek Manson.'

‘Do you have an appointment?'

‘No, but I'm an old acquaintance of his. We served time together in prison and I'm here te be of great assistance te him. Tell him that, will ye please? Ma name is James Lennon.'

The frostiness left her face and was replaced by astonishment, and relief that there were no other potential clients on the premises. ‘Er, wait there one moment, please.'

The receptionist returned within a minute followed by a bemused man in his forties, dressed in a dark grey suit, a loud, silk tie and a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket. His tan was real and accentuated his unusually white teeth. If Sep had gone in to buy a property he would have been on his guard instantly. This man had a lot of show but did he have any substance?

‘Mr Lennon you say? Are you sure you haven't made a mistake, Mr Lennon? I don't believe I know you.'

‘Well, I believe my appearance might have changed since we did bird down in Ford Open – as have my financial circumstances. I have a matter to discuss with you that you might want to discuss in private. It concerns a mutual friend; Mr Formosa.'

Manson's fixed smile turned to a rictus grimace, ‘I see, perhaps you'd like to come through to my office.'

Sep touched a subservient forelock to the receptionist and followed Manson through a door into a businesslike office, designed to impress. It had certificates on the wall and photographs of impressive-looking houses. The desk was large and made of polished oak and leather. On it were three computer monitors, two telephones and various other pieces of electronic equipment. The room was expensively carpeted and the windows had complicated-looking Venetian blinds. Manson's chair was leather and comfortable-looking, as were the three other chairs in the room. Sep sat down in one of them, without being asked, and folded his arms. Manson sat in his own chair and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

‘I'd like to start wi' an apology,' said Sep. ‘I've never seen ye in ma life before and I've never been to prison, but I am curious about one thing.'

‘What's that?'

‘How ye got mixed up wi' Formosa and how far ye'll go to extricate yourself from the trouble he's about to get you in.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Och! And how many times have I heard that line in the past few days? Of course ye know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the kidnapping of the Strathmore children. Your part in it was to delay the arrival of the nanny at their school. Ye paid a man five hundred pounds to crash into her car. Are you aware that Mr Formosa wishes he hadn't started that particular caper wi' all the trouble it's causin' him. In fact he's locked up as we speak, did ye know that?'

‘I didn't, no.'

‘Well, he had an altercation with Mr Strathmore which ended up with Mr Strathmore in hospital and Formosa locked up in a police cell. I've no doubt his lawyer will have him out on bail soon enough, but ye can see why all this is just too much trouble for him.

‘He's killin' off all the guys involved. He started with Lee Dench, of course, then his driver, Jez, then the two men he sent Jez tae kill, then Spud and Sharky who killed Dench. All wasted. If ye add Dench's girlfriend, it adds up tae seven so far. Man, he's certain tae come for ye at some time and it wouldnae surprise me if he took out his tame copper, Detective Inspector Lenny Cope.'

Manson had gone white with fear. Sep was only guessing that Spud and Sharky had been killed, but it was a fairly safe guess. Even if they were alive, it was unlikely Manson would know who they were. As it happened, Manson knew about Lee Dench and his girlfriend but that was all. He knew Formosa had recently lost both a Bentley and his driver, so he had no reason to suppose this man wasn't telling the complete truth.

‘Why are you here?'

Sep dropped his pretend Scottish accent and said, ‘I'm here because I'm a policeman and I believe you can help me find the children, and if you help me I can ensure the police won't touch you.'

‘You don't look like a copper.'

‘I'm not supposed to.'

‘Is James Lennon your real name?'

‘No, and my real name is no concern of yours.'

‘How do I even know you're a policeman?'

‘If I wasn't, why would I be doing all this?'

‘Doing all what?'

‘That's a good question, Mr Manson. You see, it's up to you to tell me what you can do. I need information about Formosa, information as to his whereabouts, and with you running his property portfolio I imagine you'll know where he's likely to be at any given time. If I get useful information from you, the police will grant you immunity from prosecution. Now that's a life-changing offer I'm making.'

‘Would I be required to give evidence against him in court?'

Sep smiled, this was his breakthrough. The man was about to admit to his involvement.

‘I don't know. It depends on the strength of evidence we get against him. Right now it's certainly strong enough for a conviction but, for obvious reasons, we don't want to move against him until we find the children.' He paused for a few seconds then asked, ‘Mr Manson, are the children still alive?'

Manson's brow furrowed. ‘I think so, but I don't know for sure.'

‘Do you know where they are?'

‘All I can say is that they're not in any properties I know about.'

‘How do you know that?'

‘Because I've checked. Look, when I got involved in this car crash thing I had no idea what it was for. Had I known, I wouldn't have done it.'

‘Really? You'd have said “No” to Vince Formosa?'

‘I like to think so, yes.'

‘Well, I think not. Formosa
will
go down for it, no question of that, but the question is, when he does, will you be going with him? It's a ten year stretch for you at least. A ten stretch as a child killer. You won't want to do that in the general population. Cons don't like child killers.'

‘I'd rather not go to prison at all.'

‘Tell me, Mr Manson. What do you do for Formosa?'

‘I run his property portfolio and advise him when to buy and sell.'

‘I want this portfolio,' said Sep.

Manson stared at him long and hard. ‘I might be able to let you see it.'

Sep's demeanour turned aggressive. His voice was a low, menacing, mentally unbalanced growl that he'd perfected over many years.

‘Might? How do you mean, might? You're in no position to negotiate. Please hand me the portfolio right now, or I will bring police to arrest you and ransack this office and take away your computers and any evidence you may have here. Other officers will do the same with your home. I am not here to be pissed about, Mr Manson!'

Manson got up from his chair, went to a filing cabinet and opened the bottom drawer, from which he took a box file, simply marked, VF. He handed it to Sep who took it and said, in the same aggressive voice;

‘I assume you have this on your computer.'

‘Yes, I also have it on this memory stick.' He took a memory stick from the box and gave it to Sep.

‘Bring it up on the computer and put another memory stick in.'