Blood Money (27 page)

“Yes sir. I get your point. I was just a bit too keen to nip things in the bud this time around, that's all.”

Eddie holds-up his palms in a show of acceptance at his boss's criticisms. “Anyway, this John Gibson, I've already started to check him out. It would only be natural that a copper might want to get involved in ensuring his girlfriend's killer is brought to justice and…”

It's not gone unnoticed that Eddie has suddenly started avoiding eye-contact with his boss, and straight away Alexis knows something's not right. “You've not told me everything.
What is it?
What is it that you haven't yet told me?”

“Eh…well…there is something, I suppose. You see, when I killed the FSA girl, this John Gibson fella was the closest thing there was to being a witness. But I know for a fact he saw nothing. So there's absolutely no need for you to worry.”

“When you say ‘he was the closest thing there was to a witness' exactly where was he when you killed the girl?”

“We were just outside, round the back of the flats where they live. He was about 10 yards away, facing in the opposite direction, busy on a phonecall and…”

Alexis stops Eddie mid-sentence by abruptly raising his hands. The Greek's dark complexion noticeably reddens as a torrent of rage and anger spews from his mouth. “You stupid fuck! You killed the FSA girl in broad daylight outside her flat, with her fucking policeman boyfriend standing right there? Not only that! He was only the policeman you should have fucking recognised clear as day because you were face to fucking face with him for a good fucking hour just last week when you got fucking-well questioned.
Is that what you're trying to tell me Eddie?!”

“Listen to me please, you weren't there! I was concentrating on her you see. The man she was with was busy on his phone. I couldn't see his face properly because I was looking at them in the van's wing-mirror. She walked right up close to the van, her boyfriend might as well have been on another planet, I promise you. He was paying absolutely no attention. I called her over and did what needed to be done. He never saw my face, I'm certain of it. He even told his partner he hadn't seen me. He's got nothing, I'm telling you. It was a clean job!”

“Sounds to me you like you were too focussed on killing and weren't paying attention to anything else. You didn't stop and think. Who would stab someone when there's other person standing just a few yards away? Is that bravery or stupidity Eddie? Why didn't you take a rain-check and wait until you'd got a situation that was a bit more discrete?”

“If I hadn't of done it there and then…Gibson and her would have started investigating Kronos together. You weren't the one listening to her banging on about you like some obsessed bitch, she had to be stopped. It all happened so quickly and the way it played out it was like as good an opportunity as I'd ever get. As I drove off he was still on the ‘phone and he never even saw a thing. When I stopped the van just before pulling out of the access road I even saw in the rear view mirror that he'd only just started walking over to her. That proves he didn't see anything. Yeah, I remember it clearly now. I bet I was on the main road before that idiot even realised his girlfriend had been stabbed.”

“You seem to be a bit more confident of your facts now, but just for a moment there you were really scared you'd screwed up.” Alexis takes a deep breath, and allows his mind to take-in everything. “Alright, so maybe there's nothing to worry about, but I want to be sure. He's police yeah? Well…find out if he's just some spineless knob jockey or whether he's some have-a-go-hero who's going to make a right nuisance of himself. Make inquiries so we can make a proper assessment of how much of a threat he might be.”

“Already done it. My contact told me he's popular and seems as straight as a die. Keeps his nose clean and from everything he said he doesn't seem to have a courageous bone in his body. He plays by the rules and doesn't rock the boat. That's about it really. What do you think?”

“Any history of violence?”

“No.”

“Any acts of bravery?”

“No.”

“Any commendations?”

“No, he's got none on record.”

“And have your contacts in the Met given you any indication whether forensic evidence had been found when you killed the cat in their flat?”

“No, it was left totally clean, they've got nothing.”

“Any sign he's found the bug you planted?”

“It's so well hidden he'll never come close to finding it as long as he's living in the flat. That's a definite negative.”

“And what about your little execution just outside their flat? –Have the crime scene people found anything? Any chance of them tracing anything back to you or I? What about the vehicle you used?”

“The only DNA found at the scene is hers and Gibson's. The gloves and the knife are gone; the van I used was also disposed of properly. And the police have no eye witnesses. No lines of inquiry. No possible traces back to us. They've got nothing.”

“Right, then. Listen to me very carefully Eddie. You are NOT; I repeat
NOT
to play the Grim Reaper again. You can watch him, you can listen to him. But you do not touch him. I can't have a trail of dead bodies following me about wherever I go. I've asked you to do too much recently; I can see that now, so let's tone it down a notch and become a bit better at remaining inconspicuous.
Do you understand?”

“Yes boss. Watch. Listen. Don't touch.”

“It's too late to do much else today, and this doesn't change the fact that I need your protection again in Monaco this weekend. Be ready to leave at 3pm for City Airport. But as from Monday morning when we get back I want you to start discretely observing everything Gibson is doing and I want you in constant contact with your informants to be sure this investigation is cold. If he makes any move in our direction I want to know about it straight away. If you need professional help on this one, extra pairs of eyes or whatever, consider it authorised.

Although things seem relatively clean, there are enough complications to require us to take extreme care with this John Gibson. I never make the mistake of underestimating policemen. They may appear to be dullards, but most of them can spot something suspicious from a mile away and they're pretty good at putting two and two together. And if he does just that then we're all in the shit…

This only finishes when we know he's back at work and has forgotten all about Kronos.”

“Yes boss.”

*

Later that afternoon, Eddie drops-off Alexis outside the Jet Centre at City Airport before he then drives just a little further-on to reach the secure parking facility. It takes just two minutes for Eddie to walk back and rejoin Alexis, who in the mean time has killed time in the VIP lounge by quaffing back half a bottle of complimentary champagne whilst simultaneously munching through a tray of hors d'oeuvres like a starved pig. Seeing that his bodyguard has returned, Vasilakos takes one final swig of bubbly before belching loudly and picking up his laptop bag.

He and Eddie head for the check-in desk and once they're through they exit the building and walk over to the stand where the Cessna Citation is fuelled-up and ready for take-off.

*

Just north of City Airport on the walkway beside Newham Docks is a wide stretch of water frequently used as a seven lane rowing course, but today there's no regatta. Today the only spectators are a small group of hard-core plane-spotters who are doing their best to ignore the chilly spring wind that blasts in their faces.

From their prime viewing position directly opposite the westernmost end of the airport their intent concentrations focus on the various comings and goings of small jet aircraft. All of them stand behind expensive SLR cameras fitted onto oversize zoom lenses which are in turn mounted onto a variety of tripods, except that is for one individual.

One man in their midst stands out from the crowd because he is the only one to gaze through a pair of powerful bird-watching binoculars held directly in his hands. He's been closely studying the two men who've just got on board the Citation X. Highly satisfied at having made a ‘positive id' on both individuals he's mightily relieved to have confirmed that they're both leaving London for the weekend. Gibson's determined face looks up to see the ultra-fast jet taking to the air. He waits until it's disappeared into the grey clouds before he calmly walks away.

This morning's 9 o'clock interview at New Scotland Yard had been intense and awkward. Having decided beforehand not to tell the two detectives of Kronos's involvement Gibson had played-along at being confounded as to the reasons behind the attack. He couldn't allow them the opportunity to blunder into 60 Lombard Street and insist on questioning Vasilakos and Slater about what they knew of Rebecca's death. His card would have been marked and death would have come swiftly. This precarious situation had left him no choice other than to openly lie about his own girlfriend's death, to omit many of the details and to feign ignorance about the possible motives.

And as if things weren't already difficult enough, when John had got back to the flat he saw on his mobile (which he'd left on the dining room table) that Rebecca's parents had left him a voice message. Returning their call, his future in-laws had expressed deep sorrow at the loss of their daughter and announced their intention to travel down to London to see both him and Steven over the coming weekend.

This will clearly impact on the time he's got to work during this all-too-brief window of opportunity. It's a totally unavoidable complication and it's something John's unable to get out of. They're good people and he owes it to both them and Rebecca that he should spend time in their company and provide some kind of explanation as to the circumstances of her death. It's only right and proper.

What's going to make it harder still is that (for now) he's no other option than to explain away her death as being a senseless and motiveless crime. Maybe, given sufficient time, it may be safe enough tell them the truth one day, but he can't risk the consequences of that right now. He mustn't assume that the listening device he discovered was the only one planted, so he's going to continue acting as if every word and noise in the flat can be heard by his psychopathic nemesis.

The matter is further complicated because there's simply no space for them to stay over at Steve's, after all, he's only got a small bedsit. And knowing that they've not got the money to waste on London hotels there was no alternative but for John to offer that they stay at his place over Saturday and Sunday. The positive way he's looking at this now is that he's got to totally commit to making as much progress as possible during Thursday and Friday nights. However, it leaves John feeling like he's now given himself a nigh-on impossible task.

With no time to waste, he immediately sets to work turning the measurements taken during his covert reconnoitre into a scaled drawing of St Gregory's crypt, with the basement of the bank accurately positioned right alongside it.

The blue-prints from Bill Warren's police file are proving invaluable, they're taking almost all of the guesswork out of the task and after only an hour's work he's feeling pretty certain about where to break-through. The opening will need to be excavated from within the 4th alcove along from the front of the crypt. The point of entry will be 2½ ft up from the floor and this means that the coffin on the first shelf will need shifting out the way so he can access the correct part of the wall.

With that problem solved, John now ties-up his brain in knots thinking about how in the hell he's going to move a lead coffin that might weigh 250 – 300 kilos by himself.

Having already taken a big risk by involving a couple of young pick pockets, he's determined not to involve any more outsiders…-And anyway, how would he go about asking someone (even if it was his best mate) to break-into a church crypt with him so he could help move a lead coffin, complete with decomposed human remains inside and thus enable you to break into the bank next door?

It would be spectacularly dumb to take someone along to witness your criminal activities, someone who might be required to give witness against you if it all turned to rat-shit. And it would also be a very selfish act to ask a law abiding friend to incriminate himself in your own illegal schemes. No, Gibson can't consider involving anyone other than himself.

There's also something else that's been troubling him…should he be bothered about leaving a gaping hole in the wall or would it be better to stealthily cover his tracks in order to delay (or even avoid) the Greek ever finding out how his premises had been infiltrated or by whom.

At this present moment it seems better to attempt to repair the wall. After all, he's only planning on making one small hole and what with the bags of lime-mortar already available down in the crypt it would be a shame not to have a go at reinstating the stonework. And anyway, his repairs probably won't look too out of place when compared to the shoddy restoration work that's already been done down there.

With another decision made, he realises that he still hasn't determined how on earth he can accomplish the task of shifting the lead coffin out of the way, on his own.

He'll firstly need to pull it away from the alcove, then once he's repaired the hole he's going to need to push it back again. There's more than enough materials down there to build a strong low-lying makeshift table next to the bottom shelf, but the solution as to how he's going to shift the excruciatingly heavy leaden box across onto it has yet to reveal itself.

Though it's tempting for John to dream of using modern equipment like engine hoists or tubular steel ‘A-frames', he knows he can't entertain such thoughts because getting such heavy and cumbersome equipment in and out of St Gregory's late at night would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention on himself. If any copper were to see him travelling across London with gear like that, it'd result in an immediate stop-and-search. He might as well be carrying around a pair of bolt cutters and a sawn-off shotgun.

Gibson begins to consider how the undertakers of the time (some 250 years ago) got the lead coffins into their final resting place to begin with. They might have had a couple of stout trolleys to assist them, and he can visualise the caskets being lowered down into the crypt using strapping and ropes. But what about shifting them into their final resting place? It's a train of thought that sets him thinking of ancient Egyptians moving heavy stone blocks around the place in even earlier times. If stone-age man could do it then the answer has to be really basic. It's then that the simplicity of the solution materialises.

A number of strong but lightweight rollers would make short-work of the issue. They could be fabricated easily enough by cutting-up some strong metal piping. The sections (he'd probably need at least a dozen of them) needn't be too long either, maybe eight inches or so would suffice. Then it would only take a couple of strong levers to enable him to lift up one end at a time, just high enough to slip the rollers underneath.

Such a simple technique cannot fail and he now feels quietly confident in being able to move such a weighty mass. And with care he'll avoid scratching the lead sheet's soft, oxidized surface and neither will he damage the oak shelf on which it sits.

Even though he's confirmed that both Alexis and his bodyguard have left London and knowing Eddie Slater to be many hundreds of miles away by now, it's still in John's nature to remain extremely cautious. The last thing he needs is to link himself to the purchase of any of the equipment he'll be using to commit this crime. So using the local bus network once more, he now goes somewhere where he'd normally never dream of setting foot.
Tottenham
.

Confident that his face isn't know around these parts, he enters a local hardware store to buy a few stone-working tools, some metre-long lengths of ¾“ galvanised tube and a couple of pry bars of varying sizes. When he gets back to his flat, he hacksaws the pipe into eight-inch sections and carefully wraps them in cloth so they won't clank together during tonight's night-bus journey across town.

Aware of the ever increasing feelings of fatigue from within his body, John tries to rest during the five hours he has left before it's time to leave, secure in the knowledge that there'll be plenty of time for recuperation once this lunacy is over.

*

It's just gone eleven o'clock when John quietly leaves his flat to travel down into the heart of the City.

As well as taking his large black holdall full of gear, the hoody-wearing cop also carries with him their oversized laptop bag. He spreads the weight of tonight's heavy equipment as evenly as he can across both sides of his body so that he's able to walk fairly normally. When he gets off the night-bus he varies his route yet again, this time approaching from the north.

Coming-in via Birchin Lane, Bengal Court Alley and George Yard is not without its risks because although there's less illumination from the street lights, there are several CCTV installations along here due to the proximity of a nearby jewellers shop and wine bar. John can't be certain that all these little twists and turns will count for anything in disguising his shadowy intentions, but in his experience they may indeed prove worthwhile. He frequently finds it's the little things like repetitive patterns of behaviour and a catalogue of minor mistakes that often lead to a criminal being caught.

With his heartbeat racing, he doesn't want to remain standing outside St Gregory's for any longer than necessary so he wastes no time in unlocking the door and getting in off the street. With the door secured behind him, John stealthily creeps forward into the centre of the cold, dark church before systematically repeating all the precautions of the previous night without exception. He takes particular care in not allowing stray torch-light being seen by anyone outside.

Complacency, lack of forethought and inattention to detail are a criminal's worst enemies. It's human nature to be tempted into taking short-cuts and we all have an inbuilt tendency to think we're too smart to get caught. But when it matters…when your very life is at stake…the smart-play is to leave nothing to chance.

Police training has given him the advantage of a highly methodical mind; and it enables him to do what most members of the public cannot. He remains fastidious in his work from conception to completion. He genuinely believes that the balance between success and failure will rely as much in the execution of a myriad of minor details as it does on the completion of the major tasks.

Once fresh sheeting is secured around the hatch, John again gets into a clean set of white coveralls and then slips on a new pair of disposable overshoes. He lifts the brass ring with his latex covered fingers and the same distinctive cocktail of musty odours soar once more into his nostrils. Once this is all over, this very smell, this pungent fetid staleness will be the thing that will remain burnt into his memory until the day he dies.

Tonight, John knows he's going to be making a lot of noise, so mindful of not drawing attention to himself he lowers the floor hatch over his head as he descends down into the crypt, sealing himself off from the world above.

As soon as he reaches the bottom of the steps he finds the ancient switch and turns on the decrepit internal lighting. The stone pillars running down the centre of the room once more cast their gloomy shadows over the dimly lit walls and alcoves. John heads over to the front of the basement before walking back along the westernmost wall, counting the alcoves as he passes them, 1, 2, 3 and 4.

He stops and puts down his bags, then gets out his steel tape and the scale diagram showing the relative positions of the two basements. Before he does anything else he rechecks his measurements and is relieved to confirm in his own mind that he's knows exactly where to excavate in order to break through in just the right place.

Once he's fetched over a whole bunch of loose bricks from behind the pillar John begins creating several substantial legs on which to support a makeshift table. On top of these he now lays three sizeable scaffolding planks. Crouching down, he can see that this first attempt is a little too low for his liking but he realises there's an easy way to solve this, he simply turns some of the bricks onto their sides which gives his table a fraction more elevation. Now with an exact match in height, the rollers will be able to transfer the lead coffin across without any hindrance.

John next gets the pipes out of his holdall and having removed their cloth wrappings he places them close to hand. Noticing that there's a small gap underneath the coffin at one particular point, closer examination reveals it's caused by a raised knot in the shelf's timber. Into this slight crack, John inserts the chisel-end of his largest pry bar and with considerable effort he wriggles it in as far as it will go. By positioning a smaller pry bar crossways underneath the larger one he creates a raised fulcrum which should help him elevate the coffin up off the shelf.

When he begins to exert downward force on the larger pry bar he can feel it bending along its length, however it's only when John begins adding his bodyweight onto the far end that the foot of the casket begins to rise-up. Keeping it aloft momentarily, he grabs for a section of pipe and stuffs it under the coffin before lowering it down once more. John now re-positions the pry bar a little further forward and the lift is repeated so a second and third pipe can be inserted underneath. Several rollers are now positioned parallel to one another, lengthways to the coffin and he now repeats the process at the head end, until he has about nine pipes in total supporting its considerable mass.

Harbouring a morbid fear of being crushed by the phenomenally heavy coffin should it topple, John nevertheless casts this concern aside and begins wrestling the leaden box away from the back wall. He concentrates firstly on swinging out the foot of the coffin as this is the end that is obstructing the part of the wall where he needs to work. Having pulled it forward a few feet he stops and catches his breath. The gap he's created is still too confined, so he lines up some more rollers on the near side of the coffin and pulls it even further away until at last he's created sufficient space to gain access.