Blood Money (35 page)

Bill checks his watch and takes a moment to think. “Give me two ticks and I'll just nip upstairs to make-up an excuse for me being down here for a couple of hours. I think I should be able to convince ‘em to stay in the reception area. The plaster will take a fair bit of time to dry before it can be painted, so we need get started right away.”

Bill briefly returns upstairs to have a word, and making up a plausible excuse for spending a few hours downstairs isn't difficult. “Listen lads, clearing all that poisonous gas out of the vault is going to take at least three or four days, and to be honest what we've done down there is a bit of a lash-up. Though it's safe for now, I don't want anything coming adrift, so I'm going to do some work down in the basement for a couple of hours with some gaffer tape and polythene sheet.”

“I don't know Bill…we'd probably rather you were up here with us, I mean…what if you were to collapse unconscious or something?”

“Don't worry, I ain't going to do anything silly and end-up getting m'self killed. Anyway, we've got the detectors to warn us if anything's wrong. And if it starts looking a bit ‘iffy' have no fear, I'll be back up here like a rat up a drainpipe.”

Knowing he's the senior officer in charge, the other two are going to have to obey his orders to the letter.

“Stick to the plan…–you guys stay up here no matter what. You're job is to stop anyone entering, whether they're employees or reporters or whether they're the Queen of bloody Sheba. You're ok with that aren't you?” As they nod in agreement he can see it in their eyes that they've not the slightest intention of leaving the comparative safety and comfort of the reception area.

*

With no time to waste, John knocks-up the adhesive and helps get the first couple of strips of plasterboard up before needing to exit down the tunnel. Whilst Bill finishes off, his partner back-fills the hole with rubble from the other side, making good the stonework with lime mortar before finally shoving the displaced lead casket back into its rightful resting position.

The end wall will need to be left for at least 24 hours for the plaster to fully dry, and the added ventilation caused by the draught from the centrifugal fan will work in their favour, removing the moisture and any distinctive ‘wet plaster smell' before it has a chance of wafting upstairs. Putting the unused off-cuts of plasterboard into the small buckets Bill manages to keep the volume of what he has to carry out to the Volvo as small as possible. Having cleared away all the equipment he arranges everything into three bundles, each of which he wraps-up in copious amounts of plastic sheeting held together with gaffer tape. Without delay he takes the lot upstairs and piles it straight into the boot of V50 estate before going through the motions of taking his final carbon monoxide reading from the pipe that leads outside.

He calls Picken with an update before leaving to get a good night's rest.

*

The following morning, Bill makes regular checks on how the gas levels are dropping whilst he waits patiently for the plasterboard to dry. Once 24 hours have passed he judges the wall to be good enough to paint over. He applies a coat of primer/sealer and then some time later he gives the entire inside of the store room a single coat of magnolia using a tin and a roller that he sneaked in without it being seen. Hour after hour, the remaining amount of carbon monoxide in the vault becomes gradually more diluted with the fresh air being drawn-in through the perforations.

However, Bill sees that the rate that the concentration is falling has begun tailing-off significantly. Each 5ppm drop takes longer and longer and this'll mean the extraction will have to go on for many more days, far more than he'd anticipated.

Dave Picken was expecting this to happen, and reassures Bill that the volume of air inside the vault will need to be changed many hundreds of times before all of the carbon monoxide has been removed. As agreed, they stay in regular contact and Bill also keeps Vincent Burrows fully appraised of their progress in purging away the poisonous gas.

It had been a very strange day for John Gibson, returning to his job at Bishopsgate nick after a three week leave of absence.

Death. Not a particularly jolly subject to discuss on a Monday morning with your colleagues, but it was something he'd just about managed to get himself through.

Losing his fiancée had made returning to work seem pretty unimportant, but showing his face back at the office today had brought with it a couple of additional complications. Like how it really hurts to know just how ineffective the police had been in attempting to track down Rebecca's killer. That failure by itself is enough to make him question if there's any point in him continuing as a policeman. Then there's the thought of living a lie…knowing that he'd wilfully involved himself in criminal activity during his time off work. Although it's been very satisfying to have been able to make good on his promise to Rebecca, (as it seems certain Alexis Vasilakos will soon be spending significant time behind bars) he nevertheless hates himself for having broken the oath he took when he joined the police.

Throughout the day he'd maintained a sense of composure and professionalism in front of his colleagues. In spite of the awkward circumstances his pals had found ways of acknowledging his loss and had said just the right things to let him know he'd been missed. So having now completed his first day back at the station at least he now appreciates just how much his colleagues were pleased to see his return. It's also made him realise that he owes a serious debt of gratitude to DCI Jenkins in particular, as the gaffer had gone out of his way to be understanding and supportive throughout all of this.

But the one person he'd really wanted to see on his first day back at work hadn't been there…

Still assigned to the SOCA team, Bill Warren is continuing to operate outside of his normal duties, working on his twin objectives of making the vault safe enough to enter and on gaining entry into the still-locked ground floor security office.

Desperate to know how things have been going, John has arranged to meet-up with his senior partner at ‘The Pins' tonight. And still owing Bill big style for all his help in covering-up the break-in, the drinks will most definitely be on John this evening.

*

“Listen Bill, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out. You've been an absolute diamond throughout all of this. If it weren't for you, everyone would very soon be finding out that the evidence against Kronos had been gained illegally. Vasilakos's lawyers would then have no trouble in getting the case against him dismissed and I'd probably be the only person around here on the receiving end of a custodial sentence. I truly can't thank you enough.”

“You make me laugh.” Bill shakes his head in disbelief. “For the last ten years you've been ‘Mr Squeaky Clean'. Quite the modern copper, always playing by the book, never stepping out of line. Then all of a sudden you go off-piste, on some one-man crusade like you're the bleedin' Lone Ranger or something. If only you'd have asked me earlier, I could've helped you out right from the start.”

“But you did help me out right from the start. And you've been helping me out all the way along! You were there for me after the break-in at my flat. You were there for me after Beccs was murdered and you were there for me when I really needed it, right at the end when my stupidity almost ruined everything I'd been risking my neck for.”

“Carry on with much more of that sentimental clap-trap and you're going to see a grown man puke.”

“Alright, alright, ‘nuff said.”

The old fella's got a point, in a real man's boozer like ‘The Pins' it just wouldn't be right for two men to be seen getting all emotional. So Gibson changes the subject, “So, cum'mon then, how good a job did you make of the end wall in that store room? Reckon anyone'll be able to tell it's been fixed-up?”

“The job's as clean as a whistle. Nobody will ever know there was ever a hole through it. And there's not been so much as a hint of any paint smell down there since at least last Friday. There was so much draft from all the extraction that the paint fumes never stood a chance. I promise you; even the two uniforms upstairs haven't had so much as a Scooby Doo about what I've been doing down there, mind you (if I do say so myself) they're not the brightest of lads.”

“Nice job Billy-boy. I knew I could rely on you. I'd been counting on you getting assigned to the raid on Lombard Street. They were bound to invite a small contingent from Bishopsgate to join the team, what with it being on our turf and all. And it'd be just like the Gaffer to get you to attend. Always using the same people for the same jobs, time and again.”

“Yeah, I'll give you that. Anyway, there is one thing that I'm still not sure about, if you'd be kind enough to clear it up for me.”

“Oh yeah…And what's that then?”

“Well, for the past couple of days I've been risking my neck trying to pump out a shit-load of carbon monoxide from a bank vault, haven't I? Seems to me like Vasilakos and Slater might have had a damn good reason to think they needed to booby trap it. Now why would they think that? Seems like there might be something you haven't told me…”

“Mmm, well…perhaps I did lead them astray just a little bit. I might‘ve made it look like I was actually thinking of breaking into the vault itself. ‘Spose I did it to test their mettle.”

“But these guys don't fuck about!
Why would you want to attract unnecessary attention to yourself? You must have come within a gnat's cock of getting yourself killed.
Why take the risk?”

“At the time I reckoned I needed a little distraction to keep them guessing, like in a game of chess, you know…make ‘em think I was after their Queen, when I actually wanted to take their King. And it was nice to imagine I was making Eddie Slater feel like he wasn't in control anymore, and you never know there was always the chance it might force them into making a mistake or something…”

John takes a long drink from his pint glass before continuing, “And anyway, it did achieve two things I suppose. It tricked them into booby-trapping the vault, which has given us sufficient time to fix-up the hole in the storeroom wall and it also forced them to put me under round-the-clock surveillance which all added to the mounting evidence for them being responsible for Rebecca's death. Yeah, I guess I was taking a chance…but I was in a bad place, and…maybe I wasn't putting very much value on my life at the time.”

With all his talking, John is falling behind in the beer drinking, so he takes another long draught to keep up with his thirst-ridden partner before he thoughtfully continues “From listening in on our conversations Slater would've known I was a copper. I'd been hoping that would make him think twice about killing me, especially so soon after killing Rebecca.

But just in case the worst did happen, I gave myself a final chance of exacting some-sort of revenge…because the last time I came into the station, I slipped a note into my locker giving an outline of what I was planning to do and why. So in the event of anyone having me killed, either you or the guvnor would have cleared out my stuff and would've found the note. That should've provided sufficient evidence to get a search warrant approved for both the Kronos Headquarters and Eddie Slater's digs. Hopefully the opportunity would have also been used to search for evidence on insider dealing at the same time.

Anyway, initially I was pretty confident I wasn't being watched and then one day everything seemed to change. Everywhere I went, I was under constant observation. They tried their best to be discrete, but I could spot them a mile off. And knowing I was under surveillance made me even angrier, so partly out of mischief, I began acting really suspiciously to make ‘em nervous. It felt good to turn the tables, making them feel like they were the ones being threatened for a change.”

It did mean that I needed to duck under their radar just the once, in order for me to pick-up the recording equipment from the crypt and the splitter cable with its attached transmitter box hidden behind the Cray. But that wasn't too difficult, and I took the opportunity to drop-off some of the plasterboarding gear at the same time.”

“And are you still being watched?”

“Nah…the day after Eddie Slater was arrested his goons evaporated away, thankfully.”

“I've gotta tell you, I'm impressed with everything you've achieved. Rebecca would have been proud of you. -I know I am.”

“Thanks Bill, that means a lot.” John goes quiet for a moment as he tries to imagine whether Becc's will be able to find peace, now that he's accomplished what he set-out to do. Then realising that his friend's glass is empty (once again) he comments dryly, “Looks like you're in need of another pint then?”

Once more back inside 60 Lombard Street, Bill is yet again taking another measurement of the carbon monoxide levels being expelled through the vent. Progress has been painfully slow, but at long last the readings (fluctuating between 3 and 4 parts per million) are sufficiently low to merit calling Dave Picken back in. If the final safety checks all go well, the building might at last get signed-off as being safe.

On Picken's return Bill wastes no time in instructing the two uniformed officers to evacuate the building for one last time. Having descended down the stone staircase into the basement, they carefully don their gas-tight suits and breathing apparatus before checking each other over to ensure the equipment is fitted correctly.

Tearing away a small amount of gaffer tape and sheeting, Bill exposes the edge of the massive steel door, and with considerable effort, he opens it up just wide enough for them to squeeze through into the vault itself. Manoeuvring between the shelves of ancient artefacts and past the portable gas heater (that caused all this mayhem in the first place) they seek out the room's four extremities.

As Picken holds up his portable gas detector into the far reaches of each corner, he gives Bill highly reassuring ‘thumbs-up' signs. Satisfied at a job well done, they exit the vault and extricate themselves from their orange hazmat suits. And whilst Dave completes the necessary paperwork to declare the building safe, Bill begins tearing down the plastic sheeting and pipework so he can lug it all up the stairs and dump it into the Volvo V50's cavernous boot.

Calling Vincent Burrows to let him know that the bank-vault is now safe, Bill gets the briefest of congratulations before being reminded that they still need to get inside the locked security office.

“Bill, that reinforced steel door isn't going to be easy to open. Either we're going to have to somehow convince Eddie Slater that it's in his best interests to give us the entry code or we're going to have to use some pretty serious kit to rip a hole in it.”

“Agreed. It looks totally impervious, so let's try and persuade Eddie to cooperate before we bring in a demolition team. Where exactly is he at present?”

“Unfortunately, we had to release him on bail…but I'll arrange for some officers to pick him up and bring him over to Bishopsgate Station where we'll interview him one last time. Give it half an hour and he'll be delivered. One way or another we have to get inside that room…this delay in completing the search is starting to become a bit of an embarrassment.”

Having thanked Dave Picken for his help, Bill sees him off the premises before getting the uniformed officers back inside the building to make it secure again.

Once he's walked over to Bishopsgate Station, it isn't long before Vincent arrives, and shortly after they're told that Eddie Slater has been delivered into interview room three for questioning.

*

DI Burrows kicks things off. “Eddie, you're in big trouble, I think you understand that pretty well by now. We've got you for illegal possession of a firearm; you've admitted filling a bank vault with carbon monoxide gas with intent to kill and your boss is in so much shit, he's positively drowning in it. Vasilakos is too busy dealing with his own problems to be concerned about saving your skin.

So, as I see it, you're on your own. Let's all go over to Lombard Street so you can do the right thing and open-up the door to this security office of yours.”

The response is both aggressive and succinct. “Go fuck yourself copper.”

“That's not very helpful Eddie…” Vince has interviewed innumerable hardened criminals, and nearly all react like this when put under pressure.

Bill takes over, “Look, you're boss has already cooperated by giving us the 10 digit code to the vault and since opening it I've spent over a week making it safe. Now I suggest you follow suit and give us the combination to your security office.”

“Don't hold your breath. That's private property and I've no intention of ever helping the police.”

Now Vincent tries spelling it out to the thug. “Look Eddie, one way or another we're going to gain access. I'm giving you the chance to portray yourself in the best possible light when all of this goes before a court. Cum'mon. You know it makes sense. Give us the entry code.”

“Stop asking me,
‘cos it ain't gonna happen!
You don't need to see inside…it's nothing to do with you or any of this insider-dealing bullshit,
so why don't you jog on?”

Snarling, Eddie begins throwing smoke and mirrors in every direction. “What you need to be investigating is a rogue officer you've got on the loose. I know for a fact that John Gibson has been planning to break into my boss's bank vault. Had a tip off about it, and it's 100% legit. He's bought all the gear to do it too. The man's out of control! Let me see you do something about that first, shouldn't be too hard, he only works in this very building.”

Bill's calm face hides a surge of panic that's just hit him hard in the guts. He expected Slater to use delaying tactics, but realising he's going to be doing ‘time' he's clearly intent on taking Gibson down with him. If things turn real bad, who knows…the hole in the wall might yet be discovered and then his own involvement may well come to light. In a modern police force where ‘creative policing methods' are no longer tolerated he and Gibson would be hung out to dry.

When Vincent glances across he sees Bill steadfastly keeping his mouth shut. Puzzled as to why his colleague has suddenly fallen silent, he continues the interview alone. “And what sort of gear would that be?”

“Everything he needs to pull it off! –Industrial angle grinders, acrow props, sledge hammers, jemmies. Even a bloody thermic lance for Christ's sake. All of this stuff is in his flat right now. As soon as the coast is clear he's going to break into my boss's vault. You need to find him and arrest him.
Right now!
”

“Are you telling me you booby trapped a bank vault with the intention of killing a police officer?”

“No…wait…look, I made a mistake, but Alexis, it was him who got me to do it, and I was scared of what'd he'd do to me if I didn't carry out his orders. Anyway I didn't know Gibson was police until just recently. But he's not much of a copper if he's gone dark is he? The man's flipped, he's turned, he's involved himself in organised crime. He's one of your own and you don't even know him well enough to see what he's gotten himself into. Gibson's far more of a criminal than I'll ever be!”

Bill won't stand by and see his partner slandered. “Look, I know John Gibson. He's a good man and a good police officer. He just wouldn't do something like that. He's as straight as you like and one of the best men on the force.”

“You need to start listening to me copper! Somebody's framing my boss; he and I have never broken the law in our lives! Mark my words; this John Gibson is the one who's behind all of this. It's all designed to distract attention away from him trying to break into the vault. Wouldn't be surprised if it was him that killed his own girlfriend neither, after arguing or something like that.”

Even Vincent is tiring of the bodyguard's misdirection and stalling tactics. “Ok, I've heard what you've got to say and it's my opinion you're a compulsive liar and you'd say anything to save your own skin. I'm suspending this interview for now, but when I come back I strongly advise you to help us by opening your security office door.”

They leave the interview room feeling highly frustrated, and Vincent is clearly getting impatient. “Bill, get on the ‘phone and organise for a locksmith to go to 60 Lombard Street to open that door, you're going to need someone real good, so pick the best you know. In the mean time, you and I need to have a little chat with this John Gibson.”

“He's probably upstairs…he only came back-in to work yesterday after being off on bereavement leave. You see his fiancée was murdered just three weeks ago, and I must say it seems strange that Eddie Slater seems to know so much about it. Anyway, there's something else I need to tell you…and it's a bit awkward, but you need to be aware that John Gibson is my CID partner at Bishopsgate.”

“Okay, understood, but I still need to talk to him. What Eddie Slater's just accused him of is a very serious allegation.”

*

One phonecall is all it takes for John Gibson to be summoned downstairs to meet with the senior SOCA man. Bill sees to the introductions. “John, this is DI Vincent Burrows, the officer in charge of the raid on 60 Lombard Street.”

“Look…thanks for coming down to see me, this is a bit awkward, but I've been interviewing someone called Edward Slater. The fact of the matter is, he's made several allegations about you of a very serious nature. Your colleague here has told me that you've recently been bereaved so I'm very sorry to trouble you at this difficult time, but I was hoping we could all go over to your home address to try and clear up this matter as quickly as possible. Would it be convenient to go over there straight away?”

“Err, yeah…sure.” John's voice now quavers with uncertainty. “If you really think we need to?” Gibson's heart is racing. “The brother of my fiancée, Steve Kavanagh, stopped over last night but I'm sure he'll be awake by now. We can go over there straight away if you like. No problem.”

“That's great. I don't expect this to take too long.”

As Vincent drives them north towards Finsbury Park, Bill Warren calls a dependable locksmith and instructs him to begin work straight away on the security office door. He then calls the uniformed officers on site to tell them to expect the tradesman's imminent arrival.

*

The three men disembark from the patrol car and begin walking over to Ark House. And since no one else is talking, Gibson asks the obvious question “So, what's this all about then?”

Whilst John is trying to appear friendly and relaxed, DI Burrows in contrast is finding himself feeling awkward and is preferring to keep things formal. “Well I'll get straight to the point if that's ok?”

Bill looks on. He's feeling very uneasy about the whole situation. Gibson's acting cool, but that's probably because he doesn't realise how close he is to being arrested.

“We have reason to think that you've been making a lot of purchases recently that are, how can I say it? ‘Unusual'. I'll be blunt if you don't mind, we're talking about industrial angle grinders, a thermic lance and all sorts of other equipment one might need to break into a bank vault.”

“Yes. I've been buying such things. I don't know how you found out, but you're quite correct.”

Vincent had been expecting a forthright denial. But if his ears are not deceiving him, it almost sounds like Gibson's admitting everything Eddie Slater has been accusing him of.

Once they've climbed the short flight of concrete steps, Gibson proceeds to unlock his front door.

Needing to confirm whether he's just heard the young CID officer correctly, Vincent has to ask “Are you confessing that you're planning to break into a bank vault with all this stuff then?”

“No, of course not. But I have indeed recently bought a load of pretty heavy-duty equipment. You see I'm helping to set-up my friend in a new venture.” John nods an acknowledgment towards Steve Kavanagh as he passes him in the kitchen. Vincent and Bill are shown across to the spare room.

A large quantity of acrow props, pry bars, angle grinders and all of the other equipment that Eddie Slater had described are stowed in piles around the floor and on top the spare bed.

“And what sort of venture would that be?” asks Vincent, confused as to why anyone would need all this gear if it's not to break into a bank vault.

Speaking-up for the first time, Steve Kavanagh walks over to the doorway with a freshly made mug of coffee and interjects “If you'll allow me to respond…considering I'm best qualified to give you that answer.” Vincent raises his eyebrow at the unexpected interruption; however he indicates that the young man may explain himself.

“Well, you see, I was made redundant three weeks ago and even though I'm a skilled welder I just can't seem to find a permanent job in the current economic climate. So I've decided to make a career change and John's been helping me out. I'm setting up an International Earthquake Response Team. I got the idea following all the recent earthquakes in places like Haiti, New Zealand, Japan and most recently in Turkey. I've got a lot of the skills and experience, but I don't have the funds, so John is helping to set me up by getting me all the equipment I need. Right now I'm looking to join forces with several other like-minded volunteers.”

Seeing the look of surprise on the DI's face, John Gibson provides further reassurances. “You can see we're not hiding anything. All of this equipment is brand new and most of the smaller items are still in their packaging. Steve's a fine steel worker, and even though I think things'll pick-up for him sooner or later, he's realised he wants to do something different with his life and if that's his decision then I'll support him in it.” John pauses and then adds “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

Vincent Burrows has a thought, “Well actually, there is…Steve, -you might be just the sort of person we need if things don't work out with a problem we're having getting into a secure room. Bill, give me an update on how your man's getting on with that reinforced door.”

Putting his mobile on speaker-phone Vincent listens-in to the response.

“You're having a laugh aren't you? –I'm a locksmith not a bleedin safe-cracker. I'm the best in London at opening locks, but this door's way out of my league. If you can't get the entry code I suggest you get someone to flame-cut this door into tiny little pieces.”