THE LONDON DRUG WARS (19 page)

Two hours later a white delivery van
pulled into the alley beside the Blue Orchid. The driver got out and knocked on
the side door to the club. From a shop doorway on the other side of the street
facing the alley DC Stumpy Gerrard watched with interest. The side door of the
club opened and a man emerged. He and the van driver walked to the back of the
van and unloaded several cartons and carried them into the club.
Probably
food supplies for the kitchen
, Gerrard thought.

But then a strange thing happened.
The two men emerged from the side door, each carrying a large cardboard carton
that they loaded into the rear of the van. These were not the cartons delivered
by the van, being bigger and bulkier. The driver then got into his van, waved goodbye
to the other man and drove off. Gerrard quickly got onto his radio and called
for his partner who was parked just round the corner to pick him up. Whilst he
was waiting he called control and reported what he’d seen. He was told not to
lose sight of the van and to stop it once uniform backup had arrived.

The van had in fact disappeared
around a corner before Gerrard’s partner arrived to pick him up, which was to
prove important later. But it was eventually stopped some three-quarters of a
mile away. Despite the argument put up by the driver, the taped seal on one of
the two cartons was sliced through and the carton w
as
opened, revealing thousands of used
bank notes all neatly sorted into stacks. The denominations were mostly £10 and
£20 notes. The driver was arrested and the two cartons and their contents taken
to the nearest police station
where the second carton was found to be similarly full of bank notes
.

When Brigid brought him the news
Brookes smiled.
Bingo! Sometimes Bronchi
, he thought
, sometimes you
can be a bit too clever
.

The notes were counted and the two
cartons were found to contain £1.4 million sterling and some change. The driver
was searched and a driver’s licence found in his wallet declaring him to be
Andriy Bredikhin. When questioned he would say nothing; not even to confirm his
name. The van, which was registered to a company named Savoury Bites with an
address in Eltham South East London, was otherwise empty.

Significantly, Brookes thought, it
had not been reported stolen. He sent DS Middlemiss and Brigid Jones to
interview the registered owner of the van and went himself with Stumpy Gerrard
to speak to Berkov, the manager of the Blue Orchid. It was too early in the day
for the club to be open for business so Brookes rang the bell beside the front
door. A minute later the door was opened by a surly-looking brute of a man with
the squashed features of a professional boxer. Brookes showed him his warrant
card and said, “I want to speak to the manager of the club, please.”

The other man frowned. Then in
heavily accented English he said, “He not here.”

“Then I wish to speak to whoever is
in charge in his absence.”

“Nobody here, just cleaners.”

Then another man appeared behind the
giant who said something in a foreign language that Brookes guessed was
Russian. A short conversation between the two ensued before the giant stepped
to one side and the other man opened the door wide. “Come in, sir, my doorman
here does not speak good English. I am Anton Berkov, the manager.” He was in
his forties, of medium height and weight and dressed in dark formal trousers,
white shirt and waistcoat but minus a tie. His accent was clearly Eastern
European.

He led the way across a foyer and up
a flight of stairs to a corridor with doors on either side. He opened the first
door on the left and waved the detectives in ahead of him. “Please sit down,”
he said, pointing to two chairs facing an expensive-looking oak desk, then
walked round the desk and sat down himself. “I understand you are police
officers. How can I help you?”

Brookes said, “One of your men has
just gone on holiday has he?”

Berkov frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You live here, above the club don’t
you?”

“Yes?”

“And you were here all night?”

“Of course, I am the manager.”

“And you didn’t go out this morning?”

“No, why?”

“Because this man and his girlfriend
were seen leaving here this morning with their suitcase.”

“No you are mistaken, no-one else
lives here.” Brookes, who was watching the man closely, thought he saw a look
almost of relief appear in the Russian’s eyes.

“So none of your employees left for a
continental holiday early this morning?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

Now the man
definitely looked relieved
, thought Brookes.

He sat back in his chair, which was
Gerrard’s cue to take over the questioning. He said, “Do you serve meals in the
nightclub Mr Berkov?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And where does your chef do his
shopping?”

“I don’t know, I leave that to him.”

“Of course you do. And what time does
he arrive for work?”

“Five or five-thirty.”

“Not before that?”

“No. Always at that time.” Now the
man was clearly beginning to feel less comfortable, Brookes noticed.

“So who is here in the morning?”

“Until the cleaners and the doorman
arrive at midday, only me.”

“So you take in all the deliveries in
the mornings, do you?”

“What deliveries? There are no
deliveries until the afternoon.”

“Really? But there was one this
morning wasn’t there?”

Berkov shook his head violently; too
violently. “No.”

Brookes glanced at Gerrard, which was
his cue to take over the questioning. He said, “What was in the cartons
delivered this morning Mr. Berkov?”

“I don’t know what you mean; there
was no delivery.”

“You’re lying sir, I saw you help the
driver unload them.”

Berkov looked lost, Brookes could
almost see his mind working. He said, “Whatever it was it must have been damned
expensive stuff considering the amount you paid for it, don’t you think?”

Berkov now showed the classic
symptoms of the guilty man. He sat on the edge of his chair as if about to
flee. But he realised there was no escape. Finally he took the only course open
to him. “I have nothing more to say to you. I wish to consult my solicitor.”

“I’m sure you do Mr. Berkov; I’m sure
you do.”

Brookes concluded the interview and
he and Gerrard made their way back to Cundell House. On the way the young
detective said, “I definitely recognised him as the bloke who took the delivery
boss.”

Brookes nodded. “I don’t doubt it
Stumpy. The sad fact is we won’t be able to prove his involvement
conclusively.”

“But the van was only out of my sight
for a minute or two and that was only because there was no parking in Somerset
Road; Mike had to park round the corner. But he picked me up within seconds of
the van disappearing up the road. The driver didn’t have time to change the
cartons.”

Brookes gave him a hard look. “I’m
not blaming you Stumpy but you know what a lawyer will do with that; he will
maintain that unless you produce evidence that proves beyond a shadow of doubt
etc., etc. Never mind; the important thing is we’ve hurt Bronchi in the pocket.
I don’t care how rich he is, he won’t like losing one point four million quid.”

Dick Mann had been given the task of
finding out what he could about the grocery chain. Soon after they arrived
back, he knocked at Brookes’ door. Once in the room he said, “Interesting,
boss. The company is owned by yet another Russian named Evgeni Kazankov.
Nothing on him at CRO. His office and depot are in Eltham from which he
supplies a small chain of convenience stores in the area. As far as I can
gather he’s got just one other delivery van and a staff of just six at the
depot. The local collator says the business is legit as far as he knows.”

Brookes scratched his head and
frowned. “What about their accounts, will you be able to get hold of them?”

“Not the actual accounts. But I can
get a glimpse of the VAT returns; that should tell us about their turnover.”

“Good. But if it’s a small firm as
you say, they’re hardly likely to be able to launder millions of pounds of drug
money, are they?”

“No, you’re right. Perhaps they’re
just a conduit for the cash.”

“So we need to know what they would
have done with it had we not intervened. What do you think Dick?”

“You’re right, sir. But now they know
we are in to them, will they carry on with the money laundering?”

“That’s the big question. But we
can’t take a chance, can we?”

Fred Middlemiss arrived back from
Eltham and reported, “Talk about don’t know nothing about nothing. The bloke in
charge. What’s his name?” He consulted his notes. “Evgeni Kazankov says he sent
his driver out with deliveries early this morning and hasn’t seen him since.
And he doesn’t know nothing about loads of cash, does he?”

Brookes smiled. “What we might expect
really isn’t it? But we have a problem here Fred. Without evidence we can’t tie
the cash to this Kazankov or to the manager of the Blue Orchid for that
matter.”

Brigid chimed in angrily, “Why not
sir? Stumpy saw the cartons being loaded into the van.”

“Yes, I know Fred. But there’s a gap
in the chain of evidence isn’t there? He lost sight of the van for a few
moments while he was waiting for his partner, Mike Phillips, to pick him up.
And you know what our lawyers are like; they’ll throw out the evidence before
it gets to court. I’m not even going to charge Berkov.”

“OK, get Bill Moore to set up a
surveillance on the depot. Let’s see what kind of reaction we get to them
losing one point four million quid of Bronchi’s money.”

Just before Brookes left for the day
his phone rang. It was Jeremy Hornsby who said, “John, I’ve contacted my man in
the French Gendarmerie and he has agreed to help you. In fact he’s keen as they
have similar problems with Russian gangs. His name’s Le Roux, once you’ve
booked your flights, let me know and I’ll get him the meet you at Charles De
Gaulle Airport. Please don’t be your usual rude self, he’s a valuable contact.
You’d better take an overnight bag as you could be there for a day or two.
Please behave yourself. Oh, and congratulations on your windfall. How does it
feel to be rich?”

Brookes
smiled. “Would be nice if I could keep it, wouldn’t it? But it hurts Bronchi,
that’s the main thing. Thanks for the frog thing Jeremy, that’s good of you.
And don’t worry, it’s only you I’m rude to.

“A game which a sharper once played with a dupe,

‘Heads I win, tails you lose.’’

–
John
Wilson Croker

It was the next day and, after
dealing with a pile of paperwork generated by the seizure of the cash, Brookes
stretched the stiffness out of his joints from sitting at his desk and walked
into the incident room to grab a cup of coffee. Carrying it across the room
carefully, he sank wearily into a seat beside Bill Moore’s desk. He said,
“What’s happening out there Bill?”

“Well boss, things are very quiet,
we’ve had no reaction yet from Bronchi after the cash seizure.”

“What about this chain store?”

“We’re keeping a close eye on them
but there’s not much to see.”

Brookes nodded but made no comment.

Moore added, “Nevertheless I’ve got a
crew watching the depot twenty-four hours a day.”

Brookes screwed up his face. “I
suppose it’s worthwhile,” he said dubiously. “What else?”

“Not much really.”

“Good. My man in Special Branch has
come through with a contact. I’ve booked me and Brigid flights to Paris
tomorrow to see what we can find on these drug smugglers. I should be gone for
a day or two. Arthur Bolton will be in charge while I’m away but I’ll keep in
touch on the phone.”

The rest of his day passed without
incident and in the evening he went to Liza’s flat, taking his overnight bag
with him ready for his trip to France. He’d arranged to see Brigid at the
airport. He found that he was spending more and more of his time with Liza. He
now left a change of clothing at her flat and she had bought him a spare toilet
kit that now had a place in her bathroom cabinet. The evening passed pleasantly
and after eating an excellent meal cooked by Liza they went to bed early.

*

At 3am Brookes’ mobile rang. In the
dark, he felt about for it on the bedside table and knocked over the bedside
lamp. Sitting up he cursed loudly.

Finally he saw the glow of the phone
and picked it up. “Yes,” he snapped.

“It’s Bill Moore boss, we’ve got some
movement at the grocers; I thought you’d want to know.”

On the other side of the bed, a lamp
came on; not surprisingly the noise had woken Liza.

“Yes Bill, tell me what’s happening.”

“A delivery van left the depot in
Eltham half an hour ago. We couldn’t keep close tabs on it or they would have
clocked us so we lost them but we put out a description and were lucky; a
uniform patrol saw the van pulling into a driveway at a house in Golders Green.
The uniform boys were shrewd enough not to show out but radioed us. We’re on
our way there now.”

“Don’t do anything Bill, just watch.”
He turned to Liza. “Quick find me a pen and paper love.” Then into the phone he
said, “OK Bill give me the address.”

Brookes repeated the address and Liza
scribbled it down. He said into the phone, “I’m on the way Bill, let me know if
anything happens before I get there.”

He started to dress quickly. Liza
said, “Isn’t it about time you took a pace back John? You’re too old to be
running around in the middle of the night.”

“When I’ve got Ivan the Terrible put
away I might think about it.” He leaned over and kissed her, then hurried out
of the door.

He did the journey from the heart of
London’s East End to the northern suburbs in record time; at three in the
morning even London’s streets were quiet. He was heading for Golders Green in
North West London, a pleasant suburb favoured by a large Jewish community. When
just five minutes away, he called Bill Moore on his mobile and asked for his
exact location. A few minutes later he turned into the quiet residential street
he had been directed to. He saw Moore’s parked car and pulled in behind it.
Extinguishing his lights, he got out quietly and slid into the backseat of the
other car. Sitting in the front were Moore and DC Mike Phillips.

Brookes said, “What on Earth are you
doing out at this time of night Bill?”

“Well boss, I get a bit fed up
sitting behind that desk so I thought I’d have a night out.”

Brookes smiled. “Good for you. Now
what have we got?”

“Fifty yards up on the right, boss.
See the detached house with the big oak in front of it?”

“Yes.”

“The double garage? The woollies saw
the van pull into that and the door close behind it.” The house he pointed to
was a large double-storey dwelling with a two-car garage to one side of the
front door.

Moore continued, “Everything is quiet
here at the front but there’s a light on at the back. Stumpy Gerrard has found
a spot in the next-door garden where he can see the back of the house. He says
there are lights on in the kitchen and the garage. There’s a fanlight at the
back of the garage which is two car lengths deep, plenty of room in there.”

“Has anything happened?”

“Not a thing. We got here ten minutes
after the van. The two uniforms were shrewd; they saw the van in the driveway
but didn’t stop until they were round the next corner. Then one got out and ran
back to the corner. He was just in time to see the van go in and the garage
door close behind it. Since then, nothing.”

“So it’s unlikely that they know we
spotted them?”

“Not unless they are psychic boss. We
weren’t spotted and the uniform just drove past; I don’t think they can know.”

“Well done Bill. We need to know
exactly what’s going on. Better that we just watch for the time being. Do we
know who lives in the house?”

“We’ve done a check at the local nick
on the electoral register but that’s two years old. According to the list, an
old couple named Cohen lives there; but the house could have changed hands in
the meantime. The van is definitely the one from Savoury Bites or whatever
they’re called. That’s about as much as we know.”

The three detectives settled down to
watch and wait. Brookes saw no point in going back to Liza’s; he would probably
get no more sleep that night. Every fifteen minutes, Gerrard, at the rear of
the house, reported quietly by radio. But there was no movement at all from the
house; nothing changed and the lights remained on.

Time passed slowly. The three detectives
shared the remains of the coffee the team had brought with them. Brookes dozed
on the back seat. At 6am lights began to appear in houses on the street; people
were getting up to face the new day.

He roused himself. “Bill you had
better get young Stumpy back here before someone trips over him in the garden;
we’re lucky that no dogs gave him away during the night.”

Moore spoke quietly into his
hand-held radio and the young DC returned to the car.

“Well done Stumpy,” Brookes greeted
him, “did you see any movement at all at the back of the house?”

“Not a thing sir, just the lights on
all night.”

Brookes frowned. “Not even any
shadows of people moving about?”

“No sir, not a thing.”

“What about rear access, is there
any?”

“No sir, the back garden is surrounded
by other gardens and the only way out is over fences or hedges.”

“Good,” said Brookes, then to Moore,
“Let’s leave your two lads to it. Too many of us will show out when people are
up and about. Bill, you come with me.” Then to the two DCs, “Keep your heads
down lads. We want to know when anyone leaves. But don’t you follow them, just
radio the details to control and we’ll have them followed. You simply watch the
house and let us know who comes and goes. You’ve done a good job. We’ll have
you relieved as soon as we can.”

The two older detectives got into
Brookes’ car and he drove off quietly. Something was on Brookes’ mind but he
couldn’t pin it down. There was something that did not quite fit.

Moore said, “Should we get a warrant
to search the garage, boss?”

Brookes said, “Hmm! On what grounds?
I know the magistrates are being generous but as far as I can see we’ve got no
grounds to suspect the occupants of anything. Unless you know something I don’t
Bill?”

“Well it came from the same place as
the van with the cash in it.”

“But the connections a bit tenuous
wouldn’t you say?”

He shook his head and said, ‘Well, it
seems obvious they are moving something boss.”

“Too obvious if you ask me
and why in the middle of
the night when they are more likely to be stopped by police?”

Moore was silent.

After a few moments Brookes slammed
the steering wheel with his hand and cursed, “Damn it Bill, I think we’ve been
conned.”

“What do you mean boss?”

“Don’t you see? This was too easy.
Bronchi must have known we’ve got an observation set up on the grocers after
finding the cash in their other van. It’s the logical thing for us to do. I
think the bastard was laying us another false trail and this time we’ve fallen
for it. I’ll guarantee that the van will make its way back to the depot when it
opens and the people at the house will go about their innocent business today.
Thank God we didn’t raid the place or we would have had even more egg on our
face
.
”

“But Ivan must be laundering his cash
somewhere; he’s not going to give up is he.”

“No he’s not but he’s cleverer than
we gave him credit for. This was a distraction whilst he gets on with business
elsewhere. Call your team watching his apartment, find out where he was last
night.”

After a short conversation on his
radio, Moore said, “He got home at midnight last night and hasn’t budged
since.”

“Ask your man if he knows there’s a
back entrance to the building.”

Moore used the radio again. Brookes
listened to the reply. “Yes serg. But we can see the entrance to the alley, it
comes out onto from our observation point.”

Brookes nodded. “Tell them to look in
the alley and see if there are any other exits from it.”

A few minutes later the reply came.
“Apparently there’s a side exit to another building the other side of the alley
and a ten-foot fence at the back with a locked gate in it.”

“There’s your answer Bill; anyone
with a key to either can get out without us knowing. I’ll bet Bronchi has been
laughing at us for weeks, he could leave anytime he wanted and we would been
watching the entrance to any empty flat.”

The two drove in
silence for a while. Brookes’ mind was working on the problem. Eventually he
said, “OK Bill, it seems we have underestimated Bronchi. He must have known we
were watching him and the depot and has used that to lead us astray. We should
have learned from the Blue
Orchid
fiasco. Just because we had some
success initially, we haven’t credited him with having enough savvy.”

He paused, his brain working
overtime. Then he added, “OK, what’s done is done; now let’s think forward.
Drawing us off tonight must have been for a purpose, probably a meet or
something.”

After
a pause, he added, “Whatever is was, it’ll have to wait. Brigid and I are off
to France in…” he looked at his watch, “two and a half hours. I’d better get a
move on.”