Dead or Alive (29 page)

‘Never heard of them,' said Sep.

‘That's because they live in Hull.'

‘How sure are you that it was them?'

‘About ninety per cent. I'm also ninety per cent sure Formosa's had them killed.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Because they're not around any more. Can you use this?'

‘I imagine so. Spud and Sharky. Do you know anything about them?'

‘Spud was Irish, Sharky was black. Both regular hitmen, that's all I know.'

Ninety per cent certainty was plenty for what Sep would use the information for. In fact ninety per cent was a luxury.

T
he door to number 13 Bayswater Drive looked to have been there since the house was built over a hundred years ago and it hadn't weathered well. Paint flaked off as Sep knocked. He heard a muttering voice inside. An internal door opened. Then the front door opened a crack. Sep saw half a face.

‘What do you want?'

‘I want te know if I'm speaking te Kevin Kennedy or Kevin Kitson or Kevin Clarkson or one of the other Kevins who live here.'

Sep was in his guise as Jimmy Lennon and didn't look too much of a threat.

‘Go away.'

‘Right. Shall I tell Pete Devlin ye told me to go away? He knows Vince Formosa's not looking after you anymore.'

‘Who says so?'

‘I just did. Are ye deaf?'

Sep was playing it by ear as he often did. If he was wrong about anything he'd be able to make it sound right. The door opened fully. Kevin was a tidy man. Balding and clean shaven with sharp eyes, dressed in a clean white shirt and trousers held up high by red braces.

‘Are ye inviting me in, Kevin? It would be in yer interest te invite me in.'

‘Why?'

‘Because Devlin's got unfinished business with ye and I might be able to help y'out in a way that keeps ye breathin'.'

Kevin stood there, undecided for a few moments then he stood back to allow Sep through into his living room.

It wasn't a luxurious room but it was as tidy as the man. Two easy chairs, a dining table, two dining chairs and a television set on top of an old fashioned dresser. The carpet was cheap but clean, as were the curtains. There was a smell of coffee in the air but no evidence of a coffee cup.

‘Have ye got some coffee brewin', Kevin? Wouldn't mind a cup.'

Kevin looked at this disgusting tramp of a man who had invited himself into his neat and tidy home. Had it not been for his size he might have told him to bugger off, but Sep could be an intimidating man, with or without his Jimmy Lennon disguise.

‘Who the hell are you?' Kevin said. ‘If you're after money, I haven't got any.'

Sep sat down in one of the easy chairs. Kevin remained standing.

‘What?' said Sep. ‘Have ye spent the money Formosa gave ye for that fake crash?'

‘What fake car crash?'

‘Did y'ever know what that was about, Kevin?'

‘No idea what you're talking about?'

‘It was about two bairns bein' abducted. Ye were a party to the abduction. In all probability the bairns will soon be murdered and ye'll be a party to that as well. That's if Formosa or Devlin don't get ye first.'

This shocked Kevin. He sat down opposite Sep. ‘Just who are you?' he asked.

‘I'm either ye best friend or ye worst enemy. Ye must take ye pick. If I'm an enemy I'll leave right now and let the bad guys and maybe the polis do they're worst. The guy who took that Picasso yer crashed into had his head blown off by Formosa. Did ye know that, Kevin? Blown clean off wi' a fuckin' shot gun. His woman took a bullet in the mouth. His name was Lee Dench. He was killed because he was involved in the abduction, as were you Kevin. Devlin's a pussycat compared te Formosa, and Formosa's not locked up. He's a free man te kill whoever he pleases, and I think it might please him te have you killed. I'm amazed ye still livin' in the same town. In fact, I'm amazed ye still livin' at all. Did it never occur ter ye te move towns, Kevin?'

‘How did you find out where I live?'

Sep smiled. It was the first sign that Kevin was cracking. He was telling Sep that his information was correct, which Sep already knew. It was always wise to get off on the right foot in these interviews. Tell the truth to start with, lie later.

‘Well, I know because it's ma job tae know stuff, Kevin. It's how I make ma living. I know ye have a son ye haven't seen since he was a wee bairn.'

Kevin leaned forward in his chair. ‘Do you know where he is?'

‘No, but I could find out, right enough. I might even be able te track that ex-wife of yours down and find out what she did with yer money. The money ye served time for. I can do many things, Kevin.'

‘What is it you want? I have no money, but I can make you a passport.'

‘Aye, I know all about ye dodgy passports, Kevin. Wouldnae be interested, man. What I want is information.'

‘About what?'

‘Information about the whereabouts of the missing children.'

‘I'm guessing you've been privately hired to find them.'

‘Ye know they're missing?'

‘I've read about it, yes.'

‘And ye say ye had no idea ye were involved in it?'

‘None at all and I've got no idea where they are.'

Sep shook his head. ‘I believe ye, Kevin, but I cannae see a jury believing ye – not when yer bein' paid by a man like Formosa. The man's poison.'

‘I didn't know
he
was paying me. I was just given five hundred pounds to bump into a car, keep the driver waiting for ten minutes and show her false documents. It was all pretty harmless. I hardly damaged her car.'

‘In that case I'll just turn ye in ter the polis. The woman driving the Picasso'll identify ye as the man who started it all. When the polis check ye out ye won't stand a chance, man. It'll be a lot more than the two years ye got last time, man, and it won't be in a Cat D either. Cat B fer ten years minimum as a kiddie killer.' Kevin's face betrayed how scared he was.

‘What if I tell you who hired me to do it?'

‘That seems mighty brave of ye. Are ye no scared of repercussions?'

‘He doesn't know I know who he is.'

‘Ah.' Sep pretended to give this some thought. ‘That might help. Who is he?'

‘He's an estate agent who has dealings with Formosa. I think he handles Formosa's property portfolio.'

‘Formosa has a property portfolio, does he? How d'ye know that?'

‘I'm a bit like you. I'm a nosey man and I know stuff I shouldn't. He has property all over the place, including London.'

‘How come ye know this estate agent?'

‘I hadn't seen him for over twelve years but remembered him from prison. He didn't remember me. Well, he wouldn't. I was an insignificant nobody; kept myself to myself. He was a loud mouth, thought he was bigtime. We were both in Ford Open Prison in Sussex. Cat D place for white collar crime as they call it. The word was that he'd got away with a light sentence for a half million pound property fraud.'

‘How did he get the light sentence?'

‘Because he had money and he had a top brief. I was skint and I had a Legal Aid plonker. Anyway, I think the owner of this house is one of his clients, and he must have found out I was five hundred in arrears, and he came round pretending to be a debt collector. I recognized him but I didn't let on I knew who he was – well, for all I knew he
was
a genuine debt collector. Then he mentioned how he could get me off the arrears if I did the crash job. He said he knew I did dodgy documents, but he didn't know I knew him and I wasn't going to make him any wiser. The less people know about me the better I like it.'

‘I know the feeling. So you did the crash job?'

‘Course I did. Money for jam. He even supplied the motor. I just did the documents and drove the car. All I was asked to do was hold her up for ten minutes, which I did. I'd no idea what was happening after that.'

‘So, who's this estate agent?'

‘His name's Derek Manson. I checked him out and he's got a place on Street Lane, Manson Estates, it's near the Deer Park pub.'

Sep got to his feet to go. ‘So, what do I get out of this?' Kevin asked. ‘Are you going to find my son for me?'

‘What I'm going te do, Kevin, is not tell Devlin. I'm amazed Formosa hasn't sent someone round already with him being linked te the guy who owns the place. I would advise ye to move right out of this town and use a name that Formosa doesnae know about. I don't need te find your son because if I do find him, I won't know where you are.'

‘I'd rather take that risk and see my son.'

‘Kevin, one way or another this abduction case is going to be resolved. If it turns out badly, the police will come looking for anyone who was involved in it, which includes you. Even if it turns out well for the children and yer still around, it might not turn out too well for ye.'

‘I
've brought you a cup of tea, love.'

Juliet Strathmore didn't open her eyes which were red raw from continuous crying. It was early evening, she was in bed and spoke without looking at her husband. ‘Have they got my babies back yet?' Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. Peter's voice wasn't much better.

‘Not yet, love. But we'll get them back, even if I have to
give
the damned land to Formosa.'

‘Why can't the police just arrest him?'

‘Not enough evidence, so they say. If I ever get my hands on him I won't need evidence.'

‘If you hadn't made so much damned money he wouldn't have picked on us in the first place,' said his wife. ‘We were happy enough when you were just a bricklayer but you had to go bigtime didn't you? I want my babies back, Peter.'

‘I know, love, I'm doing my best.'

‘I know I'm blaming you but it's their fault really – them bloody partners of yours. They shouldn't have gone to the police without telling us.'

‘I know, love.'

‘I rang one of them up. He was out but I told his wife what I thought of him. I called him all the lousy bastards under the sun. She didn't know what to say to me.'

‘Dave Tomlinson, I heard. I'm breaking the partnership up after this is over.'

‘What do you mean by over, Peter?'

‘I mean when we get the kids back, choose what I have to do to get them back. I'm the majority shareholder. I'll just take my share out and leave them to it.'

‘Why can't you just let Formosa have the land?'

‘Because I haven't got a controlling interest in the company. I've got forty-six per cent, they've got the rest between them – twenty seven per cent each. I wish I'd never sold it to them.'

She closed her eyes and said no more. This had been their longest conversation since the children had been taken. Peter stood and looked down on her; his lovely Juliet, whose beauty had been draining away, day by day, until she was almost unrecognizable. He'd met her when they were both twenty-three. He was a bricklayer and she was a backing singer getting plenty of work through a Leeds agency. They'd met at a club in Leeds and had hit it off straight away. They'd bought a house together then sold it after house prices rocketed. He used the profit to buy a piece of land on which he'd built a house which he'd sold for further profit and ploughed every penny back into his company. Juliet's singing career came to an end with the birth of their first baby, James, but they didn't miss her money, not with Peter's business growing year by year.

For the past twelve years he had worked sixty hours a week and had built up a company with a multi-million pound turnover; they lived in a five bedroom house he'd built in Harrogate and their children went to a select private school. As he looked down at Juliet, he knew that all this money and success could not buy what he valued the most, his wife's happiness and his children's safe return.

‘What's it all about, Strathmore?' he murmured to himself as he went back downstairs. He answered his own question. ‘It's about me letting Formosa get away with it. What's the worst that can happen to me if I nail the bastard myself?'

H
is heart was racing. He wasn't by nature a violent man but he'd had his moments when pushed. A man doesn't get to the top in his business without throwing his weight around a little, and Strathmore had plenty of weight to throw around. His hand tightened on the steel bar in his hand. It was an eighteen inch long piece of reinforcement bar which he'd sawn off to length for this particular purpose. Behind his heart rate was a deep hatred of the man he was about to confront; the man who had taken his children; the man who might even have already killed his children. This was why Strathmore didn't care what happened to him. Such a man is the most dangerous of all. He was a man ready to explode with grief and rage.

Formosa arrived first, but Strathmore made no move. Despite his heightened tension he was still thinking straight – just. He knew Formosa wouldn't be alone. He knew there would be a man close behind him. He even knew the man's name and his capability. His name was Fowler – Foxy Fowler, and he was a big and brutal man, highly paid to watch Formosa's back. Formosa walked past quickly, totally unaware of Strathmore's presence in the dark, side alley. Jazz music could still be heard from the club the two men had just left. Every man has a weakness and Formosa's was modern jazz. He loved its harmonic complexity which, he thought, suited his own complex personality.

Fowler was close behind him. Almost walking in step with his boss. He looked into the alley where Strathmore was lurking but the bar was already descending on his head. He had no time to call out a warning. The bar struck him a heavy blow and knocked him completely unconscious. The thud of the blow was lost in the music. Strathmore caught the big man, lowered him quickly to the ground, and stepped out behind Formosa, picking up on Formosa's step without the gang boss noticing. Formosa, without looking round, walked quickly to the club's car park where a black Lexus was parked. Strathmore knew the car, but he also knew the van parked alongside it. As Formosa half-turned for his man to work the remote door-opener the bar came down again, this time on Formosa's head. Within seconds Strathmore had loaded him into the back of the van, climbed in beside him and closed the door to await him regaining consciousness. He would have been wiser to have driven him away, but wisdom and rage rarely go together.