Gunrunner (24 page)

‘Very careless of Kerry to keep a list,’ I said, although I wasn’t surprised. Kerry Hammond didn’t expect to be murdered, and she didn’t anticipate that the police might have access to her address book. But criminals do the silliest of things, even educated ones like Kerry. And I was now firmly convinced that she had been a criminal. ‘Anything in the book about Charlie Pollard, Kate?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘She’s got Pollard’s address in here under C. Pollard, but the phone number is written backwards, silly cow.’

‘Not as clever as she thought she was, then,’ I said. ‘Bligh obviously worked that out.’

‘I presume you want Saunders and Elliott picked up?’

‘Too right,’ I said. ‘Get a team organized and see if you can find them. Of course, if they’d heard about Roberts and Hogan being nicked, they might’ve taken it on their toes, but it’s worth a try.’

‘I don’t suppose they’re bright enough to make a connection, guv. Either that or they think they’re fireproof.’

SEVENTEEN

T
o my astonishment, at two o’clock Kate reported that Saunders and Elliott were in custody at Charing Cross.

‘Are you coming over, guv?’

‘I’ll be with you in ten,’ I said, and told Wilberforce to tell Dave where I was going.

Kate was waiting in the front office of the police station when we arrived.

‘I’ve got Saunders in the interview room, guv.’

‘Right, let’s go. And you can kick off.’

Frankie Saunders was forty-three years of age, and had the appearance of the conventional robber. He was muscular and belligerent.

‘What’s this all about?’ he demanded.

Kate turned on the tape recorder and made a big thing of announcing the presence of Detective Chief Inspector Brock and Detective Inspector Ebdon of the Homicide and Serious Crime Command. That caused Saunders to sit up and take notice.

‘You are in serious shtook,’ said Kate, as we sat down opposite Saunders.

‘Is that a fact? Well, p’raps you’d start off by telling me what I’ve been nicked for.’

‘Gunrunning,’ said Kate, ‘and to make it quite clear, you’re likely to be charged with conspiring with Kerry Hammond, deceased, and others now in custody, illegally to import firearms.’

‘Dunno what you’re on about.’

‘Furthermore, you are also likely to be charged with the murder of the aforementioned Kerry Hammond on the twenty-fourth of December last.’

‘Bloody leave it out,’ protested Saunders, his face working in panic. ‘I don’t know nothing about no topping.’

‘Well, you’d better start by telling us what you know about the shooters, and the murder might just go away.’

‘I don’t know nothing.’

‘As a result of a raid on premises at Cantard Street, Walworth, on Saturday,’ continued Kate, as though Saunders hadn’t spoken, ‘a quantity of firearms was discovered and Michael Roberts and Patrick Hogan have been arrested and charged.’

That piece of news appeared to unnerve Saunders. ‘Well, it ain’t nothing to do with me.’

‘Fingerprints found at Cantard Street have been identified as yours and Danny Elliott’s so, as you’ve nothing to say, you’ll both be charged as principals in the conspiracy.’

Both Kate and I knew that a fingerprint examination of the warehouse had failed to prove the presence of either Saunders or Elliott, but Saunders didn’t know that.

‘All right, so I was there, but I was just helping to unload some gear. I never knew what it was.’

‘Did you ever meet Charlie Pollard?’ I asked.

‘Nah! I heard his name mentioned once or twice, but I never met him.’

‘Who mentioned Pollard?’

‘It was Mike and—’ Saunders stopped, realizing that he was on the point of saying too much.

‘So you do know Roberts,’ said Kate.

‘Yeah, well, he asked me to give him a hand unloading some gear. But, like I said, I never knew what the stuff was.’

‘D’you want me to tell you exactly where we found your fingerprints, Frankie?’ Kate persisted with the fiction of the fingerprints.

Saunders slumped in his chair. ‘All right, he asked me for a bit of help, but if I’d known what it was to start with, I’d’ve told him to get lost.’

‘So, you did know it was firearms, and you were there when Roberts and Hogan opened the secret panel in the lorry.’

‘It was a one-off,’ said Saunders.

‘How did he contact you?’

‘In a boozer.’

‘Of course he did,’ said Kate acidly. ‘It’s where all the dodgy transactions are made. And Danny Elliott was there too, I suppose.’

‘Yeah. What d’you reckon I’ll get for this?’

‘Difficult to say,’ said Kate, ‘but if I was in your position I wouldn’t buy a five-year diary.’

I sent for a PC and asked him to put down Saunders and bring up Elliott.

Danny Elliott strolled into the interview room as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

‘Wass this all about, then?’ he demanded, dropping into the vacant chair.

‘Mike Roberts, Pat Hogan and Frankie Saunders have given you up,’ said Kate, ‘and unless you’ve got anything useful to say you’ll be charged with conspiring with them illegally to import firearms.’

‘I don’t know nothing about no shooters,’ protested Elliott.

‘Furthermore, my chief here,’ continued Kate, indicating me with a wave of her hand, ‘is looking for whoever topped Kerry Hammond.’

‘Who?’ Elliott’s relaxed and truculent attitude vanished. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s Kelly Hammond?’

‘Nice try,’ said Kate, ‘but it’s
Kerry
: K-E-R-R-Y, and I’m talking about the woman who masterminded the whole shebang, along with Charlie Pollard.’

‘Never heard of ’em,’ said Elliott, shifting his position slightly.

I thought that was probably true.

‘As my inspector told you, Danny, you’ll be charged with conspiracy,’ I said.

I sent for the PC-gaoler and told him to settle Elliott in a cell for the night.

It was as well that I arrived early to collect Gail from her house in Kingston.

Aware that Gabrielle Deshayes was something of a fashion icon, Gail had taken a considerable amount of time selecting her outfit. After several false starts, and frequent reminders from me about the time, she’d eventually appeared in a dark green confection of heavy silk with a daring décolletage. Nipped in at the waist, the dress did everything to emphasize her perfect figure.

‘You look gorgeous, darling,’ I said.

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ said Gail, and sketched a curtsy.

Henri and Gabrielle, already seated at a table in the hotel restaurant, stood up to greet us as we arrived.

Gabrielle, the epitome of the chic Parisienne, was fetchingly attired in a white cashmere suit with black ribbon trims at the collar, the pockets and the cuffs. In true Chanel style, so Gail later told me, the straight skirt came to just below her knees, inevitably directing male attention to her shapely legs.

Henri and I were wearing suits, of course. Gail had once commented that it was all right for us men; we just had to throw on a suit. But at least we were wearing ties, something of a rarity these days.

There were handshakes and kisses all round, and Gail and Gabrielle started talking about the latest fashions in London and Paris even before the aperitifs were served.

There was a minor amusing diversion when the waiter, addressing Henri with a pseudo-French accent, was taken aback when Henri rattled off his order in his own native language. To adopt a sporting term, the waiter retired hurt.

‘It was a very successful operation, ’Arry,’ said Henri as he took a sip of his pastis. ‘The
Police
Judiciaire
in Marseille found a cache of firearms in Marcel Lebrun’s warehouse, and arrested him and three others immediately after your man had left with his load. It seemed that for some time now, Lebrun had been crossing from Sète to Morocco to buy wine, but also to buy firearms at the same time. I don’t know how the
douaniers
didn’t catch ’im before.’ He gave a Gallic shrug of the shoulders. ‘Why go to Morocco for wine? France is full of it.’

‘Did he use a commercial lorry for these runs, Henry?’ I also wondered how Lebrun had avoided the usually vigilant French customs officers.

‘
Non!
’ Henri shook his head. ‘It is not a commercial ferry, and I understand that Lebrun used a small van. ’E was clever to carry only very small amounts. The PJ found the van at the warehouse. It ’ad a very cleverly concealed compartment underneath.’

I told Henri about the arrests we’d made in London, but that we still had to find evidence implicating others, notably Charlie Pollard. I gave him further details about the murder of Kerry Hammond, too, and that she was probably the brains behind the gunrunning.

‘Do you think her murder was connected with this business, ’Arry?’

‘It’s beginning to look like a strong possibility, Henry,’ I said. ‘As a matter of interest, did Lebrun supply others, apart from the people we arrested?’

‘Maybe,’ said Henri. ‘There are many enquiries still to be made, and it could take a long time. The PJ in Marseille are looking into possible connections in Belgium and the Netherlands, but the worrying aspect is that Lebrun might also ’ave been selling guns to extremist groups in France itself, and possibly also to ETA in Spain. And there’s always al-Qaeda.’ He shrugged and spread his hands. And that means that the DCRI ’ave now become involved.’

‘What’s the DCRI, Henry?’

‘
Direction Centrale du Renseignement Intérieur
,’ said Henri. ‘It is like your MI5, I think.’

‘Oh, I see. If they’re anything like our lot, they could take forever.’ I just hoped that their operatives were not all like Nicholas Hammond, whose laid back attitude did not impress me.

Henri sighed. ‘I think so, but that does not worry you, ’Arry. Your job is all . . . What’s that expression you use? Done and dusted?’

I laughed. ‘Not yet, Henry,’ I said. ‘Now, about tomorrow. Would you like to have a look over Scotland Yard?’

Henri gave me an apologetic smile and spread his hands in a typical Gallic gesture. ‘I don’t think so, ’Arry, if you don’t mind. I am on leave, and one police headquarters is much like another, I think. If it’s anything like our Quai des Orfèvres it’s full of people running about with bits of paper. No, if you don’t mind, I’ll spend the day at the British Museum and ’aving a poke about in ’Arrods.’

‘With Gabrielle?’

Henri laughed and glanced across at our two women; both were now deeply engrossed in a conversation about dancing. As I’d mentioned earlier, Gabrielle had once been a dancer at the
Folies-Bergères
and Gail had done her fair share of what she called ‘hoofing’.

‘I think I will leave the girls to go out together and raid the fashion shops, ’Arry. Just think yourself lucky that you are at work.’

Gail and I returned to her house in Kingston at just after eleven o’clock.

‘I suppose you and Gabrielle are going shopping tomorrow, darling,’ I said, as we relaxed in her middle-floor sitting room.

‘Yes, I’ve promised to take her to Knightsbridge and Chelsea. There’s a new boutique in King’s Road I want to show her.’ Gail gave me one of her fetching smiles. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come?’ she asked impishly.

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ I lied, ‘but I’m in the middle of a complicated murder enquiry.’

‘Oh, what a shame.’ Gail pretended disappointment, although she knew I’d do anything to avoid one of her trips around the fashion emporia of London. ‘How is it complicated?’

Gail had never asked me about my work before, at least not to the extent of being interested in the details.

‘Well . . .’ I said hesitantly, preferring to leave my work at the office, ‘the female victim was found stabbed to death in a car park at Heathrow.’

‘Ooh! Nasty. Was she good-looking?’

‘Very, and very rich. She was involved with a haulage company.’

‘You can’t possibly mean she drove a lorry,’ said Gail, wrinkling her nose in feigned horror.

‘Of course not, you silly girl, she owned it. The difficulty, as far as I’m concerned, is that she appears to have had a quite a few men friends.’

‘That should be easy, then. I expect one of her studs killed her.’ Gail dismissed the problem of my dead socialite with a wave of one of her elegant hands.

‘If only it was that simple,’ I said. ‘A glass of champagne to round the evening off?’ I suggested, changing the subject.

‘Why not?’

I was about to make my way downstairs to the kitchen when Gail stopped me.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get the champagne and some glasses,’ I said, wondering why she’d asked a question that appeared to have an obvious answer.

‘I’ve had a fridge put in the bedroom,’ said Gail.

‘In the bedroom?’ I stopped in the doorway. ‘When did you do that?’

‘This morning. A nice young man carried it all the way upstairs and installed it for me.’

‘And what did you have to give him to persuade him to cart a damned great fridge up to your bedroom on the top floor?’ I asked assuming an expression of mock severity.

‘It’s not a damned great fridge. In fact, it’s only a teeny-weeny one. But he was a very nice young man. Very fanciable, if you know what I mean; muscles and a six-pack.’ Gail shot me one of her sexiest smiles and then ran her tongue round her lips.

‘So, what
did
you have to give him to persuade him?’

‘A five-pound note. What on earth did you think I gave him?’ Gail stood up. ‘But I haven’t taken any glasses upstairs yet. Be a darling and pop down to the kitchen and bring a couple up.’

By the time I reached the bedroom, armed with champagne flutes, Gail was languishing on top of the bed, her clothing scattered untidily across the floor. Consequently, we never did find out whether her new fridge had efficiently chilled the champagne. Not for an hour or two, anyway.

On my arrival at Curtis Green first thing on Tuesday morning, I was greeted by a mildly excited Colin Wilberforce. Colin was never more than
mildly
excited.

‘It would appear that Charlie Pollard is a corporal in the army, sir.’

‘How the hell did you find that out, Colin?’

‘She was spotted by an ANPR unit near Regent’s Park about an hour ago—’