The Murder Exchange (32 page)

I'd turned my mobile off for the duration of the
u.ccting with Judy Deerborne, a long-standing
habit since interruptions always messed up my
thought process, and I now saw that I had a
message. It was Malik returning my call, and he'd
only phoned ten minutes ago. I pressed 5 for callback
and waited while the phone rang. Malik was a
sod of an individual to get hold of so I had to make
the best of the opportunities I had.

He picked up on the fourth ring. 'Hello, John,
I've just tried to phone you.'

The know. You got my message, didn't you, and the
emails I sent you?'

That's right.'

The guy in fatigues in the photo with Jack
Merriweather. We've identified him as a Tony
Franks. He's been living at 41F Runmayne Avenue
in Highbury Fields for the past few years. Do you
know anything about him?'

295

Tes, I
do,' he said. 'He was suspected of being
involved in drug-running for the Holtzes out of
eastern Europe, where he'd built up a lot of
contacts. He was brought in for questioning and
put under surveillance for a while in 1998, mainly
because of that article in Der Spiegel, but nothing
ever came of it. In the end, apart from that photo
and two or three other snippets of information,
there was no real hard evidence to speak of. Franks
has also been seen with Merriweather at least
twice in the past few months, but then so have a
hundred other people. We've got nothing concrete
on him.'

The address he's been living at doesn't ring a
bell, then?'

'Not off the top of my head. I'll have a look for
you, but I don't think so.'

I was undeterred. 'It's a decent place in a nice
area. The rent must be two grand a month, absolute
minimum, probably more. As far as I can tell, this
guy Franks's job was as a part-time bodyguard, so
someone else must have been paying for it. The
question is, why?'

Malik sighed. 'You're right. It does seem an odd
set-up, even if he is linked to organized crime.'

'Listen, let me run something by you. It's strange,
it might even be outlandish, but it's something
that's bugging me.' I looked up and down the quiet
street. A brand-new-looking BMW 7-Series drove
slowly past in the direction of the Holloway Road.
'And, you know, the more I think about it, the more
I think there's something in it.'

'Go on.'

296

I
So I told him, and when I'd finished Malik said
that I was right, it was outlandish.

'But if there is something in it, think of the possibilities.
Think of what it could do to help you
against the Holtzes.'

Talk to the landlord,' said Malik. 'Find out how
he gets paid every month and where the money
comes from.'

297

Wednesday, four days ago

Gallan

Roddy Lee Potter lived in a swanky apartment
situated on the ground floor of an attractive
Georgian townhouse just off Kensington High
Street. When I'd finally got him to answer the
phone the previous day he'd been in a bar in Soho,
sounding extremely drunk. We'd arranged to meet
today at midday at Roddy's place, but I'd phoned
ahead to make sure he hadn't forgotten our conversation,
which he had. He'd wanted to postpone,
the hangover in his voice obvious, but I wasn't going
to let him off the hook that easily and insisted we
keep the time as arranged.

I got there ten minutes early and was buzzed in
straight away. The door to the apartment was
opened by a large, red-faced gentleman with curly,
greyish-black hair who looked like he hadn't been
out of bed that long. He was dressed in a crumpled
pair of slacks and a short-sleeved shirt.

'Detective Sergeant Gallan, please come in.'

I followed him inside and through to a lavishly

298

furnished but very messy lounge. It looked like the
cleaner hadn't been in for a few days. Lee Potter
motioned me to a leather armchair and I sat down,
wrinkling my nose at the three-quarters-full pub
sized ashtray on the table beside him, the smell
reminding me why I'd chosen to give up all those
years ago.

'Would you like some coffee?' he asked.

I said 1 would, and waited while he went to get it.
He seemed a genial enough chap, but then I guess
you would be pretty genial if you lived an easy,
relatively wealthy life from rental income, and had
no responsibilities. Was I jealous? What do you
think? Of course I was.

When Lee Potter came back with the coffees, he
aokcd how he could be of assistance. 'I hope I'm not
in trouble for anything,' he added in a tone that was
a little bit too ingratiating, and sat down opposite
me.

'No, but it's something you might be able to help
with. You've been renting a house out to a Mr Tony
Franks?'

He nodded his head. That's right. He moved out
a couple of weeks ago.'

'How long's he been renting from you?'

'About four years now, something like that.'

'Can I ask how much you charged him in rent?'

Lee Potter looked taken aback. 'Is it strictly
necessary to know that? What's it got to do with
anything?'

'I'm trying to build up a picture/ I said, 'and this
information's an important part of it.'

Two thousand two hundred a month. I probably

299

could have got more but he was an easy tenant, and
they're not all like that, I can tell you.'

'How many properties do you rent out, Mr Lee
Potter?'

Tour altogether.'

'I expect they make you a tidy little income, don't
they?'

Lee Potter smiled nervously. 'It's not bad. Not
bad at all.'

'No, I bet it isn't.' My tone was deliberately
suspicious. Lee Potter struck me as a weak
character, someone you could push. 'What does Mr
Franks do for a living?'

'I believe he owns his own company. I'm not sure
what it does, though. As long as he paid the rent on
time--'

'... Then you didn't ask too many questions.
How many times have you met Mr Franks?'

'Er, I don't know. Not many. Two or three times at
most.'

'In four years?' I raised my eyebrows.

'There was never any need to see him more than
that.'

'He lived there alone, did he?'

Lee Potter nodded, clearly flustered by my
rapid-fire questions. 'As far as I know, yes. That's
right.'

'Where did the money come from?'

What do you mean?'

'Did he pay you directly or did it come from
someone else?'

'His company paid. They used to send a cheque
here every month, and they were always on time.

300

That's why I never bothered too much. Is there
something wrong?'

I ignored the question. 'Did he leave a forwarding
address when he moved out?'

'No, no he didn't. In fact he never actually came
round at all. I got a phone call from his brother saying
that he'd gone, and asking what was owed. I
was concerned because obviously it was all a bit
sudden, so he suggested I go round and check that
everything was OK. I did, the house all looked very
clean, and then he phoned back a couple of days
later, we divvied everything up, and the company
sent another cheque for the balance.'

'Did his brother leave a phone number you could
rearh him on?'

Ik shook his head. 'No, he didn't. He--'

'So you couldn't actually say for certain that it
was his brother?'

'Well, no, but there was no reason to believe
otherwise. Why should there have been?'

The reason I'm asking is that we want to talk to
Mr Franks about some very serious matters, and
I'm particularly interested in details of any of his
associates.'

'As I said, Mr Gallan, I only ever met him a
couple of times, and that was alone. He was
a model tenant in pretty much every way. He never
called me out, never complained, nothing. Just paid
his rent and that was it.'

I paused for a moment and took several sips from
my coffee before speaking again. Was there ever any
suspicion on your part that the house was being used
for anything other than simply being lived in?'

301

Lee Potter tried to look like he was thinking hard
about the question. It didn't really work. "No, not
really/ he said eventually.

'Are you absolutely sure? It's very important we
know about it if there was.'

He sighed. 'I once went round there, I don't
know, about a year or so ago, mainly because I
hadn't even seen the place for God knows how
long, and I was in the area anyway.'

'Go on.' m

'It was nothing really, but all the curtains were
closed, which I thought was a bit odd as it was the
middle of the day, and there were also a couple of
cars there. Anyway, I rang on the doorbell a couple
of times, but no-one answered,' He paused before
continuing. 'Only, I was sure there were people
there, because there was a tiny gap in the sitting- §|
room curtains and I was certain I saw the shadow
of someone moving around in there. It was
probably nothing, almost certainly nothing, but I
phoned Mr Franks up a couple of days later and
he made out that he'd been away, which was
odd.' He shrugged expansively. 'But that's about it.
I can't think of anything else. What do you think
was happening there, then?'

'I don't know,' I said, but I had my ideas.

I finished the coffee, got the name of the company
that paid Franks's bills from Lee Potter, and
then left.

Outside, the sky was darkening and it was
already raining, but I hardly noticed as I started off
in the direction of the Tube station. I was too busy
thinking.

302

Twelve hours later my thoughts had turned to very
different matters. Like why wasn't the chief super
traipsing round the rain-drenched midnight streets
of Islington if he was so bloody keen to 'foster a
continued and ever deeper spirit of cooperation'
between those pounding the beat and those who'd
hoped it was all behind them? It was ten past
fvvclve and we'd just been called to the ground
floor council maisonette currently occupied by
Brian and Katrina Driscoll.

The smell hit me in the face as soon as I followed
Berrin and the two uniforms in through the open
front door. Shit and GO and stale rubbish. Food that
V>aH gone off, trapped stagnant air; the standard,
ciij-pervading odour of decay. A kid of about eight
dressed in filthy pyjama bottoms, his ribs sticking
out like they were going to burst through the skin,
stood watching us impassively at the bottom of the
stairs. It was dark in the hallway but there were
lights on further in.

A hysterical wailing came from one of the rooms
down the hall. The voice was female. She sounded
drunk. 'I can't believe you fucking did that to me,
you fucking cunt!'

'Fuck off you old slag or you'll fucking get some
more!'

She screamed again. 'Fuck off!'

Then him. 'Do you want some, then? Do you
fucking want some?'

There was a sound of glass or crockery breaking
and the first uniform, PC Ramsay, called out that it
was the police responding to a call. We walked

303

down the hall in a long line to the kitchen, past the
boy who continued to stare at us blankly.
'I fucking called you! Look what he did to me!'
She came into view, a big, misshapen woman in
jeans and a white vest that rode up over her ample
belly. A thick trail of blood ran down her face and
onto her neck. Its source was a large cut on her forehead
where she'd clearly been struck by something.
She grabbed hold of Ramsay and pulled him to her
like a sexually aggressive bear. 'Look what the cunt
did to me! Look!'

The WPC with Ramsay, Fames, shepherded the
victim into the lounge away from her partner, who
now appeared, bare-footed, in the kitchen doorway.
'I ain't done fucking nothing/ he said, shaking his
head, the words oozing drink. He was tall with a
thick head of messy brown hair and an out-of
proportion beer belly. Aged about thirty-five, and
dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. We'd been
warned he was violent, particularly when drunk.
Apparently, the police had been called here plenty of
times before.

'Come on now, Brian,' said Ramsay, who seemed
to know him. 'I think it's best you come with us.'
The words were spoken calmly, almost soothingly.
Ramsay was understandably eager to avoid a
scene. I was too, since I'd have to get involved if he
didn't come quietly.

His response, however, was predictable. 'Fuck
off. I'm all right. I didn't touch her. She's fucking
lying again.'

Brian came forward, trying to get into the room
where his partner was. Ramsay stood in the way

304

and put his hands up to stop him. 'She's made a
complaint, Brian. Now we've got to follow up on it.
You understand that, don't you?'

'Fuck off. Get out my way.'

'Look, don't make this hard on everyone, Brian.
Let's just go nice and quiet now.'

Brian lunged forward and I did my best to grab
him in a bearhug from behind while Berrin
managed to get him round the neck. Ramsay produced
some handcuffs from out of nowhere and the three of us wrestled him towards the front door.
Two more recently arrived uniforms came in and
helped with what was no easy extraction. Brian
cursed and screamed, then fell over, trying to lash
out- with his arms. I grabbed one, one of the
uiuioinis grabbed another, and Ramsay forced on
the cuffs.

What are you fucking doing to me, you cunts!
Leave me alone! Bastards!'

I looked up and saw the kid on the stairs still
watching the whole thing, as if it was the most
natural thing in the world to see your dad wrestling
with a load of police officers. The man reeked of
sweat and his hair was greasy. I had my knee in his
back and I felt this sudden urge to grab him by the
back of his greasy mane and slam his head into
the floor.

Till fucking kill you, you bastards! You're dead!
You know that? Dead!'