To Make a Killing (13 page)

Calderón was 36, 6’3” and had dark features: heavy eyebrows, narrow-set, steely, brown eyes, thick, black, medium length hair, parted on his left. He had shiny white teeth, a ready smile, tanned skin. The phrase “tall, dark and handsome” and its connotations of mystery and danger fitted him like a glove. His smiling photo conveyed charm and self-confidence. Prior to working for Sanchez, he had spent his whole working life in the army. Most of those years had been spent in the secret service under General Pinochet’s regime.

Calderón’s photo and details were immediately distributed to everyone involved.

Keane had one more job to do. He picked up his jacket and made his way down to his car. He drove to Niels Frederiksen’s home address and waited outside, as they had agreed. Around 1:20 am, Frederiksen pulled into the driveway of his house. He switched off the engine, locked the car and walked back down the drive and over to the dark green Morgan Roadster parked on the opposite side of the street.

In the twilight, Keane could discern that Frederiksen was middle-aged, tall and heavy-set. He had short, probably light brown hair, with a fringe! He had a square face, and his apparently pale blue, narrow eyes were set wide apart, below flat eyebrows. He had a large moustache on what must have been a very deep upper lip.

Keane greeted him cordially and identified himself. A very nervous Frederiksen immediately handed over to him a plan of the restaurant, details about his staff, the keys and security codes. Stuttering in a deep voice, he said: “That’s the . . . the whole you asked for. That’s all.”

“What time do you normally arrive at the restaurant, Mr. Frederiksen?” asked Keane

“9 o’clock. Paul and Terry arrive at 10 and start with the cleaning up.”

“When they arrive tomorrow, call them into your office and keep them there under some pretence until it’s over. When you arrive at 9 o’clock, there will be four armed officers from the Police Firearms Unit inside the restaurant. One of them will let your guest in, and then they will take him down.

Mr. Frederiksen, I realize what we are asking you to do requires courage and faith in us, but I hope you believe me when I say: no harm will come to either you or your staff tomorrow.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Thank you for your cooperation. Try to get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” With that Frederiksen walked back up the driveway to his house and let himself in.

Keane drove to the end of the street and stopped his car by a large dark van. There he handed over the plans, the staff details, the keys and the security codes to an SFO (Specialist Firearms Officer) from the Police Firearms Unit, who had been waiting for him. Now it was up to them. They drove off.

Keane decided he would head back to the office to try and catch a little sleep there. He had just pulled away, when it came to him: the tradesman who had brushed past him at Symonds’ restaurant - that was Diego Calderón!

Chapter 16

Tuesday, 22nd September, morning

Niels Frederiksen entered his restaurant at 9 am from the main street, just as Calderón was expected to do 90 minutes later. Once inside four men with guns pointed at him stepped out of the shadows. He froze.

The restaurant itself was ideal for their ambush. The doorway was set in and very little natural light came in from the street because of the blinds and the outdoor canopy. The décor of partitions afforded many locations that were suitable as cover. Three of the armed officers were arrayed in a 90 degree angle on the left side of the restaurant for a clear shot at whoever entered; the door opened inwards and was hinged on the right.

The fourth armed officer, who was closest to Frederiksen, was apparently the one who would open the door to Calderón. He stepped forward towards Frederiksen, while gesturing to the others:

“Alright, lads. Guns away” he commanded. “Good morning, Mr. Frederiksen. My name is Wilkins, please follow me” and the officer led the owner to his own office at the back of the restaurant. Inside he was surprised to find a fifth officer (equally well-armed and protected).

“This is Sergeant Thompson” Thompson held out his hand to Frederiksen who promptly shook it. “We’re taking an extra precaution by having Thompson here. Just for your peace of mind. When your staff arrive, have one of them leave their key in the back of the door and call them in to your office. Thompson will explain everything to them, and ensure they remain here and remain calm. Until then we’d like you just to go ahead with what you would normally do. If the phone rings, take it and answer it. Any questions?” There were no questions.

For your information, Mr. Frederiksen:

There are 2 parked cars out on the street with armed, plain clothes officers who will make the arrest once we have the man under control. His name is Calderón, by the way. There’ll be 4 men behind the restaurant, and 12 disguised men outside patrolling the street, six at a time, moving from one end to the other and replacing each other as they leave the street. They’ll all be within 100 yards of the restaurant at all times. We have an observation crew in a building on the other side of the street. They will alert us when Calderón is approaching the restaurant. We have a picture and a description of him, and your two staff, so we know who we’re looking for.

I will be opening the door, so I need you to give me the clothes or uniform that your staff would normally wear.”

“But they just wear their own clothes!”

“Which are?”

“Well, jeans, t-shirt, trainers usually.”

Wilkins paused for thought and looked at Frederiksen. Mustering his most butch voice he said, “Mr. Frederiksen, I’m going to have to ask you to lend me your clothes.”

Danes often come in extra large sizes, so Wilkins had no problem in squeezing his muscular body into Frederiksen’s shirt, suit and surprisingly large shoes.

Back at the station, Keane, Angus and the whole team were hanging around, waiting to meet in the incident room as arranged at
10:15. An unshaven Keane had had a rough night on the sofa in his office. (The sofa had appeared there, the day after he had slept there on the floor for the very first time). Keane decided to go down to the canteen to try and find something edible.

Angus was making notes for the press conference that he was going to call in the afternoon, once they had had time for the initial interrogation of the suspect.

Jenkins, Connolly, Parker and Hassan were looking at their brainstorm notes to see who had actually come closest.

On the street outside the restaurant, the 12 disguised SFOs had split into four groups of three, and were discussing the routes they would take and who would replace who.

In the Police Firearms Unit’s look-out, two men were drinking coffee and dissecting the referee’s performance in yesterday’s derby. Their equipment had been set up long ago and they were absolutely ready.

It was exactly 9:30 when Diego Calderón stepped into the doorway of restaurant ‘Maison Rive Gauche’, with his merchandise under his arm. He knocked boldly on the door. Inside he could hear a loud noise as if a table or chair fell over, and through the left side window he could just make out a dark figure wearing boots diving behind a partition! His secret service training kicked in instinctively. He released the wine and dove out of the doorway in one cat-like leap.

Wilkins had grabbed his two-way comm no more than a second after the shocked Hopkins had knocked over the chair in his attempt to get under cover, and the figure outside sprang away to the shrill cacophony of the crashing wine bottles. He screamed “Target here! Target here! All units: Take target down now!”

Coffee flew through the air in the look-out room. It took another 5 seconds for them to spot Calderón and respond “Target running towards the Underground entrance, repeat, target running for Underground entrance!”

Two of the four groups of armed officers were located at the opposite end of the street to the Underground. About 50 yards from the restaurant, Calderón’s trained eye instantly spotted the group of three disguised SFOs a few yards further up the pavement he was pounding along. He instinctively shoulder-charged one of them into the other two, bowling all three over.

Calderón ploughed on towards the subway entrance, weaving in and out between the pedestrians so as to discourage the SFOs from taking a shot. The final group of three SFOs, who were at the right end of the street but on the opposite pavement, spotted Calderón as he charged along. Two of them ran out into the street to cut him off, the third moved to the kerb and drew his gun in the hope of getting a clear shot away.

Calderón got to the entrance of the Underground about 10 yards ahead of the two chasing officers. Charging at the speed of a 400m athlete he made a suicidal leap into the air, over the heads of the commuters that were making their way down the long stairway. Twenty metres down the stairs he crash-landed, knocking at least a dozen people straight down on to the cold concrete steps.

The chasing armed officers stood at the entrance for a split second and stared in disbelief at the cold-blooded, ruthless survival act of a maniac. Hardened officers though they were, they had never seen anything like this. The sound of crunching bones, the screams, the blood and flying broken teeth stunned them for yet another second, giving Calderón the time to pick himself up and push on down the stairs through the crowd.

The officers had no way of getting past the pile of injured people, and no way of getting off a shot.

They called over their mike that Calderón was headed to the trains and they could not pursue.

Wilkins switched wavelengths and told the waiting police. The two police cars set off in opposite directions, each heading for the next station.

The SFOs continued their search of Camden station.

It took the police 10 minutes before they succeeded in stopping all trains on the Swiss Cottage line. They then combed the three stations to the east and to the west of Camden station.

All to no avail. Calderón had slipped through their fingers.

*********

Angus and Keane could simply not believe it when they heard the news. What had gone wrong?

Before long it became apparent to everyone that the appointment time must have been
9:30 and not 10:30. Calderón would not have brought his merchandise with him, if he was only there to check out the place. Critical gazes turned to Frederiksen. Under pressure he had to concede, that he did occasionally mix up the time, as there was 1 hour’s difference between the English expression “Half past ten” and the Danish literal equivalent.

Angus and Keane were fully aware that Calderón now knew the game was up, and his cover had been blown. The usual directives were immediately issued to all ports and airports. Interpol were alerted.

Angus tore up the notes he had prepared for the afternoon conference. What on earth would he tell them now?

Chapter 17

Tuesday, 22nd September, afternoon

Angus stepped into Keane’s office after the abysmal press conference. He knew he would find him there, even though there was no reason for him to be there. Keane looked awful; pale, unshaven, tousled hair, bloodshot, glazed eyes.

“Look, Morgan, you did everything in your power, and it was a fine piece of detective work that got us so close to catching him.”

Keane did not reply. Eventually he said “Do you know he brushed past me at Symond’s restaurant.”

“No, I didn’t” sympathized Angus. He paused. “You know there is nothing more you can do here, and remember you do have a loving wife waiting for you at home!”

Keane looked up at Angus and tried to smile. He hated so much to have let down such a great friend and boss. He hated the culprits winning and the victims losing. What use was he if he couldn’t right these wrongs? But he knew Angus was right; he really ought to get home.

“I suppose Interpol will take over now?”

“That’s right. And I am ordering you to take the rest of the week off. I’ve recalled Hayes by the way, so there’s nothing here you need to think about. I want you back here on Monday, fully refreshed. Alright?”

“Hayes did an excellent job. They all did really, but he deserves to be told, and he’ll appreciate it if it comes from you.”

“I’ll do that. Do you need a lift home?”

“No. I’ll leave the top off. That’ll keep me awake”, a faint smile finally made its way to Keane’s lips.

*********

Jenny was so relieved to have him back home, but what a mess he was in, physically and emotionally. He was really in the dumps. There was only one cure.

“First job: long bath. When you’re done, I’ll have some pizza ready for you – I take it you don’t want to go to a restaurant?” He smiled feebly. “You will have to select your own wine to go with it though.” She continued to try and pick up his spirits. “After that it’s a massage and an early night for you, because tomorrow we are driving to Paris to see Elaine.”

“But . . .”

“No buts! Remember that was the court’s decision the last time you tried to weasel your way out! And besides, I’ve already told Elaine we’re coming” (she fibbed. She wanted it to be a surprise for Elaine). I’ll take care of the packing; I don’t want to hear another word about it!”

Keane gave in. He had no strength to argue, and he knew he owed her this (at the very least). She ran off to start his bath.

Of course she was absolutely right. He may well have wanted to ponder endlessly in search of a way to catch Calderón, but at the moment any efforts would be pathetic and worthless. He would have to do exactly as the doctor prescribed.

The following morning he went for a jog and realized how long it had been since he last had exercised his body. But he was feeling much better now. Jenny’s spoiling him the night before was just what he had needed, and today and the following days, it was her turn to be spoilt.

The weather was still good, the crossing to Dieppe was mild, and it was all like a wonderful relaxing trip. Until they passed through the hamlet of ‘Vascœuil’.

They had turned off the motorway at Rouen and were travelling nonchalantly along a country road, partly to enjoy the scenery, but partly to play a game which was virtually a family tradition. When they had gone on holiday with the children years ago, they had had to find a way to keep the kids’ active minds occupied. So every time they passed a sign with a town’s name on it, the challenge was to find a new word consisting of as many of the town’s letters as possible. The one with the longest word was the winner. Unfortunately it often led to quibbles, and that was also the case with ‘Vascœuil’, where they were only allowed to make French words.

“Valise” suggested Jenny.

“You can’t split the ’œ’” countered Keane.

“When did you make up that rule? ‘Valise’ is a perfectly good French word.” She paused and waited for one of his usual flippant responses.

“Morgan? You’re not sulking, are you?”

But her husband still did not answer. He had been hit by lightning – mentally. An image shone before his eyes, as if lit by a thousand watts: the suitcases in the corner of Elaine’s room, the holdall in between them; he had seen that holdall before on the airport video of Russell. But . . . How could Russell’s holdall end up in Elaine’s room??

“Morgan? What is it?” Jenny was getting worried by his sudden silence.

Could he possibly tell her what he feared?

“It’s . . . I just remembered. Damn it! (he feigned) There’s a demonstration in
Paris today. They’re closing off the centre at 3 o’clock. We’re going to have to get back on the motorway. I’m sorry, dear, I’m going to have to put my foot down.” The Morgan had deceptively powerful acceleration, and they were both thrown back into their seats, as he blasted down the country lane.

“Alright, alright, let’s just get there in one piece!”

Keane’s mind raced as fast as the car. Was he really sure? Was the “case” getting to him? The only person who could possibly have Russell’s holdall was Marie Passant – or Calderón! No. No. It made no sense. It must be another holdall. Keane could not find any rational way of explaining how Russell’s holdall could end up there; nevertheless he drove at full speed all the way to the outskirts of Paris.

“Well, we made it in time.” said Jenny

“What?”

“The demonstration hasn’t started yet.”

“No, but I think the route goes right by Elaine’s flat, and they block off the roads in good time, so I’m going to press on. OK?”

Jenny was surprised that Morgan was still so uptight. He really did need this holiday.

“OK!”

Ten minutes later Keane pulled up alongside a parked car right outside Elaine’s flat, jumped out and shouted to Jenny to park the car and wait for him to come back and help with the luggage.

“But . . . but! Oh, that man is the limit!”

Keane raced up the stairs with every ounce of energy he had. The door to Elaine’s flat was open. “Elaine” he shouted, and ran in through the door, and turned to see Elaine and an unknown woman being held at gunpoint . . . by Calderón! Keane was shell-shocked.

“Buenos dias, Detective Superman Keane” he said calmly. “Come over here and take a seat” He beckoned Keane over to the other side of the room, and then went over to close the door to the flat, still holding the gun on his captives. Keane saw Elaine was as white as a sheet. The woman who was sitting on the chair by the table fit Passant’s description. Keane sat on the thick arm of the sofa.

“Now isn’t this perfect. Here I am, having found my treacherous little ex-cohort, happy to get the money I would have got, if you had not destroyed my business, and just wondering how not to implicate myself in her tragic death. And then you step into my life again.

Now I can remove the one person still alive who can implicate me . . .” he looked at Passant

“Is Mickey dead?” asked Passant

Calderón just smiled and continued “. . . and the one person who almost caught me (twice by the way)”, he smiled again, “And this time, I don’t think Jones can save you.” His smiled disappeared.

“I can see the headline”, he stepped menacingly closer towards Keane.

“Desperate woman slaughters detective and his innocent daughter, then commits suicide”

Keane had to delay him somehow, “What? No poisonous injections this time??”

“Oh you have been clever . . .“ began Calderón, but he did not finish the sentence, because at that moment Jenny barged through the door, arms laden with gifts, looking down to avoid the doorstep and complaining: “A real gentleman parks his own car!”

A distracted Calderón continued to point his gun at Keane, but swivelled his head to see who was coming in. Passant instantly grabbed the silver platter from the table and threw it like a Frisbee, hitting Calderón’s hand and knocking the gun to the floor towards Jenny. Keane threw himself at the bigger man and knocked him to the floor. Jenny dropped everything and grabbed the gun, but Calderón had now got Keane in a head lock and was holding a home-made air-gun to his ear.

“No heroics, Mrs. Keane!”

Jenny was completely freaked out and shaking like a leaf. She screamed, “If anyone is going to kill my husband for risking my family’s life and limb, it’s me, you bastard!!”, and Jenny fired the gun, hitting Calderón in the knee.

Calderón squealed in agony and clutched his knee. Keane rolled free and grabbed the gun from Jenny, while the big man whimpered on the floor.

Passant made a lunge and scooped up the airgun lying next to Calderón. She pointed it at him.

“Did you kill, Mickey, you swine!?” Calderón did not respond

“Put that weapon down!” commanded Keane. The petite French woman glared at Keane for a moment before slowly lowering the airgun.

“Calderón! Lie face down with your hands behind your head right now, or God help me I’ll put another bullet in you!! Elaine. Get over here behind me and call the police.”

Calderón did as Keane instructed, and Keane held him at gunpoint. A silence gripped everyone like the shock of an electric current. Elaine and Jenny began to shake and then they both burst into tears. They immediately tried to comfort each other. Keane looked on helplessly and then turned to the French woman: “Mademoiselle Passant, or whoever you are, hand over that gun to me, and call the police immediately!”

She did so, and when the police finally arrived, they handcuffed Calderón and took his gun and the airgun from Keane. Keane identified himself and explained what had happened, and that Calderón was responsible for the murder of Madame Chaboulet. He asked them to search Calderón on the spot, and they found an incriminating set of a syringe and poison. The police arrested Calderón (who was begging to be taken to a hospital) and took him away.

When the police asked Marie Passant for her name, she began “Je m’appelle Pascale Leclerc . . .” and she glanced at Keane, who interrupted her

“Mademoiselle Leclerc has come forward to assist us with our enquiries. She will be returning to
London with me.”

After everyone’s statement had been taken, they were asked if they felt they needed any psychological help.

“No. All we need now is to talk quietly among ourselves about what just happened” answered Keane. “Be very careful of Calderón. Don’t underestimate him, and don’t let him out of your sight.”

With that the police left and Keane gave Jenny and Elaine a big, long hug. Then Jenny held Elaine at arm’s length saying, “Young lady, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

“I know, I should have told you. You see, Pascale turned up and I couldn’t say no, and I knew you wouldn’t approve, and . . .”

“Approve!?”

“Steady, dear, let’s just find out what happened” Keane tried to calm down Jenny.

“You must not blame your daughter,” said a distraught Pascale Leclerc, “I endangered her life I know, but I thought he could not possibly find me here, and I had nowhere to go to!”

“Mademoiselle Leclerc, before you say any more, I must advise you that I am arresting you on suspicion of being an accessory to a crime of fraud. I must also caution you, that you’re not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say – from now on – will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence. I therefore advise you not to say anything without great consideration. Please listen to me very carefully.

You have shown great integrity by voluntarily coming forward to meet me here today in order to help the police, and by returning the money you recovered from Russell.” Keane held out his hand and a hesitant Leclerc passed him a package. “You have also shown great courage in assisting the police in the capture of Diego Calderón. These acts will no doubt weigh heavily in your favour at your trial.”