‘What’s the point? He’ll have all his answers off pat, and will be well aware we don’t have anything that would stand up in court.’
‘Do you still want him to be a member of your team when you go after Faulkner?’
‘We wouldn’t get as far as the front door without him,’ said William, ‘let alone beyond Faulkner’s study.’
‘If you’re right and he did murder Roach, you’d better make sure he isn’t carrying a gun when you enter the house, because he won’t give a damn who sees him kill Faulkner.’
? ? ?
The door was opened by a man who towered over him, arms folded, fists clenched, ‘HATE’ tattooed on the knuckles of both hands.
‘What can I do for you?’ said a voice.
He looked past the doorkeeper to see a wizened old man who was seated behind an oak desk in a large leather chair that seemed to gobble him up.
‘I need to borrow a grand, Mr Sleeman,’ he said anxiously, as he stared at the diminutive figure, who looked even more odious than his gormless bodyguard.
‘Why?’ demanded Sleeman, his thin lips hardly moving.
‘I need to buy a car.’
‘Why?’ he repeated.
‘I’ve been offered a job as a sales rep with a pharmaceutical company and I told them I had my own car.’
‘Do you have any form of security?’
‘The car, and I’ll be earning two hundred quid a week, plus commission.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘I have a small mews house in Chelsea.’
‘Do you own the house?’
‘No, I have a short lease.’
‘How short?’
‘It’s still got sixteen years left on it.’
‘I’ll need the car’s log book and the lease, which my man will collect this evening,’ said Sleeman, nodding to the giant by the door. ‘Both will be returned to you, but not before I get every penny of my money back. Plus the usual interest, of course.’
‘What are your terms?’
‘You’ll get your grand,’ said Sleeman, ‘and in return you’ll pay me six hundred pounds a month for the next three months.’
‘But that’s nearly a hundred per cent interest,’ he protested.
‘If you want the car, those are my terms. Take it or leave it.’
He hesitated long enough for Sleeman to unlock the drawer of his desk, take out a wad of fifty-pound notes and push them across the table without bothering to count them.
The man stared at the money. His hand shaking, he hesitated before he finally picked up the cash and turned to leave.
‘Before you go,’ said Sleeman, ‘let me warn you that my collector will be calling on the first day of the month, for the next three months. If you fail to pay up on time, I don’t send out written reminders, but he will leave you with something to remember.’
The man shuddered and dropped one of the fifty-pound notes on the floor, which landed at the feet of the doorkeeper who bent down, picked it up and handed it back. ‘I look forward to seeing you on the first of the month,’ he grunted, as he opened the door. ‘Make sure you’re there.’
‘I’ll be there,’ promised Ross.
CHAPTER 25
‘I MAY HAVE HAD A breakthrough in the Sleeman case,’ said DS Adaja, as he sat down in the chair by William’s desk.
‘Walk me through it,’ said William, putting down his Biro and leaning back.
Paul handed him a see-through evidence bag that contained a single fifty-pound note. ‘An anonymous person left this for me at the front desk.’
‘Presumably you had it checked for fingerprints – did they find any?’
‘Mine,’ admitted Paul.
‘Idiot. Anyone else’s?’
‘Max Sleeman’s.’
‘Better. And, from the smug look on your face, they must have come up with someone else even more surprising.’
‘Leonid Verenich.’
‘The psychopath who was thrown out of the Russian mafia because he was too violent?’
‘The same.’
‘I thought he was serving a life sentence in Dresden prison.’
‘He was until he met a certain Colonel Putin, and became more useful on the outside,’ said Paul. ‘What I can’t work out is how he got past immigration control.’
‘That wouldn’t have proved difficult for someone with the connections Sleeman has, in both underworlds,’ said William. ‘So now all you have to do is find him.’