“I presume that was rhetorical? Anyway, what are the rules around us snooping about? Samantha said that she kept copies of everything. I would like to get my hands on those before anyone else.”
“Good point, but this is now a crime scene and we must not disturb evidence. You should be waiting outside but I can have a look about.” Laura smiled as she produced a pair of forensic latex gloves.
“And just why do you travel around with those things?”
“Tools of the trade! Now shoo, out you go,” she said teasingly, pushing him out of the front door into the chilly evening air.
“You owe me a drink and meal for this!”
“My pleasure. And while you’re hanging around doing nothing, phone Steven and brief him.”
Rob rolled his eyes, smiled and walked outside with a deep sigh. Under the thumb already and we’re not even an item!
21
Gurning was, as usual, at his desk early the next day. Yawning from tiredness created by worry for Laura and Rob and the escalating drugs war, as well as disrupted sleep because his foster daughter, Anja, was unwell. Anja was Burak’s daughter with his murdered French lover, Evelyne. When Burak and Anja had arrived in England a year earlier, Gurning and his wife had decided to foster the young girl. They could not have children of their own, and Gurning’s wife, who had studied psychology, was able to support Anja through the trauma of her experiences.
He looked at the two files in front of him for immediate review: one was an early report relating to the murder of Samantha Wilde and her husband, the other related to the assassinations of the three drug dealers. His assistant, Jill, came in with a mug of coffee and some filing. Wanting to review the Samantha Wilde report without disturbance, Gurning opened the assassination report and immediately uttered “You must be joking!” in an incredulous way and put his coffee down hard.
Jill looked over at him, “Are you okay, Steven?”
“Yes, thank you. But I would like a conference call as soon as possible with Laura, Rob, Burak, Nat and David.”
“Certainly, I will get on to it right away.”
As Jill hurried out, Gurning sat staring at one of the photographs taken during the bar owner’s party. There, at the centre of attention for the subject group was Nikki Williamson!
An hour later, Gurning had briefed everyone and joined those dots they knew existed: the drugs war, a Mexican cartel, a major unknown source of drugs from the Middle East, the smuggling of highly toxic chemicals and at least two branches of Burak’s network. Now that Nikki Williamson was thoroughly in the mix, there was even greater credence that Emilio Arroz was involved.
“So, all in all, we’ve got a right old mix up here and one that is very concerning. That they are all related in some way or another appears clear. Whether the related events are intentionally connected, or not, is harder to fathom.”
“Steven, there is no record of Nikki Williamson entering the country,” David commented. “Well, at least not under her real name. I’ve just checked and she is on the list of names to be flagged. Artists impressions have been released in relation to the Wilde’s murder and based on descriptions from neighbours and staff at a local pub it appears she had visited them before.”
“Good. Maybe we are getting somewhere.”
“Steven.”
“Yes, Burak.”
“I’ve just had a text from Jim Siggerty – he’s gone into hiding. Some of his Liverpudlian street dealers have been attacked and threatened for information, so this has now escalated beyond London.”
“I will let the local police know to expect increased violence,” David said before Gurning could ask.
“Where do you think Nikki Williamson and her accomplices will hole up?” Nat asked. “Locally, or in London?”
“London,” Laura stated without hesitation. “She would be too conspicuous anywhere else.”
* * *
Laura was right. Nikki was pacing the living room of a small former council house on the outskirts of London. The estate was littered with battered cars and rubbish and no one took any interest in their neighbours. Nikki was used to a life of privilege and was not appreciative of living with the low-life scum she had enjoyed ordering about for so long. A life on the run was no fun.
She hurled a scrunched up ball of paper at one of her accomplices. “You bloody ass! Look at that!” she spat, pointing at the television. Staring back at them were an artist’s impression of each of them, likenesses evident. “And we didn’t even get to question them because of you! Who knows what she told the auditors after the imbecile of a driver decided to skip town. Find him before the police do!”
Nikki then stormed from the room and went upstairs to a bedroom and started throwing the men’s clothing and belongings down the stairs. “And you can sleep somewhere else from now on because it’s not going to be with me!” Nikki slammed the door and sat down on the bed, head in her hands, hoping that Arroz did not follow the British news.
The two men looked at each and shrugged. “Doubt we will see her for the rest of the day,” one muttered. “Will need to get our own lunch and dinner in.” Then, a few moments later, “Better get Big Al on to finding the driver – if anyone can find him, Big Al can.”
The other man simply nodded and pulled his mobile phone from a pocket.
22
Late the following afternoon Rob was finishing up his efforts to make arrangements to perform a similar audit at a number of other Logistics Arranged offices across Europe. Both Gurning and Laura had agreed that it was worth trying to track routes and leads back as far as possible in the hope of finding the source of the chemicals. So when his phone rang displaying Laura’s name, Rob cussed mentally because he wasn’t quite ready to discuss his plans.
“Laura, hi. It must have been all of two hours since we spoke last! What’s up?”
Laura smiled, her heart warmed at his voice and pleasant attitude. “Unfortunately, I can’t join you auditing the other locations. Sorry, Rob.”
“Bugger. Why?”
“A police call operator received a strange phone call at lunch time. Having now listened to the recording I can understand why the call was de-prioritised. Anyway, the individual was clearly drunk, but said he was in hiding because ‘they are out to get me, a poor, picked-on driver’. Also, that he has information and will call back.”
“Let me guess, the driver we interviewed.”
“Correct. The voice was immediately recognisable, despite the alcohol, so I am heading back up north to be around when he surfaces.”
“Makes sense, but who will join me in Europe?”
“Steven is just reallocating work and will free someone up.”
