Gilcrux shifts slightly in his chair. As he does so, a single bead of sweat emerges from his hairline and begins rolling down his temple. It is the first sign Vos has seen that his interrogator is not made out of wax.
‘Let’s go back to that day at the casino,’ he says. ‘Why were you there?’
‘We had a tip that Peel was taking delivery of a shipment of cocaine from his associates in London. But he had people who worked for him. We certainly weren’t expecting Peel to be there in person.’
‘What happened?’
‘We waited until we got the signal and then we went in.’
‘Signal from who?’
‘One of my squad was working undercover.’
‘I see. Go on.’
‘Peel saw us coming, started running.’
‘And you gave chase?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You personally?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the other members of my team were otherwise engaged with Peel’s men. Because I didn’t want him to get away.’
‘And this pursuit ended up on the fire escape?’
‘Correct.’
‘And then?’
‘Peel continued to evade arrest,’ Vos says. ‘And then he fell.’
‘How?’
‘Because he was trying to jump between two buildings. Because he was fifty-five years old and should have known better than to think he was Spider-Man.’
‘Where were you when he fell?’
‘I was about twenty feet away at the door to the stairs.’
‘Was anything said between the two of you?’
‘I advised him to give himself up,’ Vos says. ‘In fact, I believe I told him not to be such a fucking idiot.’
‘Did he respond?’
‘No. He jumped.’
‘The family claim you pushed him off.’
‘How could they possibly know that?’
‘There are no other witnesses to corroborate your story?’
‘No. DS Entwistle, my undercover officer and one of the uniforms were otherwise engaged with Peel’s associates in the casino.’
‘And it was during this engagement that DS Entwistle was shot?’
‘That’s right. Have you been to see him?’
Gilcrux does not rise to the provocation. ‘And the other uniformed officer?’
‘WPC Lake was covering the perimeter of the building to block any escape from that side.’
‘You saw DS Entwistle get shot?’
‘The reason Vic got shot was because he was doing his job.’
‘But you saw it?’
‘I didn’t see it, no.’
‘You didn’t hear it? I find that hard to believe.’
‘The gun went off in the struggle. Maybe Vic’s body muffled the sound.’
‘You were aware of what had happened, though.’
‘Only afterwards.’
‘You were already in pursuit of Jack Peel.’
‘Yes.’
Gilcrux stares at him inscrutably. ‘How long have you known DS Entwistle?’
‘Twenty years. We came up through uniform together, joined CID at the same time.’
‘So you’d say you were good friends.’
‘Extremely good friends. I was his best man and I’m his daughter’s godfather.’
‘It must be very upsetting for you – the fact he’s in hospital.’
‘Yes,’ Vos says. ‘It is.’
‘I’m going to ask you again, Detective Chief Inspector Vos,’ Gilcrux says. ‘Were you aware that DS Entwistle had been shot before you set off in pursuit of Jack Peel?’
Vos stares at him. They have been in this room for over two hours now.
‘No,’ he says. ‘I was not.’
SEVEN
Two photographs of Ahmed Doe – one of his face, one of his testicles – have been distributed via Interpol to every national police force in Europe. Vos is in his office when the call comes through from the Korps Landelijk Politiediensten, the Dutch national police force known as the KLPD. A polite operator with impeccable English asks him to hold for a short time while she connects him to Chief Inspector Krelis Remmelink of the Amsterdam bureau of IPOL, the police intelligence service.
‘Vos,’ Remmelink says. ‘Is that a Dutch name?’
‘My great-grandfather was from Utrecht, apparently.’
‘Really? You still have family there?’
‘From what I understand, sir, they didn’t have a good war,’ Vos says.
‘Shit. I’m sorry. But I am calling about your mystery dead man. The photographs were passed across my desk thirty minutes ago. I’m looking at them now. Not a pretty sight, eh?’
‘Not at all. Do you know him?’
‘I know him,’ Remmelink says. ‘His name was Okan Gul. And you are correct: he was a member of the Kaplan Kirmizi here in Amsterdam.’
‘That’s a long way from Turkey.’
‘They’ve spread across Europe like a bad case of crabs, Inspector. Here in Amsterdam we’d never heard of them until five, six years ago. Now they pretty much run the port and the red-light district. A shining example of pan-European integration, eh?’
‘And Okan Gul?’
‘He’s pretty high-ranking in the organization. His role is what I would describe as a middleman. You want to do business with the Kaplan Kirmizi, you deal with Okan Gul first. If he is satisfied, he will take your suggestion to the high command. The bosses never get their hands dirty with their own filth. It is the same with all successful criminal enterprises.’
‘What sort of business are they in?’
‘Narcotics, alcohol, cigarettes. Anything you like as long as it is lucrative.’
‘Are you aware of them doing any business in Newcastle?’
‘It comes as news to me, but then again I don’t see why not. Maybe they’ve opened up a new channel. In these tough economic times you have to get business where you can, I suppose.’
‘It would be very handy for our investigation if this could be confirmed, sir,’ Vos says.
‘Of course. I’ll find out what I can, although the Kaplan Kirmizi are not known for being talkative.’
‘I would appreciate it. But as far as Mr Gul is concerned, do you have any idea why someone in Newcastle might have wanted to hang him in front of a high-speed train on Sunday night?’
‘I can think of many reasons why someone would want to kill him, Inspector Vos. The KK have few friends. But the method sounds a little theatrical.’
‘It’s been suggested that it might have been a message.’
There’s a pause while Remmelink considers this. ‘Then it’s one hell of a message,’ he says. ‘More like a declaration of war if you ask me. And if that’s the case . . .’
‘That’s what I’m worried about, sir,’ Vos says. ‘The last thing I want is a war on my patch. If you do talk to your friends in the KK, I’d also appreciate it if you’d let them know they are not welcome in Newcastle. We’ve got enough problems with the locals on a Saturday night as it is.’
Remmelink laughs. ‘I’ve read about your Bigg Market, Inspector. Is it true the girls go out in miniskirts in the middle of winter?’
‘Trust me, Chief Inspector,’ Vos says, ‘you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Then maybe I will have to see for myself.’
‘The invitation is always open. Meanwhile I shall see what the great and the good of Newcastle know about the Turkish mob.’
An unmarked car on a busy street in Newcastle’s West End. Huggins and Fallow are watching a thickset Oriental in a shell suit walking purposefully towards a Chinese takeaway called The Mandarin Grill. He is smoking a cigarette, which he flicks into the gutter as he goes into the shop.
‘Let’s go,’ Huggins says.
They get out of the car and cross the street. There are plenty of Chinese in this part of town, and they all know who Huggins and Fallow are. But they also know the wisdom of minding their own business, and they ignore the two detectives as they go into the takeaway.
Behind the high counter there is an old woman with a face that looks like it has been carved out of ancient ivory. She is staring up at a portable TV on the wall, watching a daytime soap.