Cleaver Square Read online

  'Hello?' A female voice answered over a crackly intercom.

  'Hi, I'm looking for,' Tina glanced down at the information sheet she had printed from DiamondJewlz' website, 'Mr Craig Linden, the manager of DiamondJewlz.'

  'Well, he ain't here.'

  'Do you know where he is?'

  'Do I look like a map?'

  'That retort would work better if I could see you.'

  'Err, yeah. I guess it would. He's just over the road – the big jewellery stall next to Voluptuous Vintage Fashion.'

  'Thanks.' Tina twisted one hundred and eighty degrees and marched towards the morass of stalls. The smells of a dozen varieties of street food wafted through the air as she closed in on the northern end of Camden Market. There was no map of stalls around; the stall-holders changed far too frequently for one to be practical, but many of the more established stalls had unfurled PVC banners to advertise. The purple and gold banner of independent fashionistas, Voluptuous Vintage, hung high enough to be seen above the parapet.

  Tina made a beeline for the banner, and then glanced around searching for her destination. A black lace corset on display at Voluptuous Vintage caught her eye. Tina could just imagine the reactions in the squad room if they knew she were[since she isn't actually wearing it now] wearing that underneath her uniform.

  DiamondJewlz finally came into sight with the churn of the crowds moving on. The calibre of jewellery on display did not live up to the company's moniker. Nearly everything in sight was simple fashion jewellery, and would not command the £1922.44 price tag that had been charged to David and Sarah Morton's MasterCard.

  Tina sauntered over, and pretended to admire the goods on display.

  'These aren't real, are they?' Tina asked of the stallholder.

  'For £14.99? Definitely not.'

  'Do you have any real diamonds?'

  'You got money?' Linden asked in a hushed tone.

  'Of course. I'm looking for something a bit special.'

  'What sort of price range?'

  'About two grand,' Tina invented.

  'You're in the wrong place. Does it look like we sell high-end gems?' He chuckled.

  'So you can't do me a special order?' Tina said.

  'Did someone send you?'

  'David Morton,' Tina ventured, hoping the seller wasn't in on the fraud.

  'Ah, him. Yeah, we can talk. Want to come up to the flat? I don't keep anything good out here.'

  'Lead on.'

  'Great. I'm Craig, by the way but you probably already knew that. One second.' Craig turned to an adjacent stall. 'Yo, Barry. Watch the stall for me?'

  'Sure thing, boss.'

  The duo weaved through Camden Market in silence, the din of early morning shoppers rendering it impossible to have a private conversation. Eventually, the pair were back at the flat on Camden High Street. Craig fished inside his jacket for a short bronze key, and led Tina up the stairs to the flat.

  'Mind the banister. It's a bit loose,' Craig said as they ascended.

  He was breathing heavily by the time they reached the second floor, leaning heavily on peeling wallpaper as he unlocked the inside door. An open door to Tina's left revealed a broom-cupboard-sized bedroom.

  Without that tiny box room, the flat would have been a bedsit. Tina could only imagine it had been marketed by the estate agent as a cosy apartment.

  Opposite the entranceway, Tina could see a kitchenette which combined a small refrigerator, stove top and a sink into one unit. A sofa and chest of drawers rounded out the furnishings. There was no sign of the woman whom Tina had spoken to less than half an hour previously, and the place looked barely lived-in. No clothes were strewn about despite the lack of space.

  Craig began rifling through the chest of drawers. 'You looking for anything in particular? Something big enough to cut or you want something to flip?'

  'What've you got? I need to move about two grand without anyone noticing.'

  'Got these, but they're two-and-a-half grand each.' Craig held out a solitaire.

  'Got certificates?'

  'No. It's a VSI diamond, but it's been cut down to shave the laser engraving. You'll be entirely untraceable with one of these. You want to sell them as certificated, you'll need to get them reappraised, but that won't cost much.'

  'Are they conflict diamonds?' Tina asked, mindful of the Kimberley process.

  'Nah, nothing like that.'

  'What about the rest of the details?'

  'Brilliant cut, white colour, a little over a carat.'

  'Why so cheap?'

  'Why do you think? You don't cut a gem down for no good reason.'

  'Are they from that big warehouse bust in Antwerp a few weeks back? I hear they're going for half value. Not easy to trade 'em.' Tina had seen the Interpol bulletin about a robbery, but had no idea what the street value on them would be.

  'Half? What you been smoking? Yeah, they're lifted. I'll do you one for two thousand if it's cash, today. That work for you?'

  'Yes, it does. Craig Linden, you're under arrest for the possession of stolen goods. You have the right to remain silent; anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law.'

  'Shit. Morton was an informant?'

  'I'll be asking the questions – down at the station.'

  ***

  'What the hell did you think you were doing?' Kiaran jabbed at Tina, his eyes furrowed into slits.

  'I arrested a criminal after he admitted possession of stolen goods.'

  'And what, pray tell, were you doing at said criminal's apartment, on your day off? On my day off.' Kiaran jabbed a finger at Tina.

  'Following a lead.'

  'On what case?'

  'An identity theft...'

  'Oh, so that's what you were up to, chasing down your precious chief's errant credit card charges? Did you bother to check in? No. You didn't. The folks in Organised Crime have been sitting on this guy for weeks, and you've spooked the entire chain. Now Mr Linden is in custody, and we've got no chance of getting his suppliers without cutting him a deal.'

  Tina stared at her shoes, unable or unwilling to look the prosecutor in the eye, 'Sorry, Kiaran.'

  The lawyer huffed, suddenly deflated. He wasn't done yelling, but little would be gained from berating Detective Vaughn further.

  'Right. Well, get in there and get what you can out of him. He's lawyered up, so I'll have to cut some sort of a deal but let's put out feelers first, see what he's after. And see if you can get info on this identity theft into the bargain.'

  Craig Linden was leant over the desk, his head twisted towards his lawyer. The moment Tina opened the door, the hushed whispers ceased.

  She glanced at her watch: 1:58 p.m. 'Good afternoon. Detective Tina Vaughn.' She extended her hand to the lawyer, pointedly ignoring the suspect.

  'Elliot Morgan-Bryant, Cutler & Kass.'

  'How'd he afford your fees?' Cutler & Kass were famed for their exorbitant fees. A simple possession charge didn't warrant spending six hundred pounds an hour on such esteemed council, and Morgan-Bryant didn't seem the type to volunteer to work weekends for a pro bono client.

  'That's between me and my client. What's on the table here, officer?'

  'That depends on what information Mr Linden has for us.'

  'Is immunity on the table?'

  'That's down to our prosecutor. You give me something to take to him, and I'll see what he's willing to give up.'

  'As a goodwill gesture, we'll give you a taste. The diamonds are from Antwerp, my client has already indicated as much. If he gives you the names of those involved, will that buy his freedom?'

  'We'll need more than that.'

  'I'm not advocating Mr Linden accepts any deal that is contingent on you getting a conviction, if that's what you are suggesting.'

  'No. I need details on his buyers as well as his suppliers.'

  'That we can do, right, Craig?' said Morgan-Bryant. His client nodded immediately, not realising how unhappy his payma
sters would be.

  'Give me a moment. I'll run this by the prosecutor.'

  ***

  'Provided that what you've got is good, I'm prepared to offer s71 immunity from prosecution for the possession of stolen goods charge. If your client is about to admit a part in the robbery, then we can talk about a suspended sentence recommendation. So, cards on the table time, Elliot.' Kiaran O'Connor had taken a seat next to Tina in the custody suite, and immediately begun to take control of the interview.

  'My client wasn't involved in the original theft, but was merely one of the fences contracted to cut and move the goods. He can give you the names of his suppliers, the times and dates of handovers, and he'll surrender all remaining evidence. In return, he wants complete immunity and you don't seek to recover any illicit profits he may have made so far. Is that acceptable?'

  Kiaran nodded, then slid a document across the table. 'This is an Immunity Notice. You comply with the conditions outlined in it, which broadly reflect what you've just said, and we will drop all the charges.'

  Elliot Morgan-Bryant pushed his reading glasses up on his bulbous nose as he skimmed the document. 'Everything appears to be in order.' He nodded. 'Craig, time to start talking.'

  'I got the gems from the Bakowski brothers. One of their lot did the hit, I don't know who exactly. They laid low for a while, shipped me the gems a couple of months after the heist.'

  'How'd they ship the diamonds?'

  'In tennis balls. They bundled a few gems inside each ball, plus some lightweight padding. I imported a whole pallet of sports goods including a crate of tennis balls. I had to spend a whole weekend cutting the lot up to find my shipment. They weren't marked, for obvious reasons, see.'

  'How much did you import?'

  'Seven or eight hundred carats. Mostly larger pieces. Had to shave 'em to take off the laser identifiers so I got them well below market rate.'

  'How much?'

  'Two hundred grand for the lot.'

  Kiaran whistled, 'That's a nice profit. Easily worth half a million on the open market if they're all like the gems Detective Vaughn seized.'

  'Yeah, they were.'

  'Were? You expect me to believe you offloaded the lot?'

  'I'm at the end of my stash. Got a few more in my safe. I'm sure you've found that already, though.'

  'The one under the carpet?' Kiaran asked shrewdly. A search team had been dispatched the second Tina called in her arrest.

  'That's it.'

  'And who did you sell the rest of them to?'

  'Loads of people. All word of mouth, mind you. Not wise to tout stolen gems with coppers looking for 'em.'

  'Where's the money you made now?'

  'Used it. Had to pay off my creditors.'

  Kiaran looked sceptical, 'I need the names of all your buyers.' He tapped the immunity notice requiring disclosure as he spoke.

  'Got a list. Most of 'em were under the table, but some were via our website.'

  'How'd the website customers pay?'

  'PayPal invoice. They contacted us, we sourced what they wanted and invoiced 'em. Then they picked up from the flat, or we posted them depending on what the customer wanted.'

  'Did many pick up?'

  'Nah. Most wanted the gear posted out of the country. Good luck tracking them down. Only one guy picked up in person this month. That was your snitch, Morton.'

  'He wasn't one of ours. What did Morton look like?' Kiaran said.

  'Damned if I know. Shelley was there when he picked up. She has no idea my stuff is stolen, just thought he was a customer.'

  'Who's Shelley?'

  'My wife. She's often in the flat when I'm not. She's used to customers coming to pick up parcels.'

  'We'll need to talk to her.'

  'Fine with me. Am I free to go?'

  'For now. I'd better not hear you've been selling stolen goods again.'

  'You won't.'

  Linden and his lawyer left, leaving Kiaran alone with Tina.

  'There's no way he's got rid of half a million in diamonds, then squandered the cash,' Tina said.

  'I agree. As this is your mess, you're going to clean it up. Find me those gems so I can bust him, immunity notice or no immunity notice.'

  Tina smiled, 'Consider it done.'

  CHAPTER 33: TRAIL

  The evening of Craig Linden's arrest, his wife ignored Tina ringing the doorbell over the intercom, and Tina resorted to buzzing a neighbour in the downstairs flat. She identified herself as a police officer, and was let into the building. She strode up the stairs to the Linden flat once again, purposefully avoiding reliance on the wobbly banister.

  'Shelly Linden! It's the police. Open up.'

  'I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't break the bloody door down.' It was the same voice Tina had spoken to when she first set out for DiamondJewlz.

  The rattle of a chain followed, along with the shunt of three security bolts being undone. The door finally swung open to reveal a young woman. She had platinum blonde hair, but the brown roots gave away her natural colour. Carefully tweezed eyebrows contrasted with an un-ironed camisole and fluffy slippers. Despite it's being a Saturday night, Shelley Linden had not planned on going out or receiving visitors.

  'Shelley Linden? My name is Tina Vaughn. I'm with the Metropolitan Police, and I'm here to talk to you about a man who picked up a package from you.'

  'My husband did text as much. Daft twat, letting a copper into his flat.'

  'Quite.' Tina couldn't help but like the woman.

  'You'd better sit down.'

  Tina took a seat. 'I'm looking to identify a man you would have known as David Morton.'

  'Doesn't ring a bell. What was he collecting?'

  'It would have been a small package. Sometime on or around the sixth of January.'

  'Last Saturday? Didn't have any packages then.'

  'What about shortly after?'

  'There was one bloke on Sunday. Internet order, as always. It's much easier to post the stuff.'

  'What'd he look like?'

  'White feller. About six feet tall. Not fat.'

  Great, Tina thought. That only fits a million Londoners.

  'Would you work with a sketch artist?'

  'What's in it for me?'

  'Us not busting your husband for possession?'

  'Nice try. He's immune. If you can't do better than that, I'll have to ask you to leave.'

  'Look, I can't force you to help. But if you ever need a favour, a legal one, I'd be in your debt.'

  'I don't need anything from you. I don't do anything illegal.'

  'But your husband does.'

  'Then ask him for a favour. Not me. You want to talk to him, come back tomorrow. He has a lunch break about midday most Sundays. Otherwise, get out.'

  Tina stood, and held out a business card to Shelley Linden. When she didn't take it, Tina threw the card onto the coffee table. 'Call me, if you change your mind.'

  ***

  Craig Linden ambled through Liverpool Street station, appearing to admire the row of shops above the main concourse. As he drew nearer to the fast food joint at the rear entrance, he turned and walked towards the counter. A quick glance in the polished glass lining the storefront assured him there was no one following him. His reflection was suitably nondescript: jeans, trainers and a plain t-shirt. A white cap rounded out his attire.

  He ordered, and then took his meal to a table in the corner where he began to dissect the burger, tossing aside the pickle and tomato. He took a bite, and then looked around surreptitiously to make sure he was alone. It would be just like the police to let him leave, then follow him. But there were no signs they'd been that crafty. Perhaps it was simply Saturday staffing.

  With his burger, which was now oozing ketchup, held aloft in one hand, Craig delved into his jacket pocket with his other hand. He pulled out a mobile phone which was remarkable only for its plainness. This was no Smartphone. It could text, and make calls, but had none of the technology that could betra
y its user later in life.

  Craig manually entered the number with his free hand, and then began to punch in his text message old-school style. Multiple number presses yielded one upper-case letter at a time, until he had managed to peck out his warning:

  'THE POLICE ARE ONTO YOU. GET RID OF THE DIAMONDS.'

  For the life of him, Craig could not find the caps button. Not that it mattered. The client had paid extra for a warning if the police ever came calling, and the customer was always right.

  Craig hit send, and then returned his attention to his beef burger.

  CHAPTER 34: PANIC

  'You look like crap.' Tina tossed her coat onto the rack by the door, and muttered a curse as the coat missed the bronze hook and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  'Uh, thanks. Kick a guy when he's down, why not?' Morton said as Tina scooped up her coat, and hung it neatly.

  'Hey, it's Saturday evening and you're lazing around in a t-shirt watching reruns.'

  'I like reruns.' David clutched protectively at the eighties box set beside him. Sometimes, the oldies were the best.

  'But you already know how they'll end! Where's the fun in that?'

  'Tina, it's about the journey, not the destination. You ever go to the cinema just to watch the closing credits? Thought not.'

  Tina's mouth gaped open, and she tried to think of a retort.

  'Besides, what else am I going to do with no cash?'

  'I can think of a few things.' Tina winked.

  'Tina, I'm a married.... Ah, you meant Monopoly.' Morton blushed as he spotted her grabbing the board game from the top of the bookshelf behind her.

  'No, I meant Vodkopoly.'

  'Come again?'

  'Every time you pass Go, you do a shot.'

  'You cannot be serious.'

  'Deadly. If you're still melancholy by the end of the game, I'll shoot you myself.'

  'All right. But no cheating or I'll fire you on Monday.'

  ***

  In any normal setting, Dimitri Bakowski would have been considered a giant. At over six foot, and tipping the scales at nigh on twenty stone, he was a hefty man. His idea of a run was barely ambling, but his right hook meant sprinting was never on the cards.