Kick Back by Val McDermid
“More problems?” I asked.
“You’re not kidding. Two of my three vans are off the road.
“Are you sure it’s just a coincidence?” Shelley demanded. “On top of everything else, it’s beginning to sound as if somebody’s got it in for you!”
Ted managed to look both wounded and baffled. “I don’t think so, Shelley, love,” he said. “It’s just been bad luck. I mean, the first one was parked up when it happened. Somebody’d obviously smacked into it in the pub car park while Jack was busy inside.”
“Jack McCafferty? What was he doing with one of the vans? Surely he’s got nothing to do with installations?” I asked, too sharply. They both gave me odd looks.
“He borrows it now and again. He runs a little disco business with his brother-in-law, and sometimes they’re double booked so he borrows one of my vans overnight to run the disco gear around in,” Ted said. The final piece slotted into place.
Then I remembered what kind of vans Colonial Conservatories use. My stomach felt like I’d eaten too much ice cream too fast. “What night was it that he had the accident, Ted?” I asked.
Ted frowned and cast his eyes upwards. “Let me see … It must have been Monday night. Yes, Monday. Because we were running round like lunatics Tuesday trying to fit everything in, and that’s why Pete was going too fast to stop at the roundabout. And now we’re two vans down, and no sign of either of them back till next week at the very earliest.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flicker of movement as Shelley’s hand sneaked out to pat Ted’s.
Oh well, at least it hadn’t been Ted’s white Transit van that had tried to push me off Barton Bridge. “I wish I had some good news for you, Ted,” I said, “but I’m afraid it’s a bit mixed. We’re not due at the bank for another half-hour yet. D’you want to come into my office and I’ll run it past you before we go and see Prudhoe?”
I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get Ted to the bank. When I unfolded the tale of Jack’s treachery, he went white round the mouth and headed for the door. Luckily, the sight of Shelley’s astonished face slowed him down long enough for me to grab his arm and steer him into a seat. Shelley got a medicinal brandy into
“Don’t be silly,” Shelley said briskly. “Kate will have him put in prison and that’s much more satisfying,” she added. Taking me to one side while Ted stared into the bottom of his empty glass, she muttered, “Which bastard are we talking about here?”
I gave her the last five seconds of the tale, which was enough to get her crouching beside Ted, murmuring the kind of comfort that it’s embarrassing to witness. Of course, that was when Detective Chief Inspector Della Prentice chose to put in an appearance. I immediately steered her towards the door and said, “Ted, I’ll see you downstairs in five minutes.”
I’d rung Della as soon as Shelley gave me a time for the meeting with Prudhoe. I figured it would save me a bit of time if I outlined the case to her at the same time as I told the bank. I knew that the bank might be less than thrilled, but frankly, they were just going to have to lump it. I still had to find enough proof to nail Brian Lomax, and I simply didn’t have the time to go into a ritual dance with Ted Barlow’s bank manager about ethics.
Leonard Prudhoe was just as I’d expected. Smooth, supercilious, but above all, gray. From his silver hair to his shiny gray loafers, he was a symphony in the key of John Major. The only splash of color was the angry purple zit on his neck. God knows how it had the temerity to sit there. Also, as I’d expected, he treated us like a pair of naughty children who’ve been reported to the head so they can learn how the grown-ups behave. “Now, Miss Brannigan, I believe you think you might have some information pertinent to Mr. Barlow’s current problems. But what I really can’t understand is why you feel it necessary to have Chief Inspector Prentice present, charming as it is to make her acquaintance. I’m sure she’s not in the least concerned with our little difficulties …”
I cut across the patronizing bullshit. “As far as I’m concerned, a crime has been committed and that’s more important than your sensibilities, I’m afraid. How much do you know about fraud, Mr. Prudhoe? Am I going to lose you three sentences in? Because if you’re not well versed in major fraud inquiries, I suggest we get
“Young woman,” he stuttered, “I’ll have you know that I am an expert in financial defalcations of all sorts.”
“Fine. Pin your ears back and take notes, then,” I retorted. There’s something about pomposity that brings out the toe-rag in me. It must be the Irish quarter of my ancestry.
Prudhoe looked affronted, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ted looked a fraction less miserable. Della Prentice seemed to have developed a nasty cough.
“There’s really no need to take this attitude,” Prudhoe said frostily.
“Listen, Mr. Prudhoe,” Ted interrupted. “You people tried to take my business away from me. Kate’s been trying to sort it out and, as far as I’m concerned, that entitles her to take any attitude she damn well pleases.”
The turning worm shut Prudhoe up long enough for me to get started. “On the surface, it looks as if what has happened to Ted is a sequence of unfortunate coincidences, culminating in you cutting off his line of credit. But the truth is, Ted is the victim of a very clever fraud. And if the perpetrators hadn’t got so greedy that they decided to go for a second bite of the cherry no one would ever have cottoned on, because the frauds would have looked all of a piece with genuine mortgage defaulters.” In spite of himself, I could see Prudhoe’s interest quicken. Perhaps, under his patronizing pomposity, there was a brain after all.
I outlined the reasons why Ted had come to us in the first place. Della Prentice had her notebook out and was scribbling furiously. When I got to the missing conservatories, Prudhoe actually sat forward in his seat. “This is how it works,” I said, thoroughly into my stride.
“You need a bent salesman and you need an insider in the office of an estate agency that specializes in decent-quality rental property. In this case, they used a firm called DKL Estates, who are as innocent of any criminal involvement as Ted is. The insider, let’s
“The surname of the couple renting the house is identical with that of the real owners, but because they’ve chosen common names, if anyone in the office other than Liz notices the coincidence, they can all stand around going, ‘Well, stone me, isn’t that incredible, what a small world,’ et cetera. Of course, because Liz has access to all the original paperwork from the owners, they’ve got copies of the signatures, and possibly info on bank accounts, mortgage accounts, service contracts and everything else. With me so far?”
“Fascinating,” Prudhoe said. “Do go on, Miss Brannigan.”
“The salesman, who has access to credit-checking agencies via your financial services company, runs a check to see what other information about the owners it throws up. Then Liz opens a false bank account in the renter’s name at that address, and stops any post office redirect on mail for the real owners. She spends a minimal amount of time in the house and pays rent for a while. Incidentally, they have three operations in the planning stage at any one time, so she never spends long enough in any of the houses for the neighbors to get close. They all think she works away, or works nights, or has a boyfriend she stays with a lot. She also changed her appearance with wigs, glasses and make-up to cover their tracks.
“Next, Jack McCafferty, Ted’s top salesman, says he’s had a call from her asking for an estimate for a conservatory. The following day, he comes in with an order, financed by a remortgage with this bank. And if it was one of those periodic nights where Ted goes out on the call with him, then Jack and Liz would just pretend they’d never met before and he’d pitch her just like any other punter. After all, remortgaging would be a perfectly legitimate way of doing it, and wouldn’t ring any alarm bells with Ted or
“But wouldn’t there be a problem with the original mortgage?” Della asked. “Surely, once that had been paid off, either the building society
I hadn’t thought of that. But then I remembered an experience Alexis and Chris had had when they first sold their separate homes to move in together. Alexis, being a fiscal incompetent, had carried on blithely paying her old mortgage for six months before she’d noticed. I shook my head. “It would have taken ages for the building society to spot what was happening. And then they’d send a letter, and the letter would drop into a black hole because of the mail redirect being cancelled. It could drift on for ages before anyone at the building society got seriously exercised enough to do anything about it.”
Della nodded, satisfied. “Thanks. Sorry, do carry on. This is fascinating.”
“Right. So, when the bank checks the remortgage application, because the names are the same, all the information they get relates to the real owners, so there’s never any problem. And the money is handed over. Think of the figures involved. Imagine a property bought ten years ago for twenty-five thousand pounds, which is now worth ninety thousand. The outstanding mortgage is only about seventeen thousand. They remortgage for the full ninety thousand, pay off the existing mortgage all above board to prevent any suspicion, then do a runner. Our friends Jack and Liz have netted approximately seventy thousand pounds after expenses.
“I reckon they’ve pulled the same scam at least a dozen times. And the only reason I was able to catch on is that they got so
I didn’t get the chance to enjoy their reactions. Now I remember why I resisted a mobile phone for so long. They always interrupt the best bits.
Chapter 22
They say the Victorian era was the age of the gifted amateur. All I’ve got to say is that I’m glad I wasn’t a private investigator then. I mean, if there’s one thing worse than amateurs who insist on offering you the kind of help that completely screws up an investigation, it’s the ones who are more on the ball than you. The way Alexis was operating in this case, I was soon going to have to start paying her, rather than the other way round.
What I’d heard when I went into a huddle with my telephone in Prudhoe’s office wasn’t the kind of news to gladden the heart. “He’s going to skip the country,” Alexis started the conversation.
“Mr. Harris, you mean?” I said cautiously. I was trying to keep my end as short and uninformative as I could. After all, I’d suddenly become the rather embarrassing center of attention. I wasn’t bothered about Ted or Prudhoe, but the presence of police officers induces a paranoia in private eyes that makes Woody Allen look well-balanced by comparison.
“Of course, Harris, Lomax, whatever! Who else? He’s going to do a runner.”
“How do we know this?”
There was a momentary pause while Alexis decided how to play it. “After you’d explained how busy you were today, I managed to swap my days off. I thought if I kept an eye on him, at least we wouldn’t have missed anything. And I was right,” she added defiantly.
I felt a guilt trip coming on. Somehow, I just knew that I wasn’t going to be spending my evening as Emperor Brannigan of the Zulus, civilizing the known universe. “What’s happened?” I asked.
“He’s got a passport application form,” Alexis announced triumphantly.
It was a reasonable deduction. What it didn’t tell us was whether he planned to take off to the Costa del Crime with his ill-gotten gains as soon as air traffic control would let him or whether he was simply planning ahead for his winter skiing holiday. “Where are you?” I said.
“In the phone box just down the road from his yard. I can see the entrance from here. He hasn’t moved since he came back from the post office.”
I gave in. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said. After all, I’d given Ted and Prudhoe enough to keep them gossiping for hours. I ended the call and smiled sweetly at my fascinated audience. “I’m very sorry about this, but something rather urgent has come up. No doubt the three of you have a lot to discuss, so if you’ll forgive me, I’ll leave you to it. Ted, I’ll let you have a full written report as soon as possible, but certainly by Monday at the latest.” I got to my feet. “I’d just like to say it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Prudhoe,” I added, reaching over his desk and seizing his hand in a firm grip. Poor sod, he still looked like he’d been hit by a half-brick. I seem to have this effect on men. Worrying, isn’t it?
Della Prentice followed me into the corridor. “Hell of a tale, Kate. You’ve done a great job. We’ll need a formal statement, of course,” she said. “When can we do the business?”
I glanced at my watch. It was getting on for three. “I don’t know, Della, I can’t see me being able to sit down with you until the weekend, at the very earliest. Surely you’ve got enough to get a search warrant on the addresses they’re using for the scam?” I opened my bag and took out my notebook, and copied down the addresses as I spoke. “Look, talk to Rachel Lieberman at DKL Estates. The woman you’re after is called Liz Lawrence and she works part-time in their Warrington office. And Ted can tell you all he knows about Jack McCafferty. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I’m really up against it.”
“OK. I can see you’ve got problems. Let me know when you’ve got the time to sit down and put it all together. And give me your mobile number so I can reach you if I need some background,” she
I was back behind the wheel of the Fiesta. I’d got a taxi to drop me off there that morning, since there was no need to keep up my surveillance now. I swung round via the office to pick up the laptop with Cheetham’s files, and a couple of my legal textbooks. I still hadn’t had the chance to plow through the files, so I had no idea what twisted little schemes the dead lawyer had been up to. But I had a shrewd suspicion that they might need a bit more knowledge of the ins and outs of conveyancing than I had in my head. Better to have it at my fingertips instead.
It was nearly five by the time I overtook the last quarry wagon and dropped down the hill into Buxton. I cruised past Lomax’s yard and clocked Alexis in her car. I had to admit I couldn’t have picked a better spot myself. She was tucked in between two parked cars, with an uninterrupted view through the windows of the car in front to Lomax’s yard. I parked round the corner and walked back.
I climbed into the Peugeot, shoving a pile of newspapers and sandwich wrappers on to the floor. “Better be careful the bin men don’t come round and claim you,” I said. “Any action?”
Alexis shook her head. “There are two vans. The one that Lomax drives and an identical one. The other one’s been in and out a couple of times, but he hasn’t shifted.”
“Unless of course he’s lying in the back of the other van disguised as a bag of cement,” I pointed out. Alexis looked crestfallen. Oh great, now I felt even more guilty. “Don’t worry, it’s not likely. He doesn’t know anyone’s watching him. Cheetham’s death has been written off as an accident. As far as he knows, he’s perfectly safe. Now, you can sod off home and let me earn a living instead of taking the bread out of my mouth,” I added.
“Don’t you want me to hang on? In case he makes a run for it?” she asked, almost wistfully.
“Go home, have a cuddle with Chris. If he was planning to disappear
She sighed, one of those straight-from-the-heart jobs. “OK,” she said. “But I don’t want this guy to get away.”
I opened the car door. “Don’t forget, there’s the small matter of proof,” I said. “Now Cheetham’s dead, Lomax can claim he did nothing dishonest. T. R. Harris is a business name, no more, no less. He just showed prospective buyers the land. He had no idea who bought it or when. Now, you and I know different, but I’d like to be in a position to prove it.”
Alexis groaned. “All I want is a lever to get our money back, Kate. I don’t care if he comes out of it all smelling of roses.”
“I hear and obey, oh lord,” I said, getting out of the car. “Now shift this wheelie bin and let the do
She waved as she drove away and I slipped the Fiesta into the space she’d left. I flipped open the laptop and accessed the WORK.L directory. The files were sorted into two directories. One was called DUPLICAT, the other RV. The files in RV each related to a house purchase. In some cases, the house had been sold about five months later, always at a substantial profit. I was about to check out the addresses in my A-Z when a white Transit van appeared in the gateway of Lomax’s yard. My target was at the wheel. Fast as I could, I closed the laptop and dumped it on the passenger seat.
Don’t let anyone tell you being a private eye is a glamorous way to earn a living. I followed Lomax from his yard to his house. Then I sat in the car for two hours, plodding wearily through Martin Cheetham’s files. The houses in RV were all in the seedier areas south and east of Manchester city center—Gorton, Longsight, Levenshulme. The kind of terraced streets where you can buy run-down property cheap, tart it up and make a modest killing. Or at least, you could do until the bottom started to drop out of the North West property market a few months ago. Looking at these files, it seemed that Lomax and Cheetham had been doing this on a pretty substantial scale. I did a quick mental calculation and
Suddenly we were in a whole new ball game. I wasn’t looking at a pair of small-time operators chiselling a few grand on a dodgy land deal. I was looking at big money. They could have cleared as much as three-quarters of a million in the last year. But they must have had a substantial pot to buy the houses in the first place. Where the hell had the seed money come from to generate that kind of business?
While I’d been doing my sums, the last of the light had faded. I began to feel pretty exposed, which in turn made me feel deeply uncomfortable. I couldn’t help remembering that less than a week ago someone had wanted to warn me off something so badly they’d taken the risk of killing me. If they were still around, I made a hell of a target, sitting all by myself in a car.