Silent Money Page 15

  A buffer bank account was used to hide Avalon Travel’s corporate set-up from clients. The scheme was deceptively simple. Along with a few genuine bookings from people who walked past the shopfront and popped in to find out more, all Michael’s criminal clients’ monies were paid into the company account as cash, seemingly from customers who didn’t want to pay by cheque when booking their summer holiday. The money was transferred to an offshore account in the name of a fictional package operator, from there to a Swiss bank account, and finally back to a Scottish bank account with no connection to Avalon. This money was now inside the banking system, clean as a whistle, and could be paid back to the criminal clients who had given them their money in the first place.

  The estate agency was even easier to operate. Most criminal clients’ money would be identified as cash deposits to acquire property, and the rest would be disguised as rent paid by fictitious customers to fictitious landlords. An existing company was purchased to make it look convincing, Jenkins blending the laundered money in with the genuine business.

  Michael’s operation was able to continue growing using only the capacity of his new businesses; no more smurfs were recruited. It was bigger, faster and more controlled. It all looked so believable, Michael even invited Charlotte to the office to see how her money was being used. His pride in what he had achieved, his eagerness to impress her with the success of his business, blinded him to the risk he was taking.

  It was his first mistake.

  Ron and Michael had been having a meeting with Big Jockie at the travel agents, a rare occurrence, to talk about the latest smurf defection, when Charlotte turned up unannounced. Ron, Big Jockie and Michael were in the manager’s office, the door slightly ajar. Charlotte had been shopping nearby, she told the receptionist, and wanted to drop off some bags until she was ready to return home. Michael heard her ask if he was free, the receptionist’s floundering only making matters worse.

  He had no option but to make the introductions.

  ‘This is Jockie McPherson. He handles the admin side of the operation. And of course you know Ron.’

  Charlotte stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing with horror and suspicion. Ron gave a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement. Big Jockie remained silent, his face devoid of all expression.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb,’ she said, her voice strangled with emotion. ‘I’ve got to be going now. Really, I have.’ Before Michael could react, she turned and fled.

  She was in tears that evening.

  ‘That man works for you?’ she said. ‘Michael, how can you stand there and say he runs your flipping admin? I always thought Ron looked a dubious character, but I tried to tell myself not to be such a snob. But that other man? He looks pure evil. How is someone like that a part of your organisation?’

  Michael tried his best to convince her, told her she was being silly, not to judge people by their appearance, but she was having none of it.

  ‘And I want to know something else. A lot of people we help at Second Chance are dropping out. What’s that about? I try to ignore rumours but what I hear is that they are getting recruited for some criminal enterprise by a dodgy-looking bloke who promises them a great life if they go to work for him. Then they find he’s got a great brute of a man who terrorises them into doing whatever’s asked of them. From the description, the guy doing the recruiting sounds a lot like Ron. And now I think I know who the other one is. What are you mixed up in, Michael? Is Ron a criminal? Who is Jockie McPherson and what does he do? Tell me. Please?’

  ‘It’s all nonsense, what you’re hearing, Charlotte. Who’s telling you these stories? You know the foundation and Second Chance mean more to me than anything. That’s why I work so hard to try to be successful. Not for my own good, but so I can help others.’

  Charlotte burst into tears. ‘I want to believe you, Michael, I really do. My money’s helping you grow, isn’t it? That means I’m mixed up in this too. I’m not stupid. You don’t need people like that man working for you if you’re running a travel agents. I’m scared, Michael. What are you up to?’

  ‘You’ve got to trust me, Charlotte. They’re not criminals and neither am I. I’ve told you that already. You need to believe me. Yes, McPherson’s a brute of a man. We even have a nickname for him, Big Jockie. But I’m giving someone a chance. He has a violent past, and he’s trying to put that behind him. He struggled to find a respectable job, and I wanted to help him make a fresh start. I see the best in people, Charlotte. Is that really such a bad thing?’

  Charlotte said evenly, ‘Exactly what sort of work does he do, Michael? If I walked into a travel agents and saw him, I’d run a mile. Or do you want me to believe he sits with a slide rule all day, calculating commissions? I don’t like it, Michael.’

  ‘He runs errands for me, a sort of trouble-shooter. Helps Ron with the logistics of our tax-consultancy business. I find him useful to have around, that’s all.’

  Michael could see that she was listening, wanting to believe him, but not really convinced.

  ‘Look, Charlotte, there’s something I’ve been waiting to talk to you about, but I wanted to make sure all the expansion plans were in place and the new businesses were doing well before I broached it. But I’d like to expand the Avalon Foundation to be twice, maybe three times as big once we get into next year and I’ve paid back your loan. I know we discussed you running the show once you’ve graduated, but we’re talking about something much bigger now and everything will need to be on a proper corporate footing. I’d like you to be the managing director, chose your own team to work for you. It’s a big responsibility but I know you’re up to it. It would be a great start to your career. What do you say?’

  ‘Are you serious? Last time we spoke it was a part-time job and giving ten thousand a year to charity. You want to increase that?’

  ‘I do. I want you to have sole charge of the foundation’s direction. We’ll be able to help so many more people. Now, does all that sound like the actions of a blood-thirsty criminal?’

  Whether Charlotte was convinced was a moot point, but the whole incident had shown Michael that no matter how careful he was, there was always a chance his activities could attract unwanted attention. He needed to be sure that if that ever happened, he would be made aware before it became an issue.

  Kenny McGowan’s words kept coming back to him. Get inside information, he had told Michael, if you want to be sure that you’re not in danger. He’d convinced himself that he’d ticked that box by cosying up to Mary’s policeman father when he started out. But he was kidding himself if he thought the occasional slightly awkward exchange whenever he bumped into him at a Rotary Club event constituted an inside track as to what Glasgow’s Fraud Squad was up to. He had to do this properly, find someone in the force who was on the take and get them on his payroll. But it needed to be handled with the utmost sensitivity; choose the wrong target and everything could come crashing down.

  Ron started dropping a few hints to his more sophisticated clients that he was looking to improve his police intelligence, fishing for the name of someone he could approach. But he was met with a wall of silence; no one wanted to talk. Just as he was about to give up, one of his customers, Charlie O’Connor, was arrested for allegedly running a numbers racket on the South Side. Ron told Michael about it so that Jenkins could put the procedures in place to make sure their operation wouldn’t go the same way.

  The next day, Michael read in the paper that O’Connor had been released on bail. He was surprised. The guy was a career criminal and from what he had learnt so far about how the criminal justice system worked, someone like O’Connor getting bail was unlikely, to say the least. He got Ron to find out more, and was told that the operation was uncovered based on a tip-off from a disgruntled punter and that all the gambling records and betting slips had been seized.

  ‘He’d better enjoy his time on the outside while it lasts,’ R
on told Michael. ‘The cops have more than enough to put him away. But not to worry, we go way back. He won’t breathe a word about our operation.’

  A few days later, there were further developments. The most serious charges of fraud and running an illegal gambling operation were dropped, the reason given being lack of evidence. That only left tax evasion, which carried a hefty fine but generally not a custodial sentence. Despite Ron’s belief that jail time was a certainty, it looked like Charlie O’Connor wouldn’t be behind bars after all.

  ‘There’s only one explanation,’ Michael said to Ron. ‘O’Connor’s had some help. First, he gets bail; then the incriminating evidence is watered down. Find out who did this for him. That’s the guy we want working for us.’

  ‘I know O’Connor well, but he wouldn’t give me that,’ Ron replied. ‘Even if he’s got a bent copper looking out for him, the last thing he’ll do is volunteer his identity. He’s a bit of a pillock, but he’s not that daft. He’d a need lot more persuasion than I’d be able to give him. Big Jockie-style persuasion.’

  ‘And this guy’s a friend of yours?’

  Ron laughed. ‘Not a friend. An acquaintance. Actually, not even that. He’s just somebody who’s been around a while.’ He laughed again. ‘A wee visit from Big Jockie might get him cooperating. Want me to try?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘He’s a client of ours. He’s done nothing wrong, just the opposite. You said he’d keep his mouth shut through all this, and that’s turned out to be true. If he plays by the rules, he can’t be punished. There has to be another way.’

  ‘He’ll not be a client much longer. He’d be mad to start up his operation again, and the fines and legal costs will clear out all the money we’re holding for him. And that’s not counting what he’s bunging his bent copper.’

  ‘Okay, that’s our angle. O’Connor’s strapped for cash, and it’s in everyone’s interest he doesn’t do anything foolhardy in the short term. You approach him, make him a business proposition. He introduces you to whoever’s been looking out for him. If that person wants to talk to us, O’Connor has no money worries for the next six months or so.’

  Ron shook his head. ‘I run the street operation, find the clients, manage the smurfs,’ he told Michael. ‘I don’t go meeting with cops. I’ll put the offer to O’Connor. But I don’t do the hiring. If you want a cop on board, you need to do the asking.’

  ‘This is your world, Ron. Not mine. It’s your operation the cop would be listening out for. That’s why you need to meet him.’

  ‘I say we don’t take the risk. Everything is fine at the moment; I do everything I can to keep our operation from showing up on the police radar. I don’t think we should be looking for trouble. If trouble comes along, let’s deal with it then.’

  Nothing Michael said could convince him. The only concession was that Ron would put the proposition to O’Connor and report back to Michael on the outcome. Michael got the news a few days later.

  ‘First he told me to fuck off, denied that anyone had helped him, but when I told him the cash we were prepared to pay for his help he got interested. You’re right, he’s looking at a hefty fine. He was even considering getting right back into the game the minute he paid his fines. Mug.’

  ‘So, what happens next?’

  ‘He’ll contact the guy who helped him out, tell him he knows someone who has a proposition for him, without giving anything away. He’ll say his friend is not into heavy stuff and only needs a pair of eyes and ears in the force, that’s all. Then we wait to see what the response is.’

  A week later, Michael found himself in a Rutherglen Wimpy, waiting for Detective Sergeant Grant to turn up. As he waited, Michael realised Ron had been right to be concerned. At any moment he feared the scream of police sirens, a tap on his shoulder, a dead-pan voice telling him he was under arrest. It took all his strength to fight off his paranoia and wait for Grant’s arrival. The man would be mad to turn him in, Michael thought, take the risk his life of corruption would be exposed. It didn’t make the waiting any easier.

  When Grant arrived, it was anticlimactic. He asked Michael what he wanted to be kept informed about, and listened stony-faced as Michael told him.

  ‘I make money disappear,’ Michael said. ‘So, I need to know if there is ever a task force set up to investigate money laundering, if some punk ever tells the police he has someone doing this for him, or if my name ever gets mentioned. And for that, I’m prepared to pay.’

  ‘I don’t like your type,’ Grant told him. ‘Your pretensions to be a businessman. But you were smart about how you got in touch. Discreet, low key. That I like.’ He took a paper napkin out of the dispenser on the table and wrote something on it. ‘This is how much.’ Grant handed Michael the napkin.

  A thousand pounds a month; what he had been expecting.

  ‘That’s a big number,’ he said.

  ‘If you say no, the next time you ask it’ll be bigger,’ Grant replied. ‘I like to keep things simple.’ He took the napkin back. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Michael nodded.

  Grant smiled. ‘Well, son, we have an arrangement. A thousand pounds a month, even if I’ve nothing to report. I get to use your services for free when I want to. And I get the right to say no if you ask me to look somewhere that I think is too risky to poke my nose into. I only ever speak with you, and when I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it.’

  As Grant got up to leave, Michael gave him the most cursory of handshakes. He sat alone in the café afterwards, bridling at Grant’s arrogance and supercilious manner. With that sort of attitude, he could imagine Grant pushing for more cash if there ever was an investigation. And if that came to pass, it would be when Michael needed him the most.

  Michael thought back to Kenny McGowan’s advice on strategy. Always have a plan B. He got Ron to check Grant out, to see what his weaknesses were. It didn’t take long. One of Ron’s contacts operated a brothel just off Blythswood Square, an upmarket operation catering for the more discerning customer. He’d confided to Ron that one of his punters was a middle-ranking married detective, Davie Grant, who had a weakness for the ladies, but one that was only usually reciprocated on a professional basis.

  Michael’s plan started to take shape when he was told of an unusual property that had come on the books. A block of tenement flats had been refurbished in an up-and-coming part of Maryhill. The communal stair toilet had been rendered defunct by the installation of a bath and WC in every flat; fireplaces had been blocked up and replaced by central heating. But one flat was different. It was next to the old shared toilet included in the particulars; but rather than incorporating it into the flat, the builders had left it alone, so it was billed as a ‘useful external storage’. Michael went to have a look. Sure enough, the toilet was on the other side of the bedroom wall. Knock a hole in the wall, install a two-way mirror and you’d have a perfect set-up for surveillance and blackmail. He worked out how cheaply he could buy the flat and got his manager at the estate agency to convince the seller it was the best offer he’d get. Once it was his, he had it furnished and had the mirror installed, and a microphone set into a power socket on the bedroom skirting board. It would be perfect for taking out a nice insurance policy against any troublemakers.

  Ron booked a session with one of the girls in the brothel, and after enjoying her services he talked her into doing a little freelance work with the detective. Grant found himself the recipient of some flattering attention at his favourite watering hole and required little persuasion to head off to his new admirer’s flat for some special attention. After three visits Michael had all the photos and sound recordings he needed, and DS Grant’s nights of passion ended abruptly.

  Michael congratulated himself on his foresight. The flat could be a useful honeytrap again in the future. Definitely an asset to hang on to.

  * * *

  In the meantime,
he had a new thing to worry about, a campaign of intimidation from Ivan. Another smurf had been bragging down at his local boozer about the easy money to be made paying in cash to the smurfing bank accounts, only to be cornered by a group of Ivan’s thugs a few nights later.

  ‘I despair at how moronic these guys can be,’ Ron complained to Michael. ‘I tell them, over and over again, about how dangerous it is to let anyone know they’re part of this, and yet after a few drinks there’s always somebody who can’t keep their mouth shut. And paying them more makes it worse. The more money they get, the more they spend and the more they can’t resist telling their mates about the easy life they’ve stumbled into.’

  ‘I suppose it helps us weed out the loose cannons. That’s something we can thank Ivan for. This intimidation can’t go on forever. He’ll eventually see there’s no benefit in continually hassling us and as we switch more of the laundering through the new business, there will be fewer people in the street handling cash. Another good reason for getting out of smurfing.’

  Ron looked more worried than pleased by the prospect.

  ‘There is a downside to having fewer smurfs. It means there’s going to be a lot less enforcing for Big Jockie to do. I think that’s going to be a problem.’

  Michael was surprised. ‘In what way? He gets paid regardless.’

  ‘That’s what’s bothering me. If Big Jockie’s sitting around doing nothing, it’s going to be difficult to stop him freelancing on the side. Maybe he even starts putting out feelers to find if there is someone more in need of his talents. If he’s not working for us full time, maybe he shouldn’t be working for us at all. Do we still need him, once the smurfs are gone?’

  Michael thought for a moment. ‘I think we do. He’s an asset that you never know when you’re going to need. I’d feel too exposed in this business if it was just the two of us, what with Ivan’s intimidation or anything else that comes along. I don’t want to lose him.’