The Crime Trade Read Online Free PDF

save himself from a long prison sentence, after being set up in a similar sting by undercover police. It was fair to say that Robbie O'Brien lived and breathed the illegal. Asking if he could have talked, particularly if talking resulted in a profit for him, was like asking if whores have sex or Christians believe. It was pretty much a rhetorical question. Except for one thing.
'We never told him the details of the op,' I said. 'I didn't even know them myself until a few hours ago. I set up the introductions between the informant and Stegs, and I've spoken to him since then, but only about other matters, so if he knew anything about this meeting, he didn't hear it from us. And anyway, how would he have known that Stegs and the Colombians were going to end up in the car park with the money and the drugs?'
Eyes now returned to Stegs, who shrugged. 'Robbie O'Brien was involved in setting up today's meeting. He had to be: the Colombians were his contacts, not ours. And he was involved all along as well, at least up until a few days back. But I never told him the location, and I'm sure Yokes didn't either. Like you, John' - he nodded towards me - 'we didn't know it ourselves until a few hours back. Fellano likes to leave those sort of things to the last minute, for obvious reasons. O'Brien might have guessed, I suppose, because he knew Fellano had met people at this hotel before. And he would have been aware that Fellano was flying in in the last few days, but I haven't spoken to him since Sunday, so I can't see how he'd have known the timing.'
We're going to have to bring O'Brien in for questioning,' said Flanagan, also looking at me.
We're on the case, sir,' said Tina firmly, making doubly sure
that Flanagan knew she was there too. 'We've already called the station and they're searching for him.' 'No joy yet?'
'Not yet, but we'll get him,' she said confidently, a tone in her voice suggesting that you wouldn't want to be Slim Robbie when she got her hands on him. Tina Boyd might have looked like the pretty, college-educated girl from a good, middle-class family that she was, but you know what they say about appearances. She was a far tougher cookie than most people gave her credit for, and I would have almost felt sorry for Robbie if he hadn't been such a scumbag.
At that moment, a mobile rang shrilly. It was Malik's. He removed it from his pocket, and I noticed with some amusement that it was a new and predictably flash little number that probably doubled as a pocket PC and digital camera. Typical. With Malik, appearances weren't deceptive. He looked like the smart, young, gadget-carrying go-getter that he was. He spoke into the minuscule mouthpiece of the phone briefly, then listened for about twenty seconds, writing something in his notebook as he did so. Finally he hung up with a curt goodbye.
'Ashley Eric Grant,' he said, reading out what he'd just written. 'Also known as - and I'm not sure if he took this as a compliment or not - "Strangleman". Fingerprints have just identified him as the dead robber.'
Flanagan, now standing, looked round the table. 'Anyone know that name?' he asked hopefully. 'Ring any bells with anyone?'
'I never saw any of those blokes before in my life,' said Stegs, lighting another cigarette.
Flanagan's gaze got round to me, and I sighed loudly, wondering how much worse this day could possibly get, then told him and the room that, yes, I knew exactly who Ashley 'Strangleman' Grant was.
Ashley Grant allegedly got the nickname Strangleman years back in the Tivoli Gardens ghetto of Kingston, Jamaica, where he'd grown up. The story went that as a drug dealer and gunman loosely affiliated to the Jamaican Labour Party, or JLP, which ran that particular area, his very individual method of disposing of rivals was to have them impaled on meathooks before disembowelling them with a large butcher's knife. He would then, it was claimed, strangle the unfortunate victims with their own entrails while they choked out