The Sacred Band Ch. 15

Now the characters are all introduced - and we enter the final part of the story. Thanks to anyone who has maintained enough interest to get to this stage. New readers might care to back-track to the beginning...

Chapter fifteen: Rotkoff - fighting back, part one.

Dr. and Mrs. W. Butler - Rugby

Michael Hanson and Adrian Calke - Birmingham

Patrick Kavanagh - Wolverhampton

Edgar Abrams - Birmingham

Charles and Diane Rollinson - Walsall

Ivy was in charge of the Bishop Street reference library the following morning, and, working together, she and Philip spent a useful couple of hours. By midday Philip knew something about all five of the names on Rotkoff's paper.

All featured in stories in the West Midlands local papers over the past three or four years. None of the people had clearly been murdered, but all died in circumstances giving rise to suspicion. Philip was forced to believe that Rotkoff was in deadly earnest and that his life, and those of his loved ones were under threat unless he gave in.

He urgently needed to tell those most deeply involved what sort of threat they were under. Philip was not sure he could trust the office telephone, so whilst Joan manned the office, he called on Denise at her home. She stuck a small malt whisky into his hand, and gestured to a chair.

"Philip dear, how lovely to see you. If you had let me know I should have come in and met you at the office. There are always things to do in the centre of town. I take it you haven't come to play?"

"No my love, this is not a social call. A really bad situation has arisen, and it affects all of us. How can you and Andy, Donald, Laura and myself get together without attracting any attention?"

"A restaurant might be the best. You take Laura out for an evening, and Andy and Don and I will accidentally meet you there. Don's the man. I'll get him to suggest somewhere where we can be guaranteed privacy. I'll tell Laura the place on some pretext. Don't worry, we'll sort it all out."

That Friday evening, Laura and Philip drove out to their rendezvous at the Mardi Gras Roadhouse on the Six Hills Road. They arrived at a non-descript large, low building. It had evidently started life as a motor car showroom whose builders thought that, with cheap enough occupancy costs they could flout the laws of location.

Empty for over a decade after 1935, it was now metamorphosed into a nightclub of a kind familiar in the roads south and west of London, but a rarity in the midlands and north.

Short-skirted waitresses and evening gowned hostesses, all of them with beautiful, bright smiles and at least a veneer of sophistication decorated the place. The Mardi grass was established as a private club, so membership took 24 hours; but a generous policy on signed-in guests complied with the law and satisfied the customers.

The club served expensive, but genuine drinks. Unlike the clipjoints of Soho; what you read on the bottle was what you got in your glass. The champagne was champagne, the Teachers whisky was Teachers.

The food, too, was expensive but good and well served. The music was superb. A piano trio played fro dancing on weeknights and, at weekends, one of the owners, Bruno Canelli, led a five piece jazz-oriented dance band that drew people from four counties.

At around nine pm. Laura and Philip stood at the door and surveyed the large, low-ceilinged room with its obligatory haze of cigar and cigarette smoke. They saw clusters of white-clothed tables surrounding the small central dance floor.

Down the room, the eye was drawn to the small stage with a runway where scantily-clad dancers , who got even more scantily clad after midnight, danced and sang routines clearly derived from MGM musicals. At one corner of the room, a small triangular dais housed the band, with a piano (unused this evening) and a full drum kit.

From the bandstand, Bruno gave them a nod of recognition. Ginny and Jenny, looking very much at home, smiled at them from their privileged positions on the band wives table.

They followed the long, black-stockinged legs of the lovely waitress who showed them to their reserved table and ordered drinks. Ten minutes later they saw Ivy, in another beautiful cocktail dress, walk in with Donald.

They seated themselves in the vacant places. Philip greeted them effusively and ordered drinks for them. As they were reading the menus and making small-talk, Andy and Denise arrived.

Philip, taking on the role of host, insisted that the new arrivals joined them, and made the waitresses bustle about setting two more places and bringing up chairs.

To an uncritical eye, the scene, with its three dinner jacketed men, and three evening-dressed women crowded on a table for four, looked just like a happy accidental meeting of old friends.

As the smoked salmon pate starters arrived, Donald broke into the small-talk.

"Bruno has a share in this place. He has known these people since his Army days. He says they are utterly reliable, and trustworthy. He has helped them out once or twice when the Nottingham gangs tried to muscle in on the action, and they are only too happy to help in any way at all. Danny the manager has made sure that nobody iffy can overhear us."

There was a tension at the table, as the summons was clearly urgent and important, and there was a sort of hesitance, or reluctance in the way that everyone took their time choosing meals and drinks.

Now that everyone was assembled in response to his urgency, Philip was at a loss how to start. Andy saw his hesitation and began.

"This is about Rotkoff, isn't it Phil?"

"Yes, that's right. You were dead right about him - the man's a monster."

Laura looked at him in bewilderment. It did not take a genius to see that the meeting a couple of days previously had gone badly. but once Philip had come back to the office alone, she had jumped up, kissed his cheek and hurried back to the university library to get in a couple of hours' work on an overdue essay.

Since then, with Joan back in the office, she and Philip had had scarcely time to exchange a greeting.

Philip looked a little embarrassed. He knew that Laura would be hurt at having been kept in ignorance of the threat posed by Rotkoff, but it could not be hidden any longer.

"I'm sorry that I kept this from you, darling, but I hoped that nothing would come of it, and I didn't want to worry you. Rotkoff has been spying on the business. His men had got in and copied all our files and he knew all about the business. Yesterday he came along to demand that I buy out Denise and Don's shareholdings and make him our sole client."

"But that's outrageous," Laura burst out. Donald and Denise, shock in their faces, were exclaiming in angry whispers. Andy grasped Denise's hand, and held up his own, in a well-practised gesture, to command silence.

"Rotkoff is a dangerous criminal, and a crafty one too. We planted hidden microphones in the office to try to get something on him yesterday, but he was too clever for us."

"Yes", Philip continued, "he stuck to small talk in the office, and then suggested a walk. It wasn't until we had got well away from the office that he gave me an ultimatum, and this list."

Just at that moment the band ended its first set with Bruno singing Louis Jordan's great song Let the Good Times Roll, giving the alto sax player free rein for four, rousing, consecutive blues choruses that the small audience greeted with prolonged applause.

Conversation stopped for a well-deserved final round of applause. Bruno slipped off the bandstand, in so far as so huge a man could be said to slip, and he came over, greeted everyone warmly and pulled up a chair. The prettiest waitress watched his every move and immediately brought him a pint.

For some time he listened in silence.

As Philip spoke he passed around copies of the list of names. They all read them carefully, but the names meant nothing to any of them except Ivy.

His voice sharp with tension, Philip told what he had discovered.

"All these people have died in suspicious circumstances in the past couple of years. Rotkoff strongly implied that they turned down his offers of so-called 'partnership', and that he was responsible for their deaths.

First of all, the Butlers. Dr. Butler was a very respected dentist; he inherited a thriving wine-merchant's business in Rugby. Rotkoff wanted it, maybe as a cover for drug smuggling, or whatever.

Butler refused, and a couple of week later his house burned down in the night and all five of them were killed. Three little ones they had; the oldest was eight."

Everyone around the table exclaimed in shock and horror. Philip paused, a stricken look on his face. He was sharply aware of how vulnerable his mother would be to a house fire.

Andy Summerston took up the story.

"Rotkoff was suspected, but the police couldn't put a case together. It could very easily have been a case of arson, but if so it was rigged to look like an electrical fire that started in the kitchen.

George Torrens, my old oppo in Brum, is certain sure that Rotkoff was responsible, and that's what came from his snouts in Brum. After that, people really began taking Rotkoff seriously."

Philip continued,

"That was four years ago. Next came Michael Hanson and Adrian Calke. They jointly owned one of the top estate agencies in the West Midlands. Hanson worked out of the office at the Bullring, Calke had an office in Solihull. Calke was the finance man and Hanson was the salesman. Their fathers, who stared the business, had been great friends, but the sons did not really get on outside business.

That's why everyone was amazed when they were found dead together in a hotel room. Hanson's throat was cut and Calke was stabbed through the heart with a big kitchen knife. They were both naked, and it looked like a homosexual suicide pact.

The newspapers had a field day about it. Michael Hanson and Adrian Calke, the owners of Hanson, Calke and Partners, in a sensational double suicide, and they died in bed together in a somewhat disreputable hotel in Solihull.

Their deaths were officially regarded as suicide. A week or so later, Stephen Rotkofff presented himself at the solicitor's and produced signed documents dated a few days earlier, agreeing the sale of their business to him for £5,000 'and other valuable considerations.'

Calke had paid Rotkoff's cheque for £5,000 into his bank account the day before he died. Their families flatly refused to believe that they were bisexual, and fought a losing legal battle to keep possession of the business."

"You can't rule out them leading double lives", said Donald knowledgeably. Ivy nodded agreement. "You'd be surprised how far people go to keep their secret from their family and friends. On the other hand it was a perfect smokescreen for a double murder."

"Was any traces of drugs found in the bodies; any unusual bruises or ligature marks?" Hugo asked. "For murder to be rigged to look like suicide, they had to be got to the hotel room and the scene set. A couple of old Special ops mates of mine specialized in doing jobs like that for MI6 and it's very much their style."

"We don't know all the details, only what appeared in the inquest report, but the police and the pathologist didn't see anything suspicious. "

"Anyway", Donald summed up. "Rotkoff claims it as his doing, and he certainly got what he wanted out of it. Let's give it the benefit of the doubt. Go on Phil."

"Patrick Kavanagh ran the Windsor Castle public house in the centre of Wolverhampton. It was a very successful pub, where the local Rotary and a couple of Oddfellows lodges met.

Kavanagh was a fairly tolerant man, and the police had been on at him once or twice for letting one of his barmen take illegal betting slips, but a year or so ago, according to Andy's friend, some of Rotkoff's men were seen selling drugs in the lavatories out the back, and Kavanagh threw them out bodily and kicked them half-way across the road.

Two days later when he was taking the cash to the bank, he was killed in a blatant hit and run accident. The car was stolen a quarter of an hour beforehand and dumped five minutes later.

You can see the picture now, so I'll be brief. Both Abrams and the Rollinsons had something Rotkoff wanted. Abrams ran an accountancy business with many of the biggest businesses in the City on its books. He was attacked, robbed and beaten to death late at night, and Rotkoff produced papers to prove that he owned 55% of the business. Now he owns it all.

The Rollinsons had a transport business that Rotkoff wanted to make use of. They turned him down. Rotkoff apparently took it amiably enough, but a week later they died when their canal-boat exploded. Now, according to Andy's informants, Rotkoff has the business community scared stiff".

Donald interrupted, asking the question in all their minds.

"Yes, but can't the police do anything?"

"Well", Andy responded cautiously, "most of this comes from my police sources. They have been quietly putting two and two together. Maybe, if people who were threatened went to the police and made a complaint, the police would investigate, but they would have to have some evidence to go on.

Rotkoff is clever and cautious. Philip was our best chance of getting something on him. I thought we might get something by bugging the office, and I made dead sure it didn't go through official police channels, so as to reduce the risk of it getting back to him.

I don't think Rotkoff knew anything but still he made damned sure that nothing he said went on wire."

"Yes", said Philip. "He even told me that the piece of paper he gave me was typed on my office typewriter and that it was worthless as evidence. If I produced it, it would look as if I was trying to fit him up for something he didn't do."

They were all silent for a minute or two as the complex situation sank in. In effect Rotkoff wanted Philip's business, and his skills, and he was determined to have them.

"Yes, but what is it all about,", asked Laura.

Philip replied, careful not to inflame the situation.

"I have read about this sort of thing in the USA. The Mafia families buy casinos in Nevada and Atlantic City. Then they can disguise the money they get from their criminal operations and look like legitimate businessmen.

Then they reinvest the casino profits in other legitimate businesses. They even own undertakers and even crematoria, so that they can dispose of bodies easily and cleanly. I think that Rotkoff is aiming to do the same thing in England."

This was a very shocking idea, but it brought the whole pattern together and made sense. But what to do?

Andy, with his experience in command, summed up.

"There seem to be only three options. Give in and become Rotkoff's tool. Safer in the short term, but decidedly dangerous in the long run.
The other two options are flight or fight."

"Flight is out". Philip said flatly. "My mother won't be moved, and I won't leave her. Besides, running is no answer. I've built my life around my business. I can't bear to see it corrupted and destroyed.

Besides, it doesn't just belong to me. Don and Denise have taken a big risk in backing me, and they deserve to be considered."

Denise and Donald both murmured dissent. They were adamant that they would not do anything to risk Philip and Laura's lives.

"Then that just leaves fight."

Andy was aware that his past as a senior policeman made his friends uneasy. It was time to put up or shut up.

"You all know what I was. I was a detective, and I believe I was a good one. I respected the rules, and tried hard to be fair, and to this day I have a clear conscience about the people who got banged up, and those who walked away.

You are all wondering if I can be trusted; am I a friend first, or a policeman first? Well, you deserve a straight answer from me. Let me make myself crystal clear. I am a friend first, middle and last. If you decide to fight, I am with you one hundred percent".

"Me too," said Bruno firmly. "I was a sergeant in the Royal Marine Commando, got seconded to S.O.E. and spent four years in Special Ops. I specialised in demolition.

You know the murder of the two estate agents? Well, that sounds just like the sort of thing a couple of our special units used to do.

Remember, after the war, there was a bit of fuss about the way some of the local bigwigs on Jersey and Guernsey assisted the Germans to deport the Jews to the Concentration camps? The Government kept schtum and the leading lights were given knighthoods and OBE's.

It's not just a coincidence that two of them died soon afterwards in car accidents, and another one fell off a cliff. Mates of mine were sent to tidy them up. Believe me, I shouldn't be telling you this, but I really want you to understand."

Bruno Canelli, thought Laura; sitting there as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; pint beer tankard looking tiny in his huge hand; cuddly as a teddy bear; stalwart of the Borough Surveyor's Department. How little we know about people.

Philip turned ashen. "Now hold on a minute. I won't be a party to murdering anyone. My business isn't worth a human life."

"OK, Philip, take it easy. Nobody is suggesting killing anybody. I just wanted to make it clear that, if we decided to take some action, I am
not just up for it, but pretty well equipped to pull it off. And if push comes to shove, I have some pretty handy friends."

Suddenly the mood in the room had changed. Philip felt less hopeless. He was among real friends, who would back him all the way, and take real risks for his sake. It was one of the things about RAF life that he had valued. A spirit of camaraderie and mutual loyalty. He could feel tears swelling in his eyes. He came to a decision.

"Very well then, we'll fight. But how?"

Bruno had already started thinking ahead.

"Well, first of all we need more people. Joan will have to be involved, but she must be kept well away from the rough stuff. We must have Ivy and Ginny in on the planning. Ivy can co-ordinate our desk research. We really need to know about Rotkoff's living arrangements and his people."

"I can help with that, Andy contributed. "I've got good contacts in the West Midlands Police forces. Of course I shan't tell them too much but you can bet your bottom dollar they'll be glad to help behind the scenes."

"Ivy is already involved," said Laura. "Philip and she did the research on the list of names together. I should really like Judy in as well, and we can't do without Joan.

But also, we really need Mr. Gillespie and Dolly", said Laura. "They know so much, and they have such a network of friends all over the country. I don' know how they well be able to help, but we won't be complete without them."

"Yes, I agree entirely", said Andy. "Davy's the original cunning man. What he doesn't know isn't worth knowing."

Denise had the last word. "Well, the first thing we need to do is to get us all together. I think, Andy love, we are going to have a party."

Bruno returned to the band and the second set began. They ordered more drinks, and settled down for an evening of small talk, drinking and dancing.

***

Monday was, fortunately, warm and sunny for the time of year - shirtsleeves weather. Laura took Joan out for a sandwich lunch in Victoria Park. They sat on the grass companionably, and, when Laura was sure they were safe from prying ears, she told the whole story.

Joan was horrified, but more angry the frightened. She agreed to do everything she was told without question, however odd it might seem. Philip worked away quietly in the next few days.

Assuming that Rotkoff would be aware of his actions, Philip consulted his solicitor about dissolving the partnership and set a formal valuation in train.. He arranged for offer letters to be drafter to be sent to Donald and Denise.