An interview with Jaime Meyers

…

I went in and closed the door, leaning against it.  She glared at me, for a moment not recognising who it was, then the expression changed.

And it gave me a tell.

“You’re supposed to be in Venice,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, and yet here you are.”

“It’s all part of a witch hunt.  We’ve been down this road before, and like the last time, and the time before that, they’ve got nothing on me.  They know it and you should know it too, but if you’re retired, why are you here?”

“Your new best friend forever, Larry.  You know he wants me dead.”

“He says you killed his brother, but he’s never said anything about killing you, just getting justice for his brother.  Through the legal system.”

“Of course he would say that.  I assure you I had nothing to do with his brother’s death but that’s another story.”  I crossed to the chair and sat down taking a moment to look at her.

Drugs, alcohol and stress had taken the shine off what had once been a stunningly beautiful young woman.  The loss of her father and betrayal of her husband had taken their toll.

“If that’s the case perhaps you should tell me what happened so I can make up my own mind.  After all, there are always two sides to a story.”

I shook my head.  “That would be a pointless exercise.  Let’s talk about you instead, and the reason why you’re sitting in that chair.  Larry.  Until you took up with him, we had no idea who you were or what you were doing and had no reason to find out.  Larry, on the other hand, well, he’s shoulder deep in a shit pile of criminal activity, and my old boss, when I used to work for him, is very interested in everyone who even looks sideways at him.  So, bottom line, you’re only here because of him, and because of him I know everything there is to know about.”

“So you say, but there’s nothing to know.  Never was, and Larry is just a friend who’s going through a rough patch.”

“If you mean losing out on a fifty-million pound inheritance because he killed his brother is a rough patch, then your right.”

“I don’t know anything about that.  All I know is his wife is being difficult.”

“That’s the same line all married men use.”

Her expression sharpened conveying annoyance.  “It’s not that sort of relationship.” 

“Not what his wife is telling his mother back in Sorrento.  And that’s saying something considering how much Brenda hates his mother.”

A change in expression.  Another tell, a nerve hit.

“How do I know this?”  I asked the question for her.  “Simple, and perhaps I will give you a side of the story.  His mother crossed paths with one of my investigations back when I worked in intelligence as an analyst and I got to know her quite well.  As a favourable, knowing I was in a position to help, she asked me to watch over his brother, her youngest son.”

I could see the question before she could ask it.

“Before you tell me I didn’t do a very good job, I was at the handoff Larry sent him to that went bad, one he was told would be a simple briefcase exchange, and ended up having to defend him in what became an impossible situation.”

“What was in the briefcases?”

An odd question but I could see from the furrowed brow that she had seized on a significant detail.

“I don’t know and didn’t ask.  In my position, it was better not to know, but you can guess.  I’m sure you are aware of Larry’s interests.”

She didn’t say, but she knew.  My guess had been drugs on one side and money on the other.  It was anything but a simple job and my reasoning was Larry tried to keep it low-key using a lesser-known courier without backup, and someone found out.  With drugs and cask on that scale, it was too much of a temptation to pass up.

“Anyway, he was shot, not fatally, I patched him up, he called Larry and I stayed with him until Larry arrived, but left before Larry saw me, for obvious reasons.  If you talk to his mother she will verify everything I said.  She was still talking to him after I left and up to the point where he could see Larry coming.  After that. He was DOA at the hospital.  You can draw your own conclusions but 50 million is a great incentive to use a particular situation to get rid of a problem.”

“An interesting story, as you say, but I’m not likely to be asking anyone anything because I’m just not interested, in you or him.”

“As I said before, a pointless exercise.  But, interested or not, you will be helping us with our problem with Larry and his explosives.”

“‘I know nothing about that.”

“Well, let’s talk about something you do know about.  Emily Broadhurst, or to Wendy, Aunt May.”

The look on that fraction a second was both malevolent and fearful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shrugged.  “I thought you might say that.”  I took out my cell phone and dialled one of the two numbers displayed.  “Let’s bring them in and have a chat, see what they have to say.”  A voice answered on the other end.  “George.  Bring them in.”

“Stop.”  She glared at her lawyer.  “Give us the room.”

“I strongly suggest…”

“Give me the room.  Your objection is noted.”

Her lawyer reluctantly got up and left the room.  She glared at the policewoman standing by the door.

“Pretend she’s not here,” I said.  “She has to be here for your safety and is the very soul of discretion.”  I looked up at the camera.  “This is not to be recorded or observed, so camera off.”  I waited until the red light below the camera went off.

I could see she was about to say something, more than likely regrettable, but understandable.

“Let me say this before you say something you will regret.  You’ve been lying to me.  I don’t ask questions I don’t have answers to.  Because you started working with Larry, we went the extra mile on your life and operations.  You were there when the crates were delivered, as was Larry himself and he told you what was in there.  So, where there’s one lie, what is there you can say that cannot be taken with a grain of salt.”

“Be that as it may…”

“No.  You are the head of a criminal organisation.  It might be dressed up very cleverly to look like something else, but we have a very clear view of what goes on.  To be honest, we don’t care.  You’re not the focus of my ex-bosses obsession.  And, believe me when I tell you, I don’t like being Larry’s target.”

“Then make him disappear.”

“Unfortunately, despite what you and others might think, we did not unilaterally kill people for no reason, and, even if I still worked for that organisation, I wasn’t able to make people disappear.  The paperwork would be horrendous, along with endless external, internal and government reviews.”

“Then what do you want me to do?  I’m not an informer, nor will I become an informant.”  Spoken by a person who still thought they had a choice.

“You’re going to do what you negotiate with the police, who, despite your endless denials, are aware of the truth.  So, first things first, you are going to ignore Larry, and not proceed with any of the arrangements you may have agreed with him..  You can do that with plausible deniability, telling him leaving C4 in your warehouse was not an act of good faith since the police now want your hide for it.  Once again I will reiterate, I’m not interested in you, and nor is my ex-boss, so you are in a unique position to use whatever knowledge you have as leverage for your freedom.”

“And the matter you brought up?”

“Will never see the light of day, or be mentioned by anyone ever again.  Unless you break our agreement.  I used to have the best investigative team on the planet, and they can find anyone or anything, so if you’re thinking of running, don’t.  My ex-boss will have no hesitation in destroying you and your organisation.”

“And yet you say you work for no one.”

“Haven’t for years.  I retired and hope to stay that way, but my wife died, and Larry decided to come after me.  At the moment I don’t have much to live for, so if you want to get in my bad books, believe me you’ll not live to regret it.  When I walk out of this room, don’t get in my sights.”

“And why should I take you at your word?”

“I swear it on my wife’s grave.  Good enough?”

It seemed it was.

© Charles Heath 2022

Observing the enemy

…

“She’s not talking,” the detective who had been trying to get answers to various questions, said, after coming out of the room, looking somewhat exasperated.

I’d been watching him spar with her, and her legal representative telling her that unless the police had concrete evidence, she need not answer any questions, except with a ‘No comment’.  Not once though did she ask to leave, which she could do at any time.

That was interesting.

“I’m not surprised.  Technically she’s done nothing wrong, yet.  Perhaps we need to ask some different questions.”

He sighed.  “Then, by all means, do so.  I’ve been told you know more about her connection to Larry Fortescue, a person we are very familiar with, but this is a connection we’re not fully across yet.  You are aware we found several crates in one of her warehouses with his name on them, one of which had several blocks of C4 in it.  She claims it’s not hers and has no idea who it got there, but not the fact she knows him in passing.”

Denying as one would expect that there was more to the relationship other the acquaintances, and appropriate for so-called rival crime bosses.

“You have to admit, though, it’s not the sort of stuff your average beauty products sales person would have lying around.”

Nominally, she called herself a beautician who runs a chain of so-called health clinics which made the perfect front for other more nefarious activities, allegedly.  No one had yet proved without a doubt anything else happened there.

“These days nothing would surprise me.  Some of the chemicals we also found could very easily be ingredients for bombs, but she had the permits, and it’s all accounted for.  This is the first time we’ve been able to pull her in.”

“A routine check, or a tip?”

“Actually, someone called the hotline to say that men who looked like terrorists in a white van were unloading crates in a suspicious manner.  I kid you not, that was what we were told.”

Men who looked like terrorists.

“Now that Larry is implicated, well be happy to share what we have.  He would be a far likelier owner of the explosive, and this is a rare mistake on his part to leave his name on the crate.  This is the first lead we have on how he keeps one step ahead of us, using others to hold his stuff and why we can never find it in his possession.  He’ll deny it’s his and that it’s one of his enemies setting him up.”

“We’ve been trying to find him.”

“He’s in Sorrento Italy visiting his mother, and no doubt combining business with pleasure.  It’s no coincidence she is there, he’s looking for me.”

“Then he’ll be out of luck then.  Thanks for the info, I’ll get our people onto tracking him down.  He also has a few questions to answer.”

I looked at the screen on which I had been viewing the interview, noted the smug expression, and the body language that said she thought she was untouchable.

In a sense, she had every right to believe that.  She hadn’t been on Rodby’s radar until she took up with Larry.  Larry was Rodby’s obsession, why I never found out, and knew better than to ask.  Both she and Larry were well known to the police, and both had managed to keep out of jail because they were careful, though Larry had been far more careless in his younger days.

And for a person who was firmly entrenched, but more or less invisible in the criminal landscape, joining with Larry was her biggest mistake.

Rodby had brought a file with him and I read it in the car on the way here and it was another very thorough deep dive into a woman who for all intents and purposes was nothing like who she portrayed in real life.

A woman with secrets she believed were still intact.

Secrets I could use to gain some leverage, not that I ever liked doing so because often it involved innocents caught up in a world, not of their choice.

But she chose to be a criminal, and there were always consequences, unintended or otherwise.

Enough thinking, it was time.

© Charles Heath 2022

A file can be boring or interesting

…

Jaime Elizabeth Meyers was not your ordinary woman.  She had not been born into a criminal dynasty, far from it, she was the daughter of a local village vicar and devout mother, both of whom did their level best to drive her to push boundaries.

And eventually ending up in jail after committing an endless streak of petty crimes culminating in the accidental death of a friend.

That’s when she came to the attention of William Andrew Jackson who happened to be in court the same day and Si impressed with her larcenous behaviour, decided there and then he had to have her.

Jackson was only at the beginning of a career that would last twenty years and eventually get him ambushed and killed in horrendous circumstances in a vicious fight over turf.  He lost.

Jaime become a mother to three children, two of whom belonged to William; and a third to an unnamed lover that was assumed to be a member of that rival family that had arranged her husband’s death.  And the child  was such a well kept secret the investigative team only found out by chance, from a woman who made a very simple mistake.

It was not a subject the report dwelt on, just a footnote.  A very useful footnote.

The report noted the first instance of Jaime being contacted by Larry, and that simple act was enough for them to open a file.

The next process, after the basic identification was a surface scrape of easily obtainable facts about her.  Family, friends, acquaintances.  Property, bank accounts, businesses and associates.

It was where the extent of her business interests was unravelled.  Apparently, her husband set up the initial beauty salon for Jaime to amuse herself through the day, not intending to turn it into the business it did.

But, seeing an opportunity, William saw an opportunity to use the shop fronts as a means to distribute drugs and provide sex-based services.  While he was alive, she refused, seeing her efforts bearing fruit without having to resort to criminal activities

With the death of her husband, and them learning of the consequences of a man who had no head for business, found herself trying to survive unrepayable loans.  It led to having to implement the very services she hated just to survive

And she was discovering that it was a very lucrative service with a lot of very rich clients.

Products used in the salons and spa retreats came from France mainly and other places along with hidden drugs of all descriptions, and girls who worked in the establishments, legal or illegal came from the Baltic and Russian provinces, people who would do anything to stay.  At the very least it appeared she treated them very well.

Then there were the daily surveillance logs, and intercepted phone calls, including those to Larry.  It certainly read like it was not a marriage of convenience, but purportedly of mutual benefit though it seemed the benefit was all Larry’s, which begged the question of why she would acquiesce when she definitely didn’t need anything from him, or his assistance.

There were log entries over several days where deliveries of wooden crates had been made, and one in particular when Larry accompanied the crates.  What was in those crates may well have precipitated the raid, so it was an item of interest when I finally spoke to the police representative.

I hadn’t finished reading the file when the driver stopped outside the police station where Jaime was being questioned.  Rodby wasn’t coming with me.

“Play nice.  We need to question her about Larry, and, if possible, turn her against him.  Make sure she understands we’re not after her, unless, of course, she doesn’t co-operate and give us Larry.”

“She may not want to.  Her profile tells me we might not get anything out of her at all.”

“Then it’s up to you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

© Charles Heath 2022

A trip back home

…

“Should I draw any conclusion from you hiding in the bathroom?”

Cecilia was awake and sitting up when I came back into the room.

“Just needed to be away from any distractions.”

“Should I take it as a compliment you think me a distraction.”

“I meant it in a good way.  I’m glad you’re here, and I appreciate your perspective.  It means there’s a new plan.”

The bedside clock glowed at 4:15.  I climbed back into bed.  A plan formulated, it could wait a few hours to fill in the details.  “Get some sleep.  You’re going to need it.”

When I woke 4 hours later, Cecilia was gone and my phone was ringing.

“You’re in luck.”

Alfie.

It took a moment to register who it was, and what he was saying.

“How?”

“Rodby wants a meet, but we’ve been informed there’s going to be a raid on Larry’s girlfriend’s premises and they’re taking her in for questioning.  We’re arranging for you to visit.  You’ve got an hour to get to the airport.  I’m sending the details now.”

Rodby of old, summoning agents mid-mission, almost having to break cover, or upset the mission at a delicate point just so he could tell us something that very easily could be said over a secure line.

I had not missed him at all.

I got to the airport with ten minutes to spare, taking Cecilia with me to fill her in on the overall plan.  I told her to go off-grid until I returned.  Now she was in Juliet’s sights which meant Larry might target her, and even though she was quite able to look after herself, she didn’t need to take unnecessary risks.

The plane was not a commercial flight but a private jet Rodby had sent for me.  It was not subject to loading passengers or baggage both of which could go missing or be subject to late arrival of the incoming flight, or missing crew members on other such flights, all of which had happened to me many times in the past.

Urgency and commercial airlines didn’t seem to get along.

In these cases, it was simply a matter of getting on the plane, taking a seat and departing, all of which took a little more than 30 minutes.  Two and a half hours later I was on the ground at London City airport.

Rodby himself was there to greet me.

In the back of his ancient Rolls Royce, chauffeur-driven, of course, he smiled at me as he opened the door.  Beaumont was his name no first name just Beaumont.

He closed the door and then went back to the front of the car.  A few minutes of private conversation, even though I was sure he never listened.

“It is nice to see you again.  I’m surprised though you deigned to come considering your aversion to these meetings.”

“I’m not at a critical point in the mission, so why would I pass up a chance to fly in a Citation?  Send, for the record, I was hoping never to see you again.”

He smiled, well, maybe mother a smile but a smirk.  He once said I was the only one to tell him exactly what I thought and I corrected him the only one to say it to his face.

“If wishes were water.”

His favourite analogy though it took a while before I worked out what it mean.

“I’d need a boat.  Yes.  I know.  Now, why am I here, other than to see Denise.  Stupid question, if the police are aware of her activities, why did it take them so long to shake her down.”

“No concrete evidence.  As you are aware with these new lawyered-up criminals’ we have to be very precise when laying charges.  She’ll be very happy to learn her new best friend Larry has dropped her in it.”

“And I’m here to see her for?”

“Just to shake the trees and see what falls out.  She’s a tough cookie so you’re going to have to leave Mr nice guy at the door.”

Rodby never liked my interrogation style even though it got results.  I didn’t think he’d appreciate me saying I didn’t like violence which was to him an odd thing to say for one in this line of business.

I shrugged.  “I’ve made a note.  Anything else?”

“What are you intending to do now that Violetta has passed?”

“Not come back to rejoin your merry band of misfits.  I was thinking of living on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific ocean, one that doesn’t have an airstrip.”

“Well, if you change your mind, the door is always open.”

Conversation over, he waved to the chauffeur.  It was time to go.

© Charles Heath 2022