still have family there?’
‘From what I understand, sir, they didn’t have a good war,’ Vos says.
‘Shit. I’m sorry. But I am calling about your mystery dead man. The photographs were passed across my desk thirty minutes ago. I’m looking at them now. Not a pretty sight, eh?’
‘Not at all. Do you know him?’
‘I know him,’ Remmelink says. ‘His name was Okan Gul. And you are correct: he was a member of the Kaplan Kirmizi here in Amsterdam.’
‘That’s a long way from Turkey.’
‘They’ve spread across Europe like a bad case of crabs, Inspector. Here in Amsterdam we’d never heard of them until five, six years ago. Now they pretty much run the port and the red-light district. A shining example of pan-European integration, eh?’
‘And Okan Gul?’
‘He’s pretty high-ranking in the organization. His role is what I would describe as a middleman. You want to do business with the Kaplan Kirmizi, you deal with Okan Gul first. If he is satisfied, he will take your suggestion to the high command. The bosses never get their hands dirty with their own filth. It is the same with all successful criminal enterprises.’
‘What sort of business are they in?’
‘Narcotics, alcohol, cigarettes. Anything you like as long as it is lucrative.’
‘Are you aware of them doing any business in Newcastle?’
‘It comes as news to me, but then again I don’t see why not. Maybe they’ve opened up a new channel. In these tough economic times you have to get business where you can, I suppose.’
‘It would be very handy for our investigation if this could be confirmed, sir,’ Vos says.
‘Of course. I’ll find out what I can, although the Kaplan Kirmizi are not known for being talkative.’
‘I would appreciate it. But as far as Mr Gul is concerned, do you have any idea why someone in Newcastle might have wanted to hang him in front of a high-speed train on Sunday night?’
‘I can think of many reasons why someone would want to kill him, Inspector Vos. The KK have few friends. But the method sounds a little theatrical.’
‘It’s been suggested that it might have been a message.’
There’s a pause while Remmelink considers this. ‘Then it’s one hell of a message,’ he says. ‘More like a declaration of war if you ask me. And if that’s the case . . .’
‘That’s what I’m worried about, sir,’ Vos says. ‘The last thing I want is a war on my patch. If you do talk to your friends in the KK, I’d also appreciate it if you’d let them know they are not welcome in Newcastle. We’ve got enough problems with the locals on a Saturday night as it is.’
Remmelink laughs. ‘I’ve read about your Bigg Market, Inspector. Is it true the girls go out in miniskirts in the middle of winter?’
‘Trust me, Chief Inspector,’ Vos says, ‘you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Then maybe I will have to see for myself.’
‘The invitation is always open. Meanwhile I shall see what the great and the good of Newcastle know about the Turkish mob.’
An unmarked car on a busy street in Newcastle’s West End. Huggins and Fallow are watching a thickset Oriental in a shell suit walking purposefully towards a Chinese takeaway called The Mandarin Grill. He is smoking a cigarette, which he flicks into the gutter as he goes into the shop.
‘Let’s go,’ Huggins says.
They get out of the car and cross the street. There are plenty of Chinese in this part of town, and they all know who Huggins and Fallow are. But they also know the wisdom of minding their own business, and they ignore the two detectives as they go into the takeaway.
Behind the high counter there is an old woman with a face that looks like it has been carved out of ancient ivory. She is staring up at a portable TV on the wall, watching a daytime soap.
‘Afternoon, Mrs Kwok,’ Huggins says brightly as the door dings shut behind them and Fallow turns the sign to CLOSED . ‘Your Timmy in?’
She looks at them. Her eyes are
‘From what I understand, sir, they didn’t have a good war,’ Vos says.
‘Shit. I’m sorry. But I am calling about your mystery dead man. The photographs were passed across my desk thirty minutes ago. I’m looking at them now. Not a pretty sight, eh?’
‘Not at all. Do you know him?’
‘I know him,’ Remmelink says. ‘His name was Okan Gul. And you are correct: he was a member of the Kaplan Kirmizi here in Amsterdam.’
‘That’s a long way from Turkey.’
‘They’ve spread across Europe like a bad case of crabs, Inspector. Here in Amsterdam we’d never heard of them until five, six years ago. Now they pretty much run the port and the red-light district. A shining example of pan-European integration, eh?’
‘And Okan Gul?’
‘He’s pretty high-ranking in the organization. His role is what I would describe as a middleman. You want to do business with the Kaplan Kirmizi, you deal with Okan Gul first. If he is satisfied, he will take your suggestion to the high command. The bosses never get their hands dirty with their own filth. It is the same with all successful criminal enterprises.’
‘What sort of business are they in?’
‘Narcotics, alcohol, cigarettes. Anything you like as long as it is lucrative.’
‘Are you aware of them doing any business in Newcastle?’
‘It comes as news to me, but then again I don’t see why not. Maybe they’ve opened up a new channel. In these tough economic times you have to get business where you can, I suppose.’
‘It would be very handy for our investigation if this could be confirmed, sir,’ Vos says.
‘Of course. I’ll find out what I can, although the Kaplan Kirmizi are not known for being talkative.’
‘I would appreciate it. But as far as Mr Gul is concerned, do you have any idea why someone in Newcastle might have wanted to hang him in front of a high-speed train on Sunday night?’
‘I can think of many reasons why someone would want to kill him, Inspector Vos. The KK have few friends. But the method sounds a little theatrical.’
‘It’s been suggested that it might have been a message.’
There’s a pause while Remmelink considers this. ‘Then it’s one hell of a message,’ he says. ‘More like a declaration of war if you ask me. And if that’s the case . . .’
‘That’s what I’m worried about, sir,’ Vos says. ‘The last thing I want is a war on my patch. If you do talk to your friends in the KK, I’d also appreciate it if you’d let them know they are not welcome in Newcastle. We’ve got enough problems with the locals on a Saturday night as it is.’
Remmelink laughs. ‘I’ve read about your Bigg Market, Inspector. Is it true the girls go out in miniskirts in the middle of winter?’
‘Trust me, Chief Inspector,’ Vos says, ‘you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Then maybe I will have to see for myself.’
‘The invitation is always open. Meanwhile I shall see what the great and the good of Newcastle know about the Turkish mob.’
An unmarked car on a busy street in Newcastle’s West End. Huggins and Fallow are watching a thickset Oriental in a shell suit walking purposefully towards a Chinese takeaway called The Mandarin Grill. He is smoking a cigarette, which he flicks into the gutter as he goes into the shop.
‘Let’s go,’ Huggins says.
They get out of the car and cross the street. There are plenty of Chinese in this part of town, and they all know who Huggins and Fallow are. But they also know the wisdom of minding their own business, and they ignore the two detectives as they go into the takeaway.
Behind the high counter there is an old woman with a face that looks like it has been carved out of ancient ivory. She is staring up at a portable TV on the wall, watching a daytime soap.
‘Afternoon, Mrs Kwok,’ Huggins says brightly as the door dings shut behind them and Fallow turns the sign to CLOSED . ‘Your Timmy in?’
She looks at them. Her eyes are
Similar Books
