Chapter Sixteen;
Benjamin
Stuart glanced up from the radio as Max and Millie re-entered. Noticing the fact that Max was keeping his distance from the PC, Stuart smothered a smile and motioned to the radio. "I'm on with Stevie now. The tour bus just stopped over at the London Eye and they all got off for a ride. But they look on schedule to reach the dock by three if they keep the pace up. They rushed through Piccadilly like a run-away train. I think they left skid marks on the other tourists." He chuckled. "How were the Roxons?"
"DS Carter made them cry." Millie muttered as she walked past, receiving a glare from the Detective Sergeant.
"Helpful. Apparently Samuel changed his name when he left home. Ms. Roxon also managed to give me a list of Sam's friends, and a few other people he may still be in contact with." He withdrew a few pieces of folded-up paper from his pocket and held them out to Millie. She snatched them off him without even a glance in his direction and returned to Banksy's desk to start the calls.
Stuart looked away with a grin then, hiding it, turned back to Max holding out a photo. "I spoke to the DI and he's adamant we need a statement to the fact Kowalski is Brecht, so, here's a photo of Kowalski."
Max glanced at it. "Holman?"
Stuart nodded then tipped his head towards Millie who was now smiling through a rather upbeat phone conversation. "I'm sure she can make him talk."
Max folded up the picture and shoved it in his back pocket. "I'd rather make him cry."
"May I ask?"
"Don't." With that Max turned and stalked from the room. Stuart glanced at Millie who had been watching Max go and she caught his eye with a grin then went back to her conversation. Stuart returned his attention to the radio with a shake of his head.
*
As Max pulled up outside the Harley Club he only barely registered the Panda just further down the road as he extracted the photo of Kowalski and shook it out of it's fold. Pushing open the Harley Club doors like he owned the place, his eyes fell on PC Valentine and PC Roberts restraining a man as he yelled at Benjamin Holman who stood behind his counter, glaring down the young man. Max went to the PCs. "What's going on?"
"I came back and this dumb kid was just trashing my place. I don't even know him." Ben Holman protested, waving his hand behind him to the trashed counter where glass sat and alcohol dripped to the ground. "I want him charged. He's cost me thousands."
"Calm down Mr. Holman, we'll get your side of the story soon." Roger looked at Max. "We arrived twenty minutes ago and this bloke," he motioned to the kid who was squirming in Nate's grasp but had stopped yelling obscenities at the club owner. "He was upturning the tables. Mr. Holman was behind the bar in pretty much the same state he's in now. Said the kid turned up about five minutes before we did and just started breaking things without explanation."
"Got a name?"
"No, the only things he's said haven't been for public approval." Roger gave a smile and went to speak to Holman as Max went to the kid.
"Name." The kid gave him a blank look then turned his attention back to Holman, glaring. "What's your name?" The kid didn't answer so Max motioned for Nate to search him. The kid didn't protest as Nate withdrew from his back pocket a small wallet. He handed it to the DS who flipped it open. Inside was a small amount of Euros and a Belgian ID Card. Max glanced at Nate. "Andrei." The boy looked up and Max nodded. "He's Belgian."
"You don't happen to know any Belgian by chance sarge?" Nate grinned.
Max shook his head. "It's French, but no, no luck this time. Get him down to the station and call a translator for French and Flemish. And a social worker." He handed Nate the wallet. "He's only 15." As Nate led the boy away Max went over to Ben Holman who was relating the details to Roger. Max took over and Roger left. "You don't know him?"
Holman shook his head. "I have no idea who he is. He's just a dumb kid, like I said."
"Do 'dumb kids' often come into your licensed premises and smash your belongings Mr. Holman?" Max asked.
Holman didn't reply. "Look, give me an hour and I'll be down at your station to make a proper statement." His hand slid across a puddle of spilt vodka. "I don't care who he is or why he's done this, but he's paying for it."
"His name's Andrei Yanletti. That name ring a bell to you?" Max slipped his notebook back into his jacket pocket.
Holman shook his head, still analysing the damage. "I don't know him and I don't want to see him again, okay? Now, can I focus on my club?"
"Of course." Max turned away to leave before he stopped and held up the picture he'd brought with him. "One last thing Mr. Holman." Holman looked up quickly. "This man is…"
"That's Nikolai Brecht." He returned, looking back at his damage.
"Thank you." Shoving the photo back in his pocket, Max left the ruined club.