The rapist's name was Alan Kover, and he was the man who'd just tried to put a knife in me.

There were more footsteps on the stairs, this time coming up. I placed the gun back in my pocket and walked over to the front door. As I was shutting it behind me, the guy who'd let me in emerged from round the corner. He was carrying a heavy-looking torch that I think was his best effort at a weapon, and wearing a very concerned expression.

'What's going on?' he asked. 'I've just seen a man with a knife come charging down the stairs.'

I started down towards him. 'Call the police,' I said.

'But I thought you were the police.'

'Not any more I'm not.'

'Then who the hell are you?'

I pushed past him without stopping. 'Someone who hopes good luck comes in threes.'

'Mehmet Illan. Forty-five years old. Turkish national, he's been resident in this country for the last sixteen years. He's supposedly just a businessman, but apparently he's got previous convictions in Turkey and Germany for drugs offences, though no record here. He's got a number of companies on the go doing all sorts: import/export – mainly foodstuffs and carpets; a chain of pizza parlours; a PC wholesalers; a textile factory. You name it, he's got an interest in it somewhere down the line. But the word is that a lot of his companies are just fronts for money laundering, and that his real profits come from elsewhere.'

'Oh yeah? Where?'

'Apparently he used to import a lot of heroin overland from Turkey and Afghanistan, although no-one's got any hard evidence of that, but now he's in the people-smuggling business. You know, asylum seekers.'

'I hear there's big money to be made in that sort of thing.'

'Very big. These people come from all over the place and they'll sell everything they've got to get the money to pay the smugglers. The going rate can be as much as five grand per person, so one lorry-load of twenty people can be worth a hundred K to the people doing the smuggling. If they only shift a hundred a week, they're still clearing half a million, and chances are they'll be shifting a lot more than that. It could be thousands.'

'And you think this guy Illan's involved in that?'

'That's what I'm hearing. My information says he's a major player, but he's done a good job of keeping himself as far away from the action as possible, so no-one's got anything concrete on him. What's your interest in him anyway?'

'I might have something on him. You'll hear about it before the end of the week. You'll be the first to know.'

'Whatever it is, be careful, Dennis. This guy is not to be messed with. You know those three blokes shot dead the other week – the customs men and the accountant…?'

'Yeah?'

'The accountant was something to do with one of his front companies, and the talk is that Illan was the guy behind the murders, although proving it's another matter. So, he doesn't fuck about. You piss him off, you die. If he's prepared to commit triple murder, he's prepared to kill a copper.'

'Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid.'

'So if you didn't know anything about this guy – and I assume you didn't otherwise you wouldn't have been phoning me – what is it exactly you've got on him?'

'Be patient, Roy.'

'Patience doesn't sell newspapers, you know that.'

I put some more money in the phone, knowing that I was going to have to give him something.

'I think I can prove a link between him, some other criminals, and the deaths of those three blokes.'

I could hear his breathing change at the other end. He was excited, but nervous at the same time in case I was bullshitting.

'Are you serious?'

'Deadly.'

'So, why are you telling me? Why aren't you arresting these people?'

'It's a long story, Roy, but basically you're going to have to trust me.'

He sighed. 'I knew it was too good to be true.'

'I've resigned from the Force,' I told him. 'There were a couple of minor irregularities. It was with immediate effect. That's why I haven't arrested anyone yet.'

'Christ, Dennis. Really? What did you do?'

'Suffice to say I've had some involvement with people who know Mehmet Illan. Not major involvement, but enough to get me sacked. And enough for me to know a few things about them.'

'Tell me more.'

'Not now. I need you to do something else for me. It shouldn't take five minutes.'

'What is it?'

'Alan Kover. Remember him?'

'The name rings a bell.'

'He was that child rapist who got off on a technicality. The girl's father got arrested trying to burn his flat down and ended up committing suicide. It was about two years back, over in Hackney.'

'Yeah, yeah, I remember.'

'Kover's still walking the streets and I need to find him. Urgently.'

'What? Is he involved in all this?'

I decided to lie. It was easier. 'He might be, I'm not sure. Can you get me his current address?'

'Dennis, you're asking me to do a lot here. This sort of stuff could get me in one fuck of a lot of trouble. What the hell are you going to do to him, anyway?'

Again, I lied. 'Nothing. I just need to speak to him. You do this for me, I promise no-one'll ever know it was you, and you'll get the exclusive on this story. After this, the whole of Fleet Street'll be beating a path to your door. I promise.'

'It might not be that easy. He might have changed his name.'

'He had previous convictions so it's unlikely he'll have been able to change his name. He should be on the Sex Offenders' Register.'

Roy sighed. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'It's important, and I'm going to need the information quick.'

'Give me more of a snifter on this story. Something to really whet my appetite.'

'Get me Kover's current address by tonight and I'll tell you a bit more then.'

This'd better be fucking good, Dennis.'

'I'll call you on this number at five tonight.'

'I've got a meeting. Make it six.'

'Six it is. And same thing applies. Don't tell anyone you've heard from me.'

The beeps went as he started to say something else, and I hung up without saying goodbye.

I stepped out of the phone box into the morning rush hour and made my way slowly back towards the hotel.

'With you in a minute,' came a voice from the back of the shop as I shut the door. I pushed the bolt across and switched the sign round from OPEN to CLOSED – not that I expected to be disturbed. Len Runnion's shop is hardly a Mecca for retail activity. Still, always easier to err on the side of caution.

He appeared behind the counter wiping what looked like a Chinese ornamental vase with a cloth, presumably to get rid of fingerprints. When he saw me, he attempted a smile, but it wasn't a very good effort and his eyes started darting around alarmingly, always coming back to the vase in his hand.

'Oh, hello, Mr Milne,' he said as jovially as possible. He put the vase down under the counter. 'What can I do for you?'

'Guns,' I said, approaching him. 'I want some guns.'

His eyes seemed to go into overdrive, and he took a step back. I think there was a look on my face that scared him. 'I don't know where you'd get them sort of things from,' he said nervously. 'Sorry, I can't help on that one. I make it a point never to go near any sort of weapon.'

I stopped on the other side of the counter and eyed him carefully. 'I'm no longer a police officer,' I told him, 'so I'm not interested in nicking you for anything. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way'

'Look, Mr Milne, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about so I think you'd better leave if that's the sort of thing you've come for.' He was more confident now that I'd told him I was no longer with the Force.